I will find you

Trish Worsnip

Landscape Arch, in the Devil’s Garden Section of Arches National Park, is believed to be the longest stone arch in the world

Public domain photograph by David Hiser, The U.S. National Archives

The Call of the Wild, Robert William Service

Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,
Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it,
Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God's sake go and do it;
Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.
 

Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush desolation,
The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?
Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation,
And learned to know the desert's little ways?
Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o'er the ranges,
Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?
Have you chummed up with the mesa? Do you know its moods and changes?
Then listen to the Wild -- it's calling you.

Have you known the Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver?
(Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies.)
Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river,
Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?
Have you marked the map's void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races,
Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?
And though grim as hell the worst is, can you round it off with curses?
Then hearken to the Wild -- it's wanting you.

Have you suffered, starved and triumphed, groveled down, yet grasped at glory,
Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?
"Done things" just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,
Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?
Have you seen God in His splendors, heard the text that nature renders?
(You'll never hear it in the family pew.)
The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things --
Then listen to the Wild -- it's calling you.

They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their preaching,
They have soaked you in convention through and through;
They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching --
But can't you hear the Wild? -- it's calling you.
Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,
And the Wild is calling, calling . . . let us go.

 This poem would usually inspire me into the wilderness of Lent. But this year it reminds me of Ian McCullen’s words:

Have we forgotten
that wilderness is not a place,
but a season
and that we are in its
final hour? 

In this pandemic era the approach of Lent looks dismal: ashes, 40 days of the freezing cold and burning hot wilderness, discipline, fasting, penitence, hair shirts, deprivation, giving up, taking on, preparation through repentance. Then the heaviness of Holy Week.

But instruction and experience know that the real joy of Easter follows a Holy Lent. So (how) can we do it? Shall we just let forty days pass (and honour Sundays as exception) and look up towards Easter with hope? “Lent light”?   

Encouraging ourselves and others to keep a holy Lent is particularly counter-cultural this year. We read top tips to take care of health. There is an explosion of mental illness in every age group. Eating disorders have multiplied 5 times since this time a year ago. No CPN would ever suggest making difficult times worse, certainly not beating up oneself, dwelling on guilt and shame, going into dark places.  

 So what should we set ourselves and others to do? Fasting where there are homes where mothers don’t eat so their children can eat? Restrict treats which bring small comfort? Avoid social media when that’s the only way to break isolation? Live quietly in solitude when isolation is dangerous or it’s impossible when you live in two rooms with three children home day and night? Taking on more unpaid work to support others when what we already do is no longer possible to risk others as well as ourselves and families?  Giving extra to charities when facing employment and fears of our old age? 

 But is there something we can learn this year?

 Furthermore we wonder whether the deprivations imposed on us are not the same as the self-discipline we have drawn strength from in previous years. Is the point to have chosen to go into the wilderness, like the desert mothers and fathers?  We haven’t chosen our present situation.   In “our” wilderness we lack control, we feel ignorant and feel useless with uncertainty.

 But is there something we can learn this year?

 What were we trying to do in previous years that might guide us now? 

• Mark a special period of time with healthy rules (as St Benedict)

• Share what we have with others

• Forgive - self and others

• Embrace who we are - and resist pride over others

• Be kind - to self and others

• Seek what we have lost in nature

• Learn about ourselves, others and God.

These tips point to physical, emotional, mental and spiritual health. 

Is this “Lent light” good enough? At least a start. Each of us has to decide for themselves. 

How to practise this during Lent? Determination? Steel our will? 

 How about through attention, described by Simone Weil?

“The attention over the will is the ultimate tool of self-transformation. 
We have to cure our faults by attention and not by will.
Attention, taking to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer. 
It presupposes faith and love. Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.”  (Gravity and Grace)

 And what God might say to us in the wilderness this year?

When I was a kid my father would say…

“…if you get lost, don’t look for me.
Stay there. Stay there and I will find you.”