Following Jesus into the Desert (and the Mountains)

This past week I've been staying at a monastery in the Rocky Mountains.  It is in the south-central part of Colorado, on the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range where the southern New Mexican desert converges with the rising Rockies.  Cattle ranchers must have inhabited the plains below decades ago but now only a couple eclectic residents who take advantage of the liberal housing codes populate the area, the plains are reserved for state game land.  The desert historically was a residence for Christians desiring to escape the busyness and noise of civilization so to enable a more contemplative, quiet life, one filled with prayer and mediation.  I came to the desert hoping to find this life.

Many retreatents, like myself, come to the desert to rejuvenate one's spiritual life.  Daily work can sometimes become suffocating and the soul needs open space and freedom from responsibilities to regain perspective and strength.  Thus, new life and energy are encountered in the desert.  But the desert historically is a place of other encounters too, namely with our demons.  As the previous desert dwellers knew well, both encounters are essential to our spiritual growth.

In the gospels, Jesus often retreats into lonely places.  Here, he prays and regains perspective and strength for his journey ahead.  Yet the most narrated accounts of these "desert" experiences are when Jesus is tempted by the devil himself to forfeit his ministry, specifically in the desert after his baptism and in the Garden of Gethsemane before his death.  The Desert Fathers, the early Christians who followed this tradition or retreat, also are surrounded by myths of intimate encounters with the Lord and with demonic, anti-life giving forces.  I too have encountered these things.

The mountain air, big sky, quiet mornings, and colorful sunsets quickly inspired a sense of awe within me upon my arrival to the monastery.  How can one not believe in God when they see the sun set?  But as the week went on, when the initial exhale from the city life in Denver concluded, I found myself immersed in thought, in the conscious silence of my own soul, and so encountered the wounds of my fallen nature.  If we are silent enough, if we examine ourselves deeply, we inevitably find the seeds of destruction present within us and their removal is a painful process.  Cuts must be opened, infection must be released, and then the healing can begin, but as alcohol is applied and cleanses the sore so much burning occurs: War is hell and suffering is hard but we must endure the pain.

We are all sculptures, being carved into masterpieces.  We are all clay, being made into beautiful pottery.  We are all getting tattoos: a piece of art is being etched into our skin and sometimes it hurts really bad.  Sometimes our friends, though, bring us cookies or we get inspired by other tattoos in the artist's collection and are encouraged to sit in the chair a little while longer.  Sometimes, too, we need a break for a few minutes and the artist knows this is okay.

Life is not all pain.  It is also sunsets, long hikes, and a warm cup of tea.  Spiritual progress requires both of these things and so they are good.  The desert continues to offer rejuvenation and challenge and I too have benefited from encountering both.  Hopefully others will continue following Jesus even into the desert.  

The Wealth of Poverty

Poverty, Dorothy Day said, is an elusive thing.  We are always deploring it while advocating it at the same time.  Dorothy's words here ring true to my own experience as encountered recently through my stay on two farms. 

While reading one day at the picnic table outside, close to the outdoor kitchen where Karan was preparing lunch, I asked my host who was mindfully maneuvering between tasks, "So, would you say you live in voluntary poverty?"  I asked this question because Karan and her family live without many of the things typically found in a modern household.  Also, being familiar with the Catholic Worker and therefore likely the term's general definition, choosing to live with less in order to gain some moral or spiritual benefits, I thought she might understand my language.

She paused, and responded, "Actually, I feel like we are really wealthy so I probably would not use that term."  

Her comment struck me because it was true.  This family was so wealthy though they barely could pay the few bills they owed each month.  Their wealth was displayed in the everyday beauty of their lives: meaningful work; a deep connection to nature; time for family and friends; time for shared meals and daily prayer; time for music and worship; a creek to wash off in; good food; no commute; rest on the Sabbath: so many good things!  How much do people pay for these things today?  Money, and more money, can help bring these things about, perhaps, but money too can prevent their acquisition.  Many are, as Wendell Berry once wrote, "helplessly well employed" (emphasis added).  The seemingly good benefits of career and other pursuits, which attempt to bring us the good things of life, may actually take them further away.  The broad road our culture presents, like that of "progress," may actually lead to destruction.  Thus, Karan and her family, in choosing to limit their technology use and do subsistence farming, are attempting to get to the roots of things, ignoring the lies of our culture so to obtain the good things of heaven and earth, and their success is demonstrated in the beauty of their lives.  

My understanding of wealth has been put into question and now I am understanding more the old adage, "the best things in life are free."  Yes, what is wealth when it cannot buy the good things in life, what is poverty when it can provide all we truly desire? 

For the record, I still find the language of "voluntary poverty" helpful because it articulates a way of life based on the everyday understanding of "poverty," namely that not owning many things is disadvantaged.  Saying, then, that one lives in voluntary poverty communicates a choice to live without some of life's goods in order to gain some other benefits.  So, I continue using the term, though now I'll have Karan's comment in my head whenever I use it.  

Oh poverty, you continue to elude us.