"Amidst the dirt and destruction, a blossom of hope."

In times of dusty wildernesses my blossom of hope is that I am never alone.  God is with me.  Thanks be to God.

Some of the ways I am aware that I have found joy in times of dusty wildernesses in examples like the rose in the dirt and destruction have been an eagle soaring overhead, butterflies, variety of flowers in bloom, a friend who comes alongside with words of encouragement or cards or presence, a prayer, etc.

As I reflect on this devotion I am aware though, that my personal tendency can be to get so caught up in the wilderness that I am oblivious to the joy that is mine - I can wallow and worry and fret.  I am reminded through this devotion that in the wilderness there is joy . . . I must make more of an effort to listen, to look, and to receive.

I love deserts. When I was worked in Las Vegas, I would get up early and walked out to the desert. It was like taking a shower in light. That sense of the full emptiness of the place stayed with me all day.

During Lent I go back to those memories.

I agree Humanode. The desert is an incredible place. At first take, it looks dry, dead, and devoid of life. But the longer you spend there the more you realize life is everywhere in the desert -- one just has to pay attention more closely to see it. It is precisely because the desert appears to be a empty that it offers the opportunities to see in a new way.

The desert is a great metaphor for the Lenten journey. All the more so the desert of Afganistan, where roses still bloom in the midst of the pain.

I think it was the juxtaposition of the landmine identificaiton chart, hanging on the wall of the classroom, beside the words of hope and wonder shared by the school's headmaster and children that spoke to me in my Lenten space.

I had this moment of wondering what it means to grow up with a need to be constantly vigilant for tools that can maim and kill - and I had a bigger moment of celebrating that hope and joy lives and grows in ground that we human beings have salted.

For me, this isn't solely about being in a desert - as all three of you have pointed out, a desert is a place of life and beauty, just not an abundance of water - it's about being in a desert that we and others have made dangerous with our tools that deal death.

Some of that's spiritual - inner "landmines" that I've planted inside myself... and forgotten about. And I've got to do some work on those.

But some of that is real-world, too. What am I doing to help create safe-space for the children of Afghanistan, and the children of other countries, where landmine identification charts need to be taught as one of the basics of learning?

Recall a time when you were in a "dusty wilderness" and yet found joy.

This is a question that hits close to home as I feel that I am in a "dusty wilderness" right now. I may write about that at a later date, but this question asks about past times. I think of the "dusty wilderness" of depression. Depression is such an ugly affliction - it touches every aspect of your being. Often I have felt so alone, like nobody could possibly understand what I was going through. Society attaches such a stigma to depression. For years, I couldn't even admit to myself what I was going through, much less others. I was embarrassed - like somehow it made me less of a human being. It wasn't until I hit rock bottom that I started to be able to find joy. I had no job, no home and no hope. Finally I was forced to open up to people about what was happening to me - and that's when joy came trickling in. People reached out to me - offering me places to stay and help with things like getting to appointments, finding a job, and even doing simple things like inviting me over for a meal. Their kindness and concern gave me confidence that I was a worthy and worthwhile human being. Hope re-entered my life. I regained my sense of who I am - and remembered how wonderful it is to feel happy. I know that depression always lurks around the corner for me, but I now also have the tools to deal with it - and that is something that gives me hope and joy

To me, putting a price on everything is the extreme of desolation. True deserts, true wildernesses are getting a little harder to find, but they can liberate us from the desolation, when we attend to them. And liberated we can open to the love that so dearly needs to flow. 

My discipline is to spend an hour or so in prayer attending to desolation, to the desert's disolution of desolation, and then to the gratitude that beauty raises in me…

Richard - that image really struck me too. Children in North America may not have to be concerned about landmines, but they certainly have lots of other potential threats to their well-being. There are the cases that make it onto the news, for example the terrible event that took place at Columbine High School, but there are so many cases that will never make the headlines. I am thinking, primarily, of kids who are abused and neglected. What are we doing to stop the violence in our own homes and neighbourhoods?

