Author and podcaster Cassidy Hall explores the desert as a metaphor for difficult times in our lives:
Sometimes desert conditions invite us to strip ourselves of all that is unnecessary and all that hinders us from forging ahead…. The desert distills us into the absolute rawness of who we are and asks us who we want to be. The desert will always find a way to reveal the core of our humanity, in all its naked vulnerability. And we must live through the desert moments in order to survive. The words of life get us to the next day. The chosen and unchosen deserts must be crossed…. As the desert monastics suggest, the only way through the deserts of life is to remain in the practice of examining the self, to stay in the Divine’s presence as we unveil ourselves, to truly see and be seen….
Even when I don’t want the gifts of the desert, I know they are real; with time I will be able to receive them. The unchosen deserts of my life have often been places of my most profound growth, where I’ve found liminal knowing, healing, new layers of vulnerability, and quiet blossoming. I’m reminded of the words of life that have come to me in past experiences, including the words and wisdom I’ve received from the early and modern desert monastics….
Most of the desert monastics committed themselves to some kind of rhythm combining prayer, self-reflection, and seeking the Divine. And amid this commitment, the landscape of the desert offered its own invitation into depth, growth, and the reminder that we are never alone. The desert plants, like the desert monastics, teach us again of the necessity to deepen our roots. We only carry through the deserts what we must: our reliance on root systems, communal care, and interconnection; the clarity of knowing what pieces of ourselves must die; and the timeless lesson to know and understand ourselves more intimately.
Through desert experiences, we learn to care more deeply for ourselves and the world:
The deserts are many. Chosen and unchosen desert encounters have opened me up to see and experience more room within myself for the whole world—to carry myself, the beloved, and the world with open hands; with compassionate, vulnerable, and tender acceptance. From here, I recognize my capacity for action in the world with deeper clarity about who I am and what I am to speak—or show up to….
In the spaciousness of solitude, we open ourselves up to the truth of ourselves. We more deeply root, examine, shed, and soften. Even in the desert moments of daily life, we are invited into renewal, when the wonder of uncertainty meets a sacred pause amid a busy day. And almost always, the desert spaces are places and moments of paradox: knowing amid the unknowing, refreshment in the parched places, life amid death, fecundity in the barrenness, midnight blooming, and acceptance of seasons.
Reference:
Cassidy Hall, Queering Contemplation: Finding Queerness in the Roots and Future of Contemplative Spirituality (Broadleaf Books, 2024), 142, 144, 150.
Image credit and inspiration: Krn Kwatra, Untitled (detail), 2022, photo, Oman, Unsplash. Click here to enlarge image. Like the desert mothers and fathers, a person walks into the desert to find solitude and inspiration.
Story from Our Community:
I’ve always considered fasting during Lent a 40-day time of “gutting it out.” It was a period to grit my teeth until I could go back to enjoying whatever it was I had decided to give up. But this year, thanks to CAC’s readings, I’m engaging in much more contemplative and meditative time. I’m thinking about fasting differently, and as a result, I’m feeling closer to God. I now think that during his forty days in the desert, Jesus was not focused on fasting as suffering, but that fasting was a catalyst to bring him closer to God. This time of simplicity allowed him to experience peace beyond understanding and that is really the goal.
—Sean K.
