Driving Through the Desert

February 20, 2023 | Amelia Dilworth (BR ‘23)

image description: Mojave desert landscape

Last year I took a class trip to Las Vegas, and we spent a day in the Mojave Desert. We left behind the casinos and hotels and clubs, the city glittering like a pile of coins in the rearview mirror. I drove through the empty stretches of open highway, surrounded by solar panels—because the only thing you could harvest here is the sunlight. I could drive as fast as I wanted—this wasn’t the Garden State, there were no police here to enforce speed limits—but then I slowed down, remembering that there were no ambulances, either. 

We took black Ford Escapes offroad until they turned gray from churning up clouds of sand, and then we walked through a desert so dry that silence had a sound. 

That night, as we finally drove back to the city, I realized that I never wanted any of the glitter that this city had to offer. The silence had been enough for me. Las Vegas could meet every desire a human being could ever have—but after a day on the road and in the sun, all I wanted was cold water. 

I think Lent is like this. Representing the forty days Jesus spent in the desert fasting, praying, and overcoming temptation in the desert, Lent is not a season of self-deprivation or self-punishment. Rather, Lent is a time when we follow Jesus into the desert because nothing in the city can quench our thirst for God. Lent strips us of the white noise of our desires for comfort and pleasure, creates a desert where we remember that we desire God as much as we desire meat or chocolate or Instagram. 

In scripture, the Israelites spent forty years wandering in the desert, constantly complaining and repeatedly forgetting the God who brought them out of slavery and is leading them to the promised land. Psalm 78:17-18 says that the people “sinned still more against him, rebelling against the Most High in the desert. They tested God in their heart by demanding the food they craved.” The Israelites make idols and continually disobey the God who is leading them to freedom.  

Yet God still led them to safety, “guided them in the wilderness like a flock.”(78:52). He sent manna and provided for them. During those forty years Moses sees the goodness of God, and his face shines from spending time with the Lord. In the desert, God proves that he will redeem, forgive, and restore his people. He says who he is: “a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.” (Exodus 34:6) 

Our culture understands the desert as both empty and precious, both desolate and abundant. Movies give us the stampede in Lion King and Rey’s windswept wanderings on Jakku in Star Wars—but also Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark and Dune. Think of the Cave of Wonders in Aladdin, the road trip and car chase in Thelma and Louise, or Louis Sachar’s novel Holes. The desert can be a place where unimaginable treasure lies buried in the sand and the mystical is within reach—or it can mean lawlessness and death. We know that there's temptation and hunger here, but also perfect freedom and satisfaction.

And Lent brings us into the desert, and reminds us that we don’t want the promised land without the promise giver. We don’t want water unless we have the Living Water. Lent is the way that we create physical reminders that we would be in a spiritual desert without God. We want God to satisfy our souls the same way that we want material things to satisfy our body. What if I wanted God as much as I wanted water?

So I hope that your Easter is full of fresh flowers, silky dresses, sunrises and dewy grass. I hope you are filled with the exhilaration of knowing Christ’s death and resurrection, and the ultimate satisfaction of belonging to a good and loving God.

But first, I hope you walk through the next forty days with sand in your shoes and a grumbling tummy. I wish you the defeated sigh as you unlock your phone but then remember you deleted social media. I wish you that pause in the dining hall as you stand in front of your favorite dessert, reminding yourself that you’re giving up sweets. I wish you cold showers and uncaffeinated mornings. I hope that Lent is uncomfortable. I hope that we find ourselves hungry, restless, because we’re craving something beyond what this world can offer us. 

Let’s drive through the desert until we desire Christ as much as water.

This piece is a part of a series for Lent 2023. Read more at https://www.yalelogos.com/lent2023