I
love the Desert from a distance. I love to imagine the Desert, imagine trudging across it, and the sweat in my hair, and a steely cast to my eye as I sustain its lashes. The Desert is Romantic, in my mind. In the Desert, prayer comes easily.
I suspect that divine fantasies are among the more dangerous spiritual temptations that exist. A good fantasy, especially early on in one's spiritual life, can enliven the struggle, give one goals to work toward. But eventually, if not tempered, they turn poisonous. They convince us that our regular lives must not be spiritual, because we don't have "that saintly feeling". They lead us to think in superficial terms -- "if only I were living in a cave with only a stream to drink from; then I could really pray!" And they fool us into thinking that to live spiritually is unattainable. The fantasy will never come true.
The fact is, the Desert is a metaphor, not a stage. The Desert just is where things are dry and difficult, internally. It is, paradoxically, there that the seeds the Lord casts into our souls take root and blossom.
It's the first day of Lent. I want to take it seriously this year, and enter in with a true downcast, humble spirit. I hope that it feels difficult and depressing. I hope that, in my own personal desert, I might turn to the Lord every now and then, to ask for relief, instead of my normal pastimes and pleasures. We can enter into the Desert anytime we like. God whispers where the silence is.