Be Present to the Desert
Be Present to the Desert
Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Lent – March 31, 2020
The desert feels arid, uncomfortable. We wish we could be somewhere else. We long for life to be different.
And this is exactly where we find ourselves during these days . . . in this desert we call coronavirus, physical distancing, and lockdown. We want to run, to get away . . . we want things to be the way they used to be . . . we distract ourselves to keep the daily news at arm’s length. In short, we find different ways dream of escaping the desert.
This desire to escape is not unique to our time in the desert. In ordinary life, we can tend towards escape, as well.
But whether it happens in the desert or in normal, everyday life, our desire to escape essentially represents our resistance to the place we are at that moment.
This is a continual temptation in the spiritual life . . . to resist the present by fleeing to the past or running off to the future. Simply put, this posture means we are not able to be present where we are, in the present moment, in the place we stand right now.
How can I be faithfully present in the place I am at this moment?
How can I be faithful to my experience of the desert?
How can I be fully present while separated from others? While my daily routine is altered? While I am concerned for the health of loved ones and friends?
Contemplative spirituality means full presence, full openness, full receptivity to where we are in the moment . . . to how we are in the moment . . . to who we are in the moment.
Here are Charles Cummings’ thoughts about desert spirituality.
A common form of resistance, when I feel myself losing contact with God in the desert, is to cling to the past or try to return to the past. As the Israelites longed to go back to Egypt, I long for the caresses and consolations I used to experience in prayer. In a desperate effort to recapture that sense of God’s nearness, I stick slavishly to my familiar prayers and devotions, my tried and tested style of piety. I reread the devotional books and lives of the saints that were such an inspiration to me when I first began to pray. But now they seem remote and foreign, even silly.
When I do not at first succeed in rekindling my former fervor, I can take a deep breath and try harder, and then harder. Trying too hard is also a form of resistance. Either I think that nothing will happen in my spiritual life unless I do it myself, or I think that I can say the magic prayer and force God to be present. But all my favorite prayers are now like ashes in my mouth.
Perhaps the most common form of resistance is turning to something that will take my mind off the desert experience. I try to forget the whole thing and lose myself in more immediately satisfying activities. I fill up my inner emptiness with a myriad of experiences that never satisfy me very long. I move faster and faster in order to leave behind the desertedness feeling that comes whenever I slow down. I never let myself be physically alone for any length of time. I never let myself be unoccupied. I throw myself into a career, an assignment, a creative undertaking. I busy myself doing many great and good things for the honor and glory of God, so that I may never have to sit down and face his absence in the desert.
[Charles Cummings, Spirituality and the Desert Experience (Denville, NJ: Dimension Books, 1978).]
For reflection:
o It is common for persons going through an experience of desert or desolation to want to return to a familiar and comfortable state. I spend a few moments today reflecting on how this impulses rises up within me today.
o Returning to “the way things used to be” feels like safety, but it also means short-circuiting our spiritual growth.
o Sometimes distractions can bring us to greater mental health, especially when we are surrounded by a stressful situation. Distraction also can be a way we resist being faithful to where we are, how we are, and who we are.
Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Lent – March 31, 2020
The desert feels arid, uncomfortable. We wish we could be somewhere else. We long for life to be different.
And this is exactly where we find ourselves during these days . . . in this desert we call coronavirus, physical distancing, and lockdown. We want to run, to get away . . . we want things to be the way they used to be . . . we distract ourselves to keep the daily news at arm’s length. In short, we find different ways dream of escaping the desert.
This desire to escape is not unique to our time in the desert. In ordinary life, we can tend towards escape, as well.
But whether it happens in the desert or in normal, everyday life, our desire to escape essentially represents our resistance to the place we are at that moment.
This is a continual temptation in the spiritual life . . . to resist the present by fleeing to the past or running off to the future. Simply put, this posture means we are not able to be present where we are, in the present moment, in the place we stand right now.
How can I be faithfully present in the place I am at this moment?
How can I be faithful to my experience of the desert?
How can I be fully present while separated from others? While my daily routine is altered? While I am concerned for the health of loved ones and friends?
Contemplative spirituality means full presence, full openness, full receptivity to where we are in the moment . . . to how we are in the moment . . . to who we are in the moment.
Here are Charles Cummings’ thoughts about desert spirituality.
A common form of resistance, when I feel myself losing contact with God in the desert, is to cling to the past or try to return to the past. As the Israelites longed to go back to Egypt, I long for the caresses and consolations I used to experience in prayer. In a desperate effort to recapture that sense of God’s nearness, I stick slavishly to my familiar prayers and devotions, my tried and tested style of piety. I reread the devotional books and lives of the saints that were such an inspiration to me when I first began to pray. But now they seem remote and foreign, even silly.
When I do not at first succeed in rekindling my former fervor, I can take a deep breath and try harder, and then harder. Trying too hard is also a form of resistance. Either I think that nothing will happen in my spiritual life unless I do it myself, or I think that I can say the magic prayer and force God to be present. But all my favorite prayers are now like ashes in my mouth.
Perhaps the most common form of resistance is turning to something that will take my mind off the desert experience. I try to forget the whole thing and lose myself in more immediately satisfying activities. I fill up my inner emptiness with a myriad of experiences that never satisfy me very long. I move faster and faster in order to leave behind the desertedness feeling that comes whenever I slow down. I never let myself be physically alone for any length of time. I never let myself be unoccupied. I throw myself into a career, an assignment, a creative undertaking. I busy myself doing many great and good things for the honor and glory of God, so that I may never have to sit down and face his absence in the desert.
[Charles Cummings, Spirituality and the Desert Experience (Denville, NJ: Dimension Books, 1978).]
For reflection:
o It is common for persons going through an experience of desert or desolation to want to return to a familiar and comfortable state. I spend a few moments today reflecting on how this impulses rises up within me today.
o Returning to “the way things used to be” feels like safety, but it also means short-circuiting our spiritual growth.
o Sometimes distractions can bring us to greater mental health, especially when we are surrounded by a stressful situation. Distraction also can be a way we resist being faithful to where we are, how we are, and who we are.
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