Wilderness

February 17, 2020

It’s my favorite Scripture text, although I must admit that I don’t always like the implications it carries. It’s from Luke’s gospel, chapter three, verses 1 and 2.

“Now in the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pilate being governor of Judea, Herod being tetrarch of Galilee, his brother Philip tetrarch of Iturea and the region of Trachonitis, and Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene, while Annas and Caiaphas were high priests, the word of God came to John the son of Zacharias in the wilderness.” —Luke 3:1-2 NKJV

It’s a classic instance of God turning things upside down. Instead of the houses of political or religious power, God chooses the unlikely people and places to reveal his purposes. In the first two chapters of Luke, it’s to a virgin peasant girl, to shepherds on the hills outside a small village in a remote Roman province, and now we have this litany of the rich and famous who are once more overlooked as the Word of God comes to John in the wilderness.

We are more enamored with power and prestige than we often realize. Jesus taught us to eschew titles and honors, yet in my denomination, when someone has earned a doctor of ministry degree, it is unthinkable for him or her to be introduced merely as “reverend” or “pastor.” Oh, no—it has to be “the Reverend Doctor....” 

I once wondered before the Lord what I might have accomplished had I been sent to someplace other than a little backwater village. God quickly put me in my place, telling me that he did the best he could with what he had to work with. The part of this text that appeals to me is what also gets under my skin. I like that God pays so little attention to the things we deem so significant. Big buildings, big budgets, big programs are ok, but are not necessarily indicative of God’s blessing. When by comparison you’re in a small setting, there is great comfort in this. 

On the other hand, most of us don’t relish the thought of spending much time in a wilderness. We scorn the simplicity, the sparseness, the barrenness of such places, particularly when it’s a barrenness of soul or of results. We want our faithfulness to count for something, to be recognized and honored. When given the opportunity, we get out of the desert as quickly as we can, even when that is where we hear from God.

I’ve spent my share of time in the desert, but I can’t claim to have suffered as have so many of God’s saints. Perhaps if I didn’t resist it so much, I would hear more clearly from God. One thing for sure: longing for better watered gardens probably won’t serve me any better than they did Lot. Desert trees may not grow as tall as those in a rain forest, but they have a resiliency that can weather droughts, sandstorms, and the blazing heat of the sun. Their roots go down deep, or they die. I’ve learned to keep sending the roots deeper. The wilderness may be hot and dry, but it’s not a bad place to be if you want to hear from God.