Anyone who knows much about the early Christian centuries would recognize immediately that the title for this inspirational reflection is much too general. The desert tradition, usually capitalized, refers to a specific group of men and women in the third to the fifth centuries of the Christian era. This group of believers saw threats to their Christian way of living in the emerging culture of the Roman Empire---an Empire that would embrace Christianity in the fourth century. They were fully aware of the irony of the imperial powers taking on the faith that their predecessors once persecuted.
The Desert Tradition birthed the monastic movement as we know it in Christian circles. The term, monachos, in Greek simply means “solitary one.” Originally, these early monks withdrew from their society. They left the cities and villages and withdrew to the desert. In many ways they imitated their Lord Jesus in his time in the wilderness. They were ready for the spiritual combat, too.
Ultimately, they left a group of writings. These often are in the form of short, pithy sayings. They are a distillation of the wisdom these folks gleaned from living a spiritual life away from the polluting culture of their day. I certainly never heard of these folks when I was growing up as a Quaker. But when I first met them in college and then explored them more deeply in my study of Christian history, I was attracted to their spiritual wisdom. Indeed, they make an impact on almost all historians of Christianity.
One of my favorite contemporary writers on spirituality is the Episcopalian, Alan Jones. I first came to know him in the early 1980s when I was exploring how to develop a spirituality program in the college and seminary where I was teaching. He was very helpful. And of course, his many books were my constant friends when I was not able to write or call him. One of his books that had a significant impact on my life was called Soul Making. The subtitle tells us even more: The Desert Way of Spirituality. It was first published in 1985 and I still turn to it.
Recently, I had occasion to go back to it for a class I am teaching. The focus was on silence. Silence was an important feature in the Desert Tradition. The fathers and mothers of the desert knew they had to be somewhere in order to be silent. They needed to be silent in order to hear what God might say to them. This sounds like a contemporary problem. We live in a very noisy world. Technology has increased the noisy clutter of our worlds. We can know be entertained twenty-four hours a day. We have range of channels and breadth of social media that numbs the mind of anyone my age. The way it was is irrelevant. The way it is counts.
And the way it is makes it harder to be spiritual. That is why I want to return to the desert when I can. And if I cannot literally go to the desert---or go on retreat---I turn to the writers of the Desert Tradition. Today they come to me via Alan Jones. One of his chapters is entitled, “Death in the Desert.” To most people this does not sound inviting. But occasionally I know this is exactly what I need. There I am able to read, “Silence is important to all the great religions.” As a Quaker, I am used to silence. I value it. And I know when I am missing it and need it. I know I need silence when I have gorged on the noise of my world. I need a fast of sorts. I need to be emptied.
I like the way Jones explores it. He tells us, “According to the desert tradition, this empty space is actually indescribably full.” Once again, we meet paradox. We empty in order to be filled. This describes much of the spiritual process. Jones talks about the emptying process as detachment. He notes, “The process of detachment from this ‘agitated periphery’ (with which we identify our whole being) can be extremely painful. It is a kind of dying…” Ultimately, the desert folks knew growth often included a dying phase. Ultimately, it is good news. In the moment it does not sound like fun!
I like the way Jones describes what dying asks from us. He says dying “means giving up the manipulative concepts we have about ourselves and (worse, if you are a believer) our ‘God.’” We go into the desert---go silent---in order to be freed from our false selves and our false gods. No wonder so often I and many others prefer the confines of our normal lives in our normal worlds. It both makes sense---and can be senseless.
We need to be quiet to hear a Voice. We often need to be alone to sense a Real Presence. We need to die in order to live more fully and meaningfully. As Jones observes, “It is out of this deadening silence, that we are reborn.” This may be one of those “born again” moments like we hear about with a revival. But it can be a quiet dying of a false self in the silence of some desert time. This is how it is for me.
And I also have learned, to be reborn is not a one-time event. When I live in the kind of culture I do, I need repeated trips back to the desert---into the Desert Tradition---to be reminded and reborn.
The Desert Tradition birthed the monastic movement as we know it in Christian circles. The term, monachos, in Greek simply means “solitary one.” Originally, these early monks withdrew from their society. They left the cities and villages and withdrew to the desert. In many ways they imitated their Lord Jesus in his time in the wilderness. They were ready for the spiritual combat, too.
Ultimately, they left a group of writings. These often are in the form of short, pithy sayings. They are a distillation of the wisdom these folks gleaned from living a spiritual life away from the polluting culture of their day. I certainly never heard of these folks when I was growing up as a Quaker. But when I first met them in college and then explored them more deeply in my study of Christian history, I was attracted to their spiritual wisdom. Indeed, they make an impact on almost all historians of Christianity.
One of my favorite contemporary writers on spirituality is the Episcopalian, Alan Jones. I first came to know him in the early 1980s when I was exploring how to develop a spirituality program in the college and seminary where I was teaching. He was very helpful. And of course, his many books were my constant friends when I was not able to write or call him. One of his books that had a significant impact on my life was called Soul Making. The subtitle tells us even more: The Desert Way of Spirituality. It was first published in 1985 and I still turn to it.
Recently, I had occasion to go back to it for a class I am teaching. The focus was on silence. Silence was an important feature in the Desert Tradition. The fathers and mothers of the desert knew they had to be somewhere in order to be silent. They needed to be silent in order to hear what God might say to them. This sounds like a contemporary problem. We live in a very noisy world. Technology has increased the noisy clutter of our worlds. We can know be entertained twenty-four hours a day. We have range of channels and breadth of social media that numbs the mind of anyone my age. The way it was is irrelevant. The way it is counts.
And the way it is makes it harder to be spiritual. That is why I want to return to the desert when I can. And if I cannot literally go to the desert---or go on retreat---I turn to the writers of the Desert Tradition. Today they come to me via Alan Jones. One of his chapters is entitled, “Death in the Desert.” To most people this does not sound inviting. But occasionally I know this is exactly what I need. There I am able to read, “Silence is important to all the great religions.” As a Quaker, I am used to silence. I value it. And I know when I am missing it and need it. I know I need silence when I have gorged on the noise of my world. I need a fast of sorts. I need to be emptied.
I like the way Jones explores it. He tells us, “According to the desert tradition, this empty space is actually indescribably full.” Once again, we meet paradox. We empty in order to be filled. This describes much of the spiritual process. Jones talks about the emptying process as detachment. He notes, “The process of detachment from this ‘agitated periphery’ (with which we identify our whole being) can be extremely painful. It is a kind of dying…” Ultimately, the desert folks knew growth often included a dying phase. Ultimately, it is good news. In the moment it does not sound like fun!
I like the way Jones describes what dying asks from us. He says dying “means giving up the manipulative concepts we have about ourselves and (worse, if you are a believer) our ‘God.’” We go into the desert---go silent---in order to be freed from our false selves and our false gods. No wonder so often I and many others prefer the confines of our normal lives in our normal worlds. It both makes sense---and can be senseless.
We need to be quiet to hear a Voice. We often need to be alone to sense a Real Presence. We need to die in order to live more fully and meaningfully. As Jones observes, “It is out of this deadening silence, that we are reborn.” This may be one of those “born again” moments like we hear about with a revival. But it can be a quiet dying of a false self in the silence of some desert time. This is how it is for me.
And I also have learned, to be reborn is not a one-time event. When I live in the kind of culture I do, I need repeated trips back to the desert---into the Desert Tradition---to be reminded and reborn.
Comments
Post a Comment