If a dusty wilderness is somewhere silent, isolated, alone and uncluttered, I don't find anything threatening or ugly or frightening about that. In fact, it's often what I/we crave in this world of constant noise and busy-ness and stuff. It is the strength that I gain from this rejuvenating emptiness that lets me re-enter and re-engage with life, which is joy.

The root of the word wilderness is wild. That can often mean chaotic, uncontrollable, random and frequently, hostile. As modern society spins ever faster, elements such as these surface, placing us in the middle of a modern, consumption-driven wilderness. When I was teaching high school (especially grade 9), all those elements were in play on any particular day. What I remember most is the constant noise and the struggle to "keep a lid on it" so that perhaps some of the students could actually learn. And that struggle was an energy-draining, and sometimes a soul-draining experience, because I would often wonder if the whole process was pointless and that I was merely engaging in a process of advanced babysitting.

And then when I arrived home, my son (a pre-schooler at the time) would be waiting for me at the door to give me a hug. No doubt he missed me and that hug fulfilled his need to reconnect. But for me that hug was the rose in the wilderness - that reminder that sometimes we can get too close to and too consumed by the wild, and need to be aware of the soul-feeding resources that are usually too much in the background to notice. Sometimes we need to pull back and draw meaning and fulfillment from these quieter and subtler things that often get missed in an environment that jealously asks for our engagement with it alone, 24/7. That hug lasted only a moment, for my son was soon off once again to play with his toys, but I needed to hang on to the memory of it for the rest of the next day, until once again I could put the noise of the wilderness behind me and surround myself with the more peaceable moments of living.

I haven’t done too well with vows and promises. I was baptized in a Presbyterian church, I think, but I have no recollection of it. My parents called it a “christening”… then I was confirmed as an Anglican. I took confirmation because it was what we had to do at the boarding school I attended (and hated). We had to learn a catechism and did so to avoid canings. Then my first marriage was a walk-in disaster and we walked out before we had unwanted children. I have sworn loyalty to one queen in three countries yet remain opposed to the nature and principles of monarchy, and my patriotism is always conditional on my country’s commitment to justice. Swearing on Bibles is offensive to me; it mocks the significance of religious texts. It is idolatrous. 

In my experience and view, such institutionally-articulated moral, spiritual and behavioural oaths, creeds and promises are typically ill-founded attempts to regularize polity, impose conformities, define orthodoxies and modify behavior where no deep or genuine impulse to conform or change is genuinely felt or understood.

We are made hypocrites by our vows, promises and "the law". They enable us to identify outsiders: those who do not conform to our expectations and encourage us to villify them, and to treat them badly, sometimes very badly indeed (the sad, needful and deluded human being Mohammed Shafia comes immediately to mind) — we see them deserving and needing our punishment as well as that of "god" (when Jesus would tell us to love them).

Institutionalised vows and promises are part and parcel of the “law” that Christ fulfills through love. Love fulfills the law (the Book of Judges included)  and transcends it: any act of love supercedes, in my view, any codification of “right thinking” or “good behavior”.

We learn our values as we grow up. If we grow up in nurseries of love and justice we will at least be capable of loving and of being just. We will have no use for hypocrisy. We create those conditions when we act them out, when we live them from the heart. When we do not, no amount of promising to be “good” will make the future better.  We reap what others sowed — and the sins of one generation DO fall on the heads of the next. But so do the virtues, the greatest of which (as we have all heard) is love.

Give up something for Lent? For all that's holy, we should give up greed, self-centredness, cruelty and unthinking conformity. Not for Lent, but for always, in our hearts. But better than giving anything up, we might try freeing ourselves to live and love more deeply.

I was baptized as an infant and confirmed around age 8 in the Roman Catholic church.  I made a re-affirmation of faith in the UCC at age 30.

I think the living out of my baptismal or confirmational vows is continual - I continue to do so each day, by living each day seeking God in my life.  Not in perfection, but in seeking, loving, and serving.

I've struggled with some promises/vows, or "I'll never", or "I'll always" . . . today's reading reminds me of some areas I need to work at in my life.

