Readings:
Genesis 9: 8-17;
Psalm 25: 1-9;
1 Peter 3: 18-end;
Mark 1: 9-15

Collect:
Heavenly Father,
your Son battled with the powers of darkness
and grew closer to you in the desert:
Help us to use these days to grow in wisdom and prayer
that we may witness to your saving love.
In Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

Reflection 

I find it interesting that the gospel of Mark deals with the beginning of Jesus’ ministry in an almost perfunctory way. In the space of 6 verses we have an account of his baptism, his 40 days in the wilderness and then his return after John’s arrest to begin proclaiming the kingdom, and recruiting the disciples. 6 weeks’ plus of profound moments, compressed into a few words. None of the rich detail that we find in Luke for example. Just a stark, brief, factual account.  

And yet, encapsulated in these sparse verses, lies possibly the entire shape of the Christian life; the journey each follower of Jesus would tread, including ourselves. 

For most of us there comes a time of initiation – but not necessarily our baptism, especially if this was a rite of our infancy. Rather, there comes a time in our lives when we realise we belong to God, we turn our gaze to the heavens (metaphorically speaking) and understand ourselves as a child of God. Maybe this is a one-off occasion, or perhaps more usually it is a gradual dawning of awareness – but it serves to reshape our life in a profound way. It is that moment or process of ‘metanoia’ or turning, that sets our feet on a different path.

It may be many years into that renewed journey, or it may be shortly afterwards, but inevitably we will face a time (or times) of great testing. Our faith will be rocked, solid ground whipped out from beneath us, we may feel defenceless against the onslaught, or we may find ourselves slinking into the shadows to indulge our selfish desires, almost in spite of ourselves. Bereavement, faithlessness, divorce, illness, betrayal, anger: whatever rubble lies strewn about in our particular desert, it will bruise our heel and we will strike our foot against it. Our spirit bleeding, our heart torn, our mind anguished, this is indeed the time of trial. We may emerge stronger, determined, clearer of mind and spirit – or not. 

For those who come through the storms, there is always a task to be fulfilled. We are not called merely for our own edification, or to breed another little minion to stroke God’s eternal ego. Just as Jesus had his task, so we have the task of following on from him. Jesus called his disciples for the same thing – not just to trek about Galilee, but to be trained and prepared to carry on the work of the kingdom. Our experience of turning to the Way, to God, and our travelling through the storm, are the first steps toward the carrying out of our task for God – finding our unique way to proclaim the Good News of the Christ. 

Initiation, testing, calling. Whereabouts on the journey are you? Perhaps these are questions for you to ponder as we journey through Lent.

Have you truly responded yet to that heavenly call, the voice from heaven calling you Beloved, Jesus calling you to follow? How has it changed you, shaped you? Can you see the difference? Can others?

Are you in the middle of the storm or the wilderness? How are you doing? Do you need help, support, encouragement? Are you just emerging – and how bruised are you? 

And if you have been through that – to what is God calling you now? What have you learned and how can you use it in God’s service? Or are you covering your ears, hoping to avoid the call, preferring just to meet your own spiritual needs? What would help you to respond, to work out your direction now? What are you afraid of?

Wherever you are on the journey, perhaps these words of Thomas Merton can give you some comfort and courage: 

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

“The Merton Prayer” from Thoughts in Solitude Copyright © 1956, 1958 by The Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani.

Sharon Grenham-Thompson