What is it, deep inside of us, that resists the wilderness?
If you are anything like me, you might associate a wilderness experience with fear, loneliness, anxiety, and thirst. Sitting alone in the barrenness, we may wish for anything else—just get me out of here, God! And for good reason.
The wilderness can be a place of hostility.
In general, people die in the wilderness. If left alone, we will struggle to survive. Whether a physical or spiritual wilderness, it can be a brutal, life-shattering place to be.
The beautiful truth about the wilderness, however, is that many before us have found themselves in the same forsaken, forgotten place. Scripture is filled with stories of faithful saints who find themselves in the wilderness for some time, people like Hagar, Elijah, David, and even Jesus. We can take comfort in knowing that we are in good company.
The wilderness is a rich and profound motif throughout Scripture. We understand that it is a complex, nuanced place, both of suffering and sustenance, of punishment and provision, of danger and of protection, of forsakenness and of encountering God. Our experiences in the wilderness may be as wildly different as that description.
One truth to settle in on, however: God has us in this place, right now. He has brought us into this place. We can be assured that not for one moment was our wandering in the wilderness a random event or a surprise to him. In each wilderness account throughout Scripture, there is profound purpose and beauty as God cares for his own. And he will use it for our good and his glory as we journey through and seek to understand.
The wilderness can be a place of healing.
In seasons of wilderness, our brokenness is laid open; our vulnerability is profound. Like Elijah, who finds himself at the end of his rope in the wilderness, we may say to God, “We’ve had enough” (1 Kings 19). “All at once an angel touched him,” Scripture says. Here, in this barren place, Elijah has this incredible encounter with God. Because of the barrenness of the wilderness, we are likely to experience a deeper sense of his presence, a more profound gratitude for his provision, and a more desperate dependence upon him.
In the wilderness, we can find healing through grace in Jesus. The prophets highlight this—just as the Israelites escaped death and found grace in the wilderness, the exiled Israel will also.
“The people who survived the sword found grace in the wilderness; when Israel sought for rest, the LORD appeared to him from far away. I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.” (Jeremiah 31:2-3, ESV)
God’s everlasting love and covenantal faithfulness remain even when his people are in the most desolate of places. And this love and faithfulness heals our broken and vulnerable realities.
The wilderness can be a place of hope.
One of the first occasions where God’s gracious provision in the wilderness is illustrated is found in the story of Hagar in Genesis 16 and 21. In both episodes, Hagar has been rejected by Sarai and finds herself in desperate, life-threatening situations in the wilderness. God comes to her, affirms that he both sees and hears her (Genesis 16:11, 13), and later on, indicates that his grace extends to her and her cast-out son. Just when she feels she is at the end of her life, she encounters God, who provides for her and gives her hope for her future and her son.
David, when pursued by his enemies, retreated to the wilderness (1 Samuel 23:14), and there trusted the Lord for refuge and strength:
For you have been my help,
And in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy.
My soul clings to you;
Your right hand upholds me. (Psalm 63:7–8, ESV)
In that very desperate of places, David’s hope in God, his refuge, has been restored. And he is able to sing for joy.
If this is you today—struggling alone in the wilderness—I pray you know you are not alone. God is with you in the barren places of your life.
I pray that through God’s provision and our dependence upon him, he will heal you and those broken pieces of your life. It may not be fully in this life, but someday soon, all will be mended. And that will be glorious.
And I pray that through Christ’s goodness and grace, your hope is renewed—that you can see the sunrise on the horizon, in the distance maybe, but that the warmth of that coming sun will flood your soul. And that you, too, can sing again for joy.