As for Lent, I am not "giving up", but rather "giving to"by reading, devotionals, prayer, study, etc. and seeking God's presence, will, wisdom, and direction in my life.

I went and read the whole scripture on Jephtah, because I wanted to find out what the vow to God was that he had to keep (I couldn't remember the story at all).  Wow . . . is all I can say!  In my humanness, that is one vow I don't think I would be able to keep, even to God.  But, I probably wouldn't have made such a vow in the first place.

I was baptized and confirmed in the United Church and I honestly can't tell you what vows I took at the confirmation without looking it up. I suppose that by becoming UU I've left all that behind and taken up a new set of vows, specifically pledging to "affirm and promote" the UU principles. Which I hope I'm doing in my day-to-day life as much as I can. But what about those old vows? I'd need to look a them again to see whether taking the course I have has broken them, upheld them, or simply rendered them obsolete. Are vows "eternal" or can we take up new vows as we grow spiritually?

Mendalla

I've done better with my marriage vows than with my baptismal vows I think. Maybe because I am responsbible to somebody right there in every aspect of my life. Baptismal vows are harder than marriage vows I think because it involves every single aspect of one's life - both external and internal at the deepest levels. Who can keep God's standards? I know I haven't always been able to. But I keep trying 

Mostly, I am thankful that God keeps his promises of love and faithfulness to me even though I'm now always able to keep my side of the deal. That's what grace is all about to me...

I was baptised as an adult, but not in the United Church. But I've seen many United Church baptisms and it seems the core promise is the same - to resist Satan, to flee evil, and to join God's family. Is that right?

In many ways it depends on the congregation, Mahakala. Our congregation uses "living for" language, rather than resisting Satan or fleeing evil.

I wonder if that's at the core of my own experience with vows. I was baptised as an infant, made a profession of faith when I was 14, have made marriage vows, vows at ordination, as well as other promisses sacred and secular. In some ways, the hardest ones have been both my baptismal and profession of faith vows because, to be honest, I wasn't old enough to make either of them. I wasn't really able to comprehend the immensity of those promises.

Then again, I don't really understand the immensity of those promises now. Perhaps, what I wish I had was a better perspective on the fact that those promisses are immense and, if I truly live them, they are central not only to my life, but who I am.

I guess the answer to the question is that I don't think I live out my baptismal or profession of faith promises well. I have to keep going back to the beginning and starting over.

Maybe that's not a bad thing.

There are those promises that you say out loud and everyone hears and agrees with and nods their head. People in the church will cluck their tongue if you get too far off the beaten path.

The hardest promises for me to keep, have been the ones that only God and I know about. It surely reflects how healthy my relationship is with God, if I don't honour my promise if only God is listening.

This wasn't a story that I was familiar with, so I went and read the whole chapter. Jepthah was a great warrior who had led his army into battle. He made a promise to God, saying that if he won the battle, when he returned home he would offer up the first person who came out of his house to greet him as a burnt offering to God. He did win the battle and, as it was his daughter who came out to greet him, she was the one who he had to burn.

I cannot begin to imagine making such a promise. As a rule, I only make promises that I can fulfill - I never make promises that are reliant on others and I would certainly never make a promise that would involving harming another.

I could also never make a promise on behalf of another person. I was only a few weeks old at my baptism, so I couldn't make any promises yet. Instead, my parents vowed to raise me in a Christian home, so that I might come to know Jesus and God. I think they did a reasonably good job. I went with my parents to church every week and attended Sunday School, CGIT, youth group and other church activities. I was raised to think for myself and to decide what I believed in. We didn't spend much time talking about God outside of church though.

I wish I could remember my confirmation vows. I know that I take church membership seriously. I believe in participating in the life of the community - sometimes as a leader and sometimes as a participant. I find that my participation gives me opportunities to learn about God and what it means to be a Christian. I don't have a lot to offer the church financially, but I give what I can and give of my time freely.

