“And he was in the wilderness forty days, tested by the Satan. And he was with the wild animals, waited on by Divine Messengers” (Mark 1.13).
Growing up in the suburbs, my outside was made up of mown yards and sidewalks and driveways. My friends either lived on the same street or in similar neighborhoods—ones that backed up to other yards and houses. So, I didn’t spend a lot of times in the wilder places of the world. Honestly, they were kind of scary.
Jesus’ journey into the wilderness is portrayed usually as a desert sojourn with nothing but sand, rocks, and hills around him. For me wilderness means tall grass with seeds that get stuck in your socks, canopies of trees so thick they hold in the humidity and out the sunlight, and lots and lots of bugs that live on biting.
Once in awhile, as a kid, we’d be at someone’s house out in the more rural parts of town. I was, as you might imagine, a little trepidatious in such strange surroundings, enough to be labeled a ‘fraidy cat by whatever cousin I was with. Alas, I wasn’t astute enough to make the observation back then that fear was exactly what the wilderness, of any kind, represents.
The tests Jesus encounters all boil down to fear: the fear of going hungry, of having “enough”, and of being noticed. They’re the basest of base fears that we as humans feel. All the things we do that we would call sin boil down to us trying, in some way or another, to assuage these fears.
My wife grew up just the opposite of me. Her road and driveway were gravel, her “yard” was full of trees and a garden and a deep ravine where she crossed paths with thorns and fallen limbs and poison ivy. Oh, and animals like chickens and goats. In other words, she’s no stranger to the wilderness.
Now, she’s not immune to fear, but she’s far more comfortable than I am with some of those base fears. She’s far less afraid than I am about having enough. And she is far more comfortable with an idea of success that doesn’t involve awards, prestigious publications, and large readerships than I.
And maybe that’s the wildness in which she grew and played. Maybe there’s something to the scrape of bark on your arm or the sight of a snake running off beneath the leaves that tested and tried her more than the fences and front yards that surrounded my childhood. Maybe the Spirit drove Jesus to the wild places because there’s a faith that’s built only when you’ve learned to run and dance and laugh with abandon amidst the mosquito-filled shade of an untamed place.
When we’re out there on the land where she was raised, Leanne still takes the lead to show me the places to avoid and those to dive into. But over these past two decades I’ve become less afraid of the wilderness. I’d dare say I’ve learned to focus on the beauty rather than the dangers.
Why, I’ve even learned to play there.
God of the wild places, walk with me in the places that are untamed and give me courage not to give into the fear that tests me.