Here we are again. Another Lent. Another wilderness wandering. Another start to reflecting on the world via my very sporadic writings. It seems Lent has been the time I feel most compelled to write. Perhaps because of the introspective nature of the season. Maybe it’s just the experience of taking the United Methodist Photo-A-Day challenge and turning it into a post. All I know is here we are again and here I go again.
Day 6: Dazzling
I have never been truly hungry. Never starving or famished as scripture describes Jesus being after spending forty days in the wilderness. (cf. Matthew 4:1-11; Luke 4:1-13) Similarly, I have never been desperately thirsty. Not parched to the point of being seriously in danger.
Lent has me thinking about such experiences. How far do your limits have to be stretched before a dirty puddle appears as a dazzling oasis? At what point do table scraps become worth debasing oneself for? Matthew 15: 21-28; Mark 7:24-30; Luke 16:19-21) It may be true that “all that glitters is not gold,” but simple and basic pleasures may seem to shine if one is denied them long enough.
Perhaps this is the benefit of fasting for people like me who do not know profound want. Through intentional self-denial I may again begin to see the beauty, wonder, and joy in the mundane and ordinary. Absence may indeed help my heart grow fonder, as I, having perhaps taken my daily bread for granted, suddenly find how precious life is when I am gifted it once again.
I pass over this small stream frequently while walking my dog. I usually note changes in the water’s level after a storm or when the park crew cuts back the overgrowth, but I do not believe I have ever found the water “dazzling.” And that’s a missed opportunity.
The truth is the water, with winter’s leafy carcasses settled along the bottom, is easy to dismiss when I am not desperate for a drop of water. I do not need to notice its stillness or the small lives that finds their homes here. I do not think to stoop and scoop up a handful to quench a thirst, because I do not recognize any thirst.
Dazzling? It only would become so were I confronted by a great need. Or, if I purposely paid attention. If I went out of my way to feel my thirst. Then, this water would even become something else. As would birdsong, warm sunshine, a favorite chair, an early evening walk with my wife and our rambunctious dog. As would every day and every breath and every thing. Dazzling. Miraculous. Incredible. The world is full of the Glory of God I have read (Isaiah 6:3). Perhaps this Lent, I begin to experience the reality of that truth.
I am hungry and thirsty. Maybe not for food and water, but for a life with God; a dazzling life available to me if I but choose to live it.
Life is better together,
Shawn
Big Rubber Band Ball 