The answer to the final questions about the most difficult promise to live out may well be a promise that I recently made to myself. I have come to the realization that I need to go back to school - but I'm not sure what I want to study, so I have decided to enter into a period of discernment. I have promised myself that by the end of 2012 I will make a decision. I have narrowed it down to three choices - but the three choices are all quite different. I have just started telling friends and all have been very supportive. One, a university professor, has offered to sit down with me and help me to figure it out. This promise will be hard to keep because, although the decision has to be made by a certain date, it really doesn't end there. Schooling has always been a challenge for me - and I also have a fear of rejection. What if I apply for school and don't get accepted? And when I do get accepted, how am I going to pay for it? Will I figure out how to manage my time effectively? How will I handle the stress load? I know it's time to make a change in my life, I just hope I make the right choice!

Somegirlfromcan - Richard Bott mentioned your recent post about your struggle re: deciding to go back to school.  I made that decision a couple of years ago.  I have a fear of rejection too.  I've been facing depression issues.  And finances?  Yeah, that's an issue!  Time management?  Definitely.  

But you know what?  I almost dropped out a couple of months ago - even emailed the Dean of Students and Registrar to let them know.  Within 24 hours, I knew that was the wrong decision.  Maybe it's about trying and allowing yourself to make a mistake.  I know!  It affects a lot of people, not just you.  But from my perspective, God keeps on showing me a way that this is possible.  And God keeps letting me cry and then taking me by the hand and pulling me back to my feet.  And sometimes I really love school.  

Homework is *not* life-giving to me.  But it is credential giving, and I want those credentials!

So, just my two cents, off the top of my head.  Happy to chat with you anytime.

Barbara 

Thanks Barbara - you definitely sound like someone I would like to chat with more, so I am going to send you off a wondermail.

What a truly horrific story. I only hope that it was supposed to be simply instructive on being careful what you promise. It's at moments like this that one has a distinct advantage over those who need to take the bible literally. 

I was baptized and confirmed on the same day, sometime in my 12th year. I have no idea what I promised, but I suspect that I haven't kept many, as they were promises made in a pretty orthodox Lutheran context quite a few decades ago.

The other major vows I made in life were my marriage vows, and given that I am now divorced, those are broken, as well.

OTOH, I take my church membership very seriously. I feel a responsibility to share my gifts as they are needed, and I take my turn at various roles (and some, like the lay reader scheduling, I've done for many years). But I don't promise anyone anything; I simply fulfill my responsibilities to the best of my capability at the time.

This is a poorly directed Discussion question, I think, if it is going to be based on the scripture lesson given. If we are to consider that lesson at all, then surely we should also ask ourselves, "What vows have I taken that I should not keep?" and "who will I sacrifice if that vow is to be kept". For many have taken "vows" to make more money, look more attractive, retire by 55, etc. Just because we have made a vow does not make it a good one (as the story so clearly shows. Even the story seems out of place in its own time, for this took place after the story of Abraham being called to sacrifice his son Isaac. And the outcome of that story was to turn the community away from human sacrifice. So what's the element that the Jephthan story introduces - a cautionary tale about adopting the neighbour's barbaric practices, perhaps?). I'm all for political parties not keeping their promises if those promises are stupid ones.

So what makes a vow "worthy"? Perhaps the story tells us that such a vow does not sacrifice others to our own vainglory, that it not about "settling scores" or personal agrandisement. Rather, a vow that is truly worth keeping and worth spending all that effort that vows ask of us is one which in some way or form promotes God's kingdom of peace and justice. Have I made such a vow? Well, I'm not the "New Year's Resolution" type, so vows don't come naturally to me (especially when they are vague). But at the core of every vow is loyalty, so I suppose that for me, that would include my loyalty to the education of the students I am charged with, or to my church (despite wanting to scream at the way it excludes my generation and that of my children), to my family (but realizing that Christ has redefined the boundaries of that family) or to my community and its betterment. How am I doing? Discouraged most of the time - it's easier to keep a vow if you see results, and sometimes I just don't see that.

They are afraid,

          they have been hurt.

