Between
my first and second years at theological college, I had the opportunity to go
on a study trip to the Holy Land.
The
wilderness is a significant physical and psychological reality in the biblical
tradition. It is both an external and an internal geography; a place in which
you can be lost, and found, and a metaphor for life. At first glance, the
wilderness is barren, lifeless. A closer look, a longer more patient look,
reveals that it is a place of life, home to plants and animals – and, indeed,
human beings – alike.
I
am writing this in the Season of Lent, a season of invitation to withdraw from
certain aspects of everyday life in order to rediscover the God who gives us
life in the first place. I am also writing from a place of vulnerable
psychological wellbeing. This is not my permanent nor even primary address, but
it is a place I am familiar with. Indeed, it is a place I believe so many of us are familiar with that I
could not be fully human without such familiarity. We have a tendency to
consider the experience of vulnerable psychological wellbeing in negative terms:
as a problem to be fixed – or, better still, pro-actively avoided – or a reason
to judge others or indeed ourselves harshly; as failing at life, rather than part
of life. We are all vulnerable persons at certain times in our lives. But what
if vulnerable psychological wellbeing might be understood as experience of the
wilderness? And what if being in the wilderness was a risky, demanding, but
potentially positive thing?
I
want to go on a journey into the wilderness, taking that closer look. In particular,
I want to suggest that:
the
wilderness is a place of open-handed
vulnerability;
the
wilderness is a place of refuge; and
that
the
wilderness is a place of prayer.
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