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.