There are lots of reasons a person would "rail against God." (I can think of some personal ones right now!) But to me the better question that comes out of this reflection is, "Why don't we get that we are the beloved?" Why don't we accept that from God? In fact, it seems many Christians actually are more apt to believe the opposite --- that they are the condemned, and the mission becomes to condemn others as well. (And this just isn't true of right-wing Christians! I often see more liberal Christians condemning people for holding the "wrong" opinion about somethign.)

If we actually believed that we were the beloved, we might be able to live into the promise of beloved community in our own churches and communities. how beautiful would that be?

When the truth of our vulnerability pushes us to seek certainty and false security. We hear the words but can't believe them. The unbearable sweetness of it, our own sense of unworthiness, causes us to move against it.

It is interesting to note that Jesus went out into the desert just after this moment. Mark 1:9-15.

I know that when my Dad died 23 years ago I was so mad at God for taking him away from me. I was also pregnant with my daughter and knew that she would never meet her grandfather.  I realized years later that God was okay with me being mad at him he didn't abandon me and I continued to feel the comforting presence of the almighty.

I have to admit that I have mentioned that I couldn't take anymore "Crap" I have realized that everytime I say that something else happens so I do not even think that in the deepest parts of me. I guess I am learning that God cares for me no matter what I think of God.

i know come people that get mad at God because they don't get what they pray for. Some times it is for healing for a loved one and when that person dies God is to blame because the prayer wasn't answered.  Sometimes tha answer to prayer is not what we want but what the person we are praying for needs.

It seems to me that the reasons someone would rail against God mainly fit into three categories: injustice in the world, death or illness of a loved one and personal injustice. We get angry at God when we feel things are out of our control. We ask ourselves, "Why would God let this happen?" It seems to me that God didn't let these things. These things happen for any number of reasons. I believe God gives us the freedom to make choices - that our lives are not entirely pre-determined for us. We can choose to hurt people or to help them. We can choose to hurt the environment or to help it. Our choices have consequences - some of which are immediate, some of which are long-term and some of which we may never know about. Every morning I drive to work - and, in doing so, I make lots of choices. By turning on the engine, I am creating pollution - which may give myself and/or others health problems eventually. To lessen the effect on the environment, I choose to carpool - picking up at least one other person on the way. If I drive too quickly, I am more likely to get into an accident - and potentially injure or kill someone (maybe even myself). If I drive too slowly, I risk angering the people behind me.

Every time we go to vote, we make very important choices - but we may not know the consequences of those choices for months, or years. Are those we elect going to form a government that will be helpful or hurtful? Will they invade other countries, raise our taxes and reduce money given to social services like healthcare? When I vote, I try to vote for the person and party which I believe will do the most good for the world. I want them to use my tax dollars to help those who are in need (both in Canada and around the world) - and to build and maintain things which are necessary (for example hospitals and schools).

I don't choose to rail against God. I realize that the bad things in the world are generally the fault of human beings - and that God walks with us in times of trouble. I am reminded of the poem, "Footprints in the Sand" by Mary Stevenson: 

My children sometimes get angry with me, when it's clearly not me they're angry at - but it is safe to be angry with me. I will listen closely, lovingly and empathetically to their current tale of woe. For me, it's the same with Godde. Godde is a safe place for my anger and despair.

Solitude is helpful. But then I'm uncomfortable in crowds at the best of times and need a certain amount of solitude in my life for general "living" reasons… to think, to cook, to write. Same with noise… I don't function well in ANY way if noise levels are jarring.  Place? I've prayed in countless places in a number of places in the World, including in the sea. Place is not so important to me — I carry a "pocket stone" that helps me to focus when I hold it's hardness in my hand. I mostly pray with my eyes open (for me it's about focus on the "god"-ness that's everywhere, in all things, and closing my eyes usually feels all wrong, like shutting "god"-ness out), and I not infrequently find myself drawn into prayer unexpectedly — sudden beauty triggers a shock of gratitude that swells into listening prayer and can make me seem daftly absent-minded to passers by… but where do I feel I pray deepest or best? I don't know… prayer takes hold of me much more often than I deliberately engage in it — "god" keeps surprising me. A few days ago, I found myself drawn into prayer over a cup of coffee in the local library where they have a mini cafe. (This was a hard question. I have a feeling I my understanding of prayer differs from that of the author of today's reflection… apologies if that's confusing things.)

