The Lenten Journey
Rev. Dr. Joy Harrell Blaylock

The Lenten journey has not always been one that I have embraced readily. So, this year, my first Lent as a pastor, I am trying to focus on this time as one of gift and journey. I have been reading Sarah Parson’s A Clearing Season and have been inspired by her words and thoughts about the ways in which this season can provide us with an opportunity for clearing and new growth.

In addition to the somber tones and appropriate lamenting of this season, we begin Lent by going alone to a wild place—in ourselves and in our lives. If we are fiercely honest with ourselves as we begin this journey toward greater openness, we probably see some things we would rather not see and feel things we would rather not
feel.

We also discover what we find in the wilderness: we sit, as Jesus did, in an uncomfortable, chaotic place. Instead of running from the wilderness, we are asked to stay here as long as necessary, long enough to experience it fully. This wild and chaotic place is hard for all of us, a place unique to each soul.
Finding wilderness places is not difficult when we have the courage to look. The wilderness, if we go there, will serve its purpose: it will cleanse, teach, try, and still us. The beauty of going into the wilderness is that you do not have to find your way there. Neither do you have to pretend that you want to go. All you have to do is open yourself to the possibility that some chaos, some wild energy, lives within you, and God will show you how to find it.

It is in the wild and vulnerable places of our hearts, rent asunder and broken for God, that we can cultivate places of new growth. Out of the wilderness, God longs to do a new thing in us; God’s creativity springs forth through us, giving life and sustenance in a dry land. We are reminded that creativity is more than what artists do—each of us harbors a unique way of listening, seeing, paying attention, and expressing what we hear, see, and notice to those around us. God may call us to open ourselves to our own inner worlds of insights, wisdom, and knowledge.

As a pastor, I wrestle with this time of listening, waiting, watching, and hoping. I see spring dawning into full glory all around me and I long to see in those I love an increased creativity blossoming, a strengthened capacity to love emerging, and a greater openness to surprise being yielded. As reluctant as we Lutherans are about talking about our spiritual lives, this is precisely where our Lenten journey takes us: to the Cross and to the barest essence of who we are and what we are called to be.

As I see it, spiritual growth often means learning to expect a surprise of any kind. I don’t know about you, but I have never been especially fond of surprises. The hard part of this growth process comes in accepting that we are not in control. During our Lenten journey, as we clear space and watch for new growth, new growth can blossom in ways that we do not plan or even believe can happen. Because our growth is from God, we must be ready to embrace this new growth in faith and with the courage in knowing that whatever gifts of new growth we are given they are given by a God who loves us and desires our well being and growth.

As we journey closer to the Cross this Lenten season, we do well to remember Brennan Manning’s injunction about spiritual steadfastness: "Hope knows that if great trials are avoided great deeds remain undone and the possibility of growth into greatness of soul is aborted." We stand here in the open space, holy ground, and we know that suffering may lie ahead. It takes courage and faith in God’s purpose to continue our work, to devotes ourselves honestly to God’s guidance, and to remember the promise: we will find our lives by first losing them.

We are called to endure Lent’s process of subtraction because it opens us wider; the process of subtraction brings us closer to God and God’s kingdom reality. We are called to lose ourselves in trusting beyond all reason, beyond our senses, that God is working powerfully in and through us, even when the shadow of the Cross shrouds our present vision in darkness.

Every day of Lent invites us to clear things away and to make room for God in our hearts. God can and will fill the empty spaces with unimagined abundance. As noted theologian Paul Tillich confirmed, our very being grows out of God; we do nothing apart from God and our best work will never be ours alone. I take great comfort in this reality as I fling myself forward each day. It is the way of trust and hope, a way made holy during this Lenten journey.

I like the way Brennan Manning describes this journey as the ‘way of trust’ and I encourage all of us to hold on to its promise during Lent: the way of trust is a movement into obscurity, into the undefined, into ambiguity, not into some predetermined, clearly delineated plan for the future. The next step discloses itself only out of a discernment of God acting in the desert of the present moment. The reality of naked trust is the life of the pilgrim who leaves what is nailed down, obvious, and secure, and walks into the unknown without any rational explanation to justify the decision or guarantee the future. Why? Because God has signaled the movement and offered it his presence and his promise.