The Solace of Fierce Landscapes

This morning, our group of pilgrims left East Jerusalem at 5:30 am to head out into the Judean Desert, to the Wadi Qelt. There we watched the sun come up, and we celebrated Holy Eucharist together.

Years ago I read a book by Belden Lane, entitled The Solace of Fierce Landscapes: Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality. It's an extraordinary book that I commend to you. Being in the still, cool morning air of the desert as the sun rose brought that book immediately to my mind again. There is a sense of peace and solace that does indeed come from the stark beauty of such a place. Lane writes:
"There is an unaccountable solace that fierce landscapes offer to the soul. They heal, as well as mirror, the brokenness we find within."

I was in this very same place three years ago, almost to this very day, with the Fellowship of St. John the Evangelist, when I was asked to preside at the Eucharist. Today, a retired priest of our diocese, Annie Ryder, presided. She reminded us in her sermon of Elijah, who had his own encounter with fierce landscapes. (See I Kings 19:11-13.) He did not find God in the wind, nor in the earthquake that followed, nor in the fire that came after that. Rather, the Lord was in the "still, small voice" that followed all of the drama. We didn't have the wind or earthquake or fire today - but many of us did experience that still, small voice and a sense of  awe and wonder in this quiet and beautiful place. It is indeed a stark and even fierce landscape, and yet it also brings the solace that Lane speaks of so eloquently in his book.

In this land, especially, one becomes aware of the trauma that has been experienced on all sides of the conflict here. Being afraid takes its toll on all of the Children of Abraham; none are spared.  Being afraid reveals our brokenness. That brokenness can either be healed - so that we learn to put our trust in God - or it can be misdirected both inwardly and outwardly. Only when we are healed, however, can we possibly become instruments of God's peace, and a part of the work of God that brings peace on earth and good will to all. 

The Trappist monk, Charles Cummings, once said that "the desert is the weaning process in which the child comes to love the mother more than the milk." That line resonates with me and with the experiences I got to share today with my fellow diocesan pilgrims in the Wadi Qelt.