I like to pray in the morning, but it can and has occured many other places. Sometimes they are calm and well thought out prayers, sometimes they are just a few words of thanks and other times they are urgent prayers.

I suppose my deepest prayers are usually when I have set time aside to do so.

I've prayed (pray) almost anywhere and everywhere.  I feel some of my best times of prayer are when I am surrounded by nature outside somewhere.  Right now my best times of prayer are in my rocking chair in my living room early in the morning.  When it's still dark I light a candle, open the drapes, snuggle under a blank, and just pray.

Here is an incomplete list of the places I have prayed: at church, at camp, in the forest, by the ocean, on the bus, in my car, at the hospital, at school, at home and at work. I pray whenever I feel the need to - usually silently, but sometimes aloud. There are two things that seem to help me pray more deeply: when something deeply emotional (good or bad) has just happened or when I am faced with a scene that is so incredibly beautiful that I can't help but stop and thank God for it.

When I receive news that is emotional, no matter where I am or what I am doing, I will stop and pray. When someone announces that a baby has been born, I stop and give thanks for the birth of that child - and pray they will grow up to be a blessing in the world. When I hear that someone is ill, I immediately pray that they will feel touched by God's presence in their lives. I also pray every time I hear a siren or a helicopter flying over my house (I live near a hospital, so any helicopters flying over my home are likely to be air ambulances).

I feel closest to God when I am surrounded by nature - particularly when I am by the ocean. When things are not quite right in my world, I head out of town to a beach that I know which is often nearly deserted. When I sit on this beach all I can see is the ocean, the sand and the forest. Occasionally I will see a boat in the distance and, if I'm really lucky, I'll see some wildlife - usually it's a beautiful bird or a family of seals, but once I saw a pod of killer whales. I sit there and stare out into the ocean - so struck by the beauty that I can't help but give God thanks. I'll often go and throw pebbles into the ocean. If I'm angry with something or someone, this can be a good release for me - and may be accompanied by cries of anguish. Sometimes I'll attach a portion of a prayer to each rock I throw - and sometimes I'll simply throw them to see how far they go. I like to watch the ripple effect when they land in the water. I find that the prayers that I make when I'm in nature - particularly sitting on a beach - tend to be deep and often emotional. When I leave the park, my mood is often vastly different than it was coming in - usually I am a lot calmer and happier.

I remember being taught in Sunday School that you can pray anywhere, at any time and that it's possible to pray without being noticed. I took that lesson to heart - and remember it any time I pray somewhere that is unconventional.

While isolation may allow me to concentrate a little better (few distractions), I don't think that it gets me nearer to God. Prayer is a time to listen for God; isolation only allows me to hear my own voice louder. Being in nature may be more peaceful, but God is about more than being peaceful. God also asks us to be engaged. And frankly, that means being among people. God's voice is just as likely to be spoken through another individual as it is through the rustling of the leaves (maybe even more likely). In fact, I would argue that we are in greater need of prayer at precisely those times when our attention is confused by competing voices. It is at that time that we need to pray: Help me discern the difference here between your way and the selfish way here; give me the patience to listen to this person even if I disagree with them, for not everything they have to say can be discounted; give me the hope to see this process through, rather than to leave and deprive the community of my help and effort; and finally, let me be open to those things that are new to me, for "there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in my philosophy."  This is truly "guerilla prayer" because it comes at a time when we are under the greatest pressure, but therefore at a time when we need it the most.  Our God is an incarnate God, meaning that God dwells within each one of us. And that's a good reason to not avoid each other because you might think you are missing out on God.

Please join us for Week 2 of the Lenten discussion here:

http://www.wondercafe.ca/discussion/church-life/week-2-i-am-listening-lenten-discussion