Into the Wild

This post by Katie Trinter, a pastor and member of Tam Abbey:

Luke 4:1-13

I love the story of Jesus' 40 days in the wild. To me it is a powerful reminder that each Lent we are invited to go on our own journey into uncharted territory. The story begins with Jesus "full of the Holy Spirit," being led by the Spirit into the wilderness where he is tempted by the devil.  Today this story reminds me that our journey in God is often much different than we think it should be. The things we crave: control, power, safety, knowing what will come next-- these are often not the things we most need. Just as the Spirit led Jesus into this difficult, unsettling place, God invites us into a crazy adventure into the wild. A place of questioning,where the outcome isn't known. In one of my favorite poems, Mary Oliver writes, " All my life, I have been restless-- I have felt there is something more wonderful that gloss, than wholeness, than staying at home." This lenten journey is an opportunity to embrace our own restlessness as a spiritual practice, to let ourselves dwell in the wildness of our own questions, to step beyond what is comfortable, knowing that God is with us even, and perhaps especially, in the wilderness.

I'm sharing Mary Oliver's poem here as in invitation for all of us to go out in search of wild places and wild ideas; an urging for us to let go of what is glossy, perfect and known, so that we might meet God is a new way.

Whelks

Here are the perfect
fans of the scallops,
quahogs, and weedy mussels
still holding their orange fruit –
and here are the whelks –
whirlwinds,
each the size of a fist,
but always cracked and broken –
clearly they have been travelling
under the sky-blue waves
for a long time.
All my life
I have been restless –
I have felt there is something
more wonderful than gloss –
than wholeness –
than staying at home.
I have not been sure what it is.
But every morning on the wide shore
I pass what is perfect and shining
to look for the whelks, whose edges
have rubbed so long against the world
they have snapped and crumbled –
they have almost vanished,
with the last relinquishing
of their unrepeatable energy,
back into everything else.
When I find one
I hold it in my hand,
I look out over that shanking fire,
I shut my eyes. Not often,
but now and again there’s a moment
when the heart cries aloud:
yes, I am willing to be
that wild darkness,
that long, blue body of light.