Wisdom, My Help
Tales are told of rites of passage, liminal experiences where males are tested and tried and transformed. Young males, alone in the wilderness, armed with nothing but the barest of tools and all their earthly knowledge, carry the hopes of their people who trust they leave as boys and will return as men. However, relying on one’s memory and strength and skill is only part of the process. A boy-man must learn to trust himself and the Great Mystery. He must learn to listen to the silence and let the songs of his invisible ancestors be his guide. The harrowing experience is both a physical and spiritual, soul-transforming journey, ushering in a new way of seeing and being in the world. The wilderness is both a welcome and necessary part of life even if it is hard. For those who survive the wilderness, it becomes for them a symbol of celebration and source of pride.
For many years, I was involved in an expression of faith that considered the wilderness a god-forsaken place best avoided. But, if avoidance was not an option and you found yourself alone in the place where evil lurks and shadows creep, the best way out was fast! Figure out what got you there in the first place, fix it, and voila! released from the wild. Additionally, jubilation of one’s escape was best accompanied by journaling in order to record the experience, leaving a physical reminder not to make the same mistake again.
As such, whenever I found myself in a “spiritual desert” or a trying time, I felt surely that I had disappointed God and was being punished or ignored for some reason. What had I done wrong to land me in this desolate place? What sins needed purging so that I might be back in the land of promise, back in God’s good graces again? It was a cycle I repeated over and over in my seeking to be unified with the Divine. My journal can attest to this wandering again and again, trying to figure out the secret to living a “blessed life.”
In her book Help, Thanks, Wow, Ann Lamott wrote, “‘Figure it out’ is not a good slogan.” And, I don’t know how it happened, but some years ago, I slowly stopped seeking certainty and started chasing mystery. I stopped trying to figure it all out. The wilderness ceased being a state of discipline and Divine absence and, instead, became a place where the Divine impregnates every shadow, every crevasse, every arid plain with presence. I was unmoored and simultaneously held. Like the boy-man alone, discerning in his environment both seen and unseen elements that would shape his future, the eyes of my soul began to see God where previously I thought God absent. I began to sense Divinity in both the silence and the sounds, and I could, perhaps for the first time, attest to words of the psalmist who said that there is no place God is not:
“If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, Even there Your hand shall lead me, And your right hand shall hold me. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall fall on me,’ Even the night shall be light about me; Indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You, But the night shines as the day; The darkness and the light are both alike to You.” (Psalm 139:7-12, NKJV)
I did not seek out a wilderness for my faith transformation. I did not have a community that led me blindfolded to an isolated location, waiting in prayerful expectation for my transformative return. Instead, I looked around me one day to find myself in an unknown place, and when I sought the reassurance and help of those around me, they were silent, afraid, and even hostile. Alone and untethered, I quieted myself and attuned my senses to the wilderness around me. My vision expanded and my senses awakened. I located the God within and the God without.
It was then I discovered that Wisdom had always been guiding me on my journey, and I understood I was already home.