Into the desert of repentance

One of the joys of good liturgy, for me, is the ability of the ever-changing words to draw us more deeply into a particular feast day or season. It delights me that someone (or a group of people) has, with prayer and study, crafted these particular words for a specific day or time. So it is that the words of the Eucharistic preface (the bit that comes after the "Lift up your hearts, etc..." and before the "Holy, holy, holy") have resonated with me during these past weeks of our Lenten journey. Somehow, these particular words encapsulate so perfectly the mood for the season, calling us back to God and our very selves, giving us renewed direction as we enter into the "desert of repentance".

Desert approaching St Antony's Mountain, Egypt © Catherine Lomas 2009

It is indeed right and good to give you thanks and praise, almighty God and everlasting Father, through Jesus Christ your Son. For in these forty days you lead us into the desert of repentance that through a pilgrimage of prayer and discipline we may grow in grace and learn to be your people once again. Through fasting, prayer and acts of service you bring us back to your generous heart. Through study of your holy word you open our eyes to your presence in the world and free our hands to welcome others into the radiant splendour of your love. As we prepare to celebrate the Easter feast with joyful hearts and minds we bless you for your mercy and join with saints and angels for ever praising you ...

The call to the desert was one that shaped the life of St Antony back in the third century, as he left the city, its complex demands and its riches, to enter into a life of simplicity and prayer; he inspired generations of others to follow his example and became known as the "Father of monasticism" as a result. As the liturgy calls us into the desert of repentance, there is the tendency to see the desert as a place of escape, of stillness, a place to seek that spiritual peace that would enable us to hear God's voice more clearly. Yet we know from Scripture, and the readings set for the very beginning of Lent, that the desert wilderness was where Christ was not left alone and faced repeated temptation. Similarly, St Antony would be the first to tell you that the desert is far from still; it is a battleground. It was in the desert that St Antony faced his greatest demons, beset by troublesome thoughts and temptations that disrupted continually his focus on prayer and his relationship with God's very self. The Sayings of the Desert Fathers recount how, in this situation, St Antony asked God what he was to do. The reply came in a vision of a man who repeatedly got up to pray, then returned to his work, got up to pray, and returned to work. St Antony followed this example and, we are told, was "filled with joy and courage".

The desert experience is one that can speak to our own spiritual life in numerous ways. The peculiarity of journeying in the desert is that there appears to be no right path, no right direction or answer, no visible milestones to reach the destination. There can be a sense of loneliness, an extreme disconnect, perhaps a feeling that God has abandoned us. The demanding and seemingly-endless nature of the landscape can be exhausting, draining us of energy or motivation to keep moving forward. I can relate to each of these metaphors as I have found the past few weeks particularly difficult. Tasks that ordinarily I find can be simply achieved, or which bring me joy, have tired me; I have found myself making more mistakes than I am used to; and the sense of calling by God has felt more distant. It has been into this reality that the liturgy has called me over and over, calling all of us into the "desert of repentance".

This is not just any desert. It is the desert of repentance. We sometimes think of repentance as the rather formal seeking of forgiveness for our sins. Yet I have always preferred to view sin and repentance rather more conceptually than directed simply at the list of things we might think we get wrong. Sin can be understood more generally as everything that causes our path to steer us away from God and the Divine will for us. In light of the current season, if we follow too far along that path, we might very well end up in the desert of repentance. This is the desert where we suddenly stop, take stock of where we have ended up, realise how lost we are, perhaps how distant God seems, and accept that our attempts at self-sufficiency are not as trustworthy as we might imagine; they have led us into hostile territory. On this path, in this particular desert place, repentance is simply the decision to turn back round, to acknowledge afresh that we really should seek God's direction, and allow the Holy Spirit to re-orient us. I can think of no better description of our Lenten journey. We stop; we acknowledge how far from God we have travelled; and we invite God to direct us anew. In C.S. Lewis' Narnia Chronicles, Prince Caspian tells the story of the children on a perilous journey. At one point, Susan resists finding Aslan notwithstanding that he was there to be seen. Aslan speaks to her:

“You have listened to fears, child...Come, let me breathe on you. Forget them. Are you brave again?”

Experience tells me that we don't often just feel brave again, in an instant, though there is every possibility that we might by God's grace; we don't suddenly find ourselves leading a sinless life and filled with the joy of God's Spirit in every moment. So if you are feeling the weight of this desert experience, if you are wondering where you are meant to be heading, or perhaps that God feels distant, what are we to do in the meantime, to journey beyond ourselves and out of this desert place? I choose to listen to the simple wisdom of St Antony: I get up, say my prayers, then return to my work; and I get up, say my prayers, then return to my work, and I trust that God will do the rest.

News

A couple of weeks ago, I was able to deliver my latest icon commission to its new owner. There is always a moment of trepidation when handing over an icon, especially in this case, where the client had loved another of my icons so wanted one "the same". The voice of doubt starts wondering whether the new version will live up to its predecessor, though I'm pleased to say that - yet again - the voice talks nonsense and all was well! (And yes, yet again, I have just finished another commission, to be delivered in Holy Week... watch this space).

The course in Complex Geometry with Lisa de Long of the King's School of Traditional Arts will be finishing next week; I hope to have an opportunity to put the principles that I have learned to work in a new art piece. However, that will have to wait as I have quite a few icons to complete before I can give myself permission to start that. Preparations are now well under way for my heading to Iona in June to help lead the St Columba week retreat at Iona Abbey. And, well, it wouldn't be right to head off on my travels without an icon (or two) of St Columba to take with me?! I have been gilding the first of these today and am hoping that at least this one will be ready to share with you in time for next month's post.

Before that, I shall be speaking to members of Gloucestershire Lettering Arts at their AGM next weekend, sharing my experience of creating icons. Many of the members are known to me already through my calligraphy practice (I am also a member) so I'm hoping they will be a friendly crowd! And then, of course, we enter into Holy Week, throughout which I shall have priestly duties of a more traditional kind.

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