The Jerusalem Experiment

Moses was found by the living God amidst the crooked crags of Egypt’s Sinai.

David and Jesus encountered the burning heart of the Father in the desolate landscape just East of Jerusalem–the Judean Wilderness.

Paul tells us in his letter to the church in Galatia,

…when he who had set me apart before I was born, and who called me by his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, in order that I might preach him among the Gentiles, I did not immediately consult with anyone, nor did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were apostles before me, but I went away into Arabia, and returned again to Damascus (Galatians 1:15-17).

From Damascus, Paul would have likely traveled South along a common route stretching from Syria to what is now southern Jordan. Quite possibly, one of Paul’s final stops before reaching the wasteland of Arabia was Petra: a sandstone wonderland where the finger of God carved perfect paths across sand-whipped desert floors. Petra: the place where Indiana Jones became the penitent man, correctly spelled the name of God (in Latin), bravely leaped from the Lion’s Head, and identified Jesus’ Last Supper cup.

And while “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade” is an awesome movie, my experience at Petra taught me a very different lesson than the supremely evident, “Don’t mess with Harrison Ford, especially when he’s got a whip in his right hand.”

Wilderness.

For some reason, God has a habit of dragging his world-shakers into the suffocating sands that dot the landscape surrounding the Promised Land. Before we are able to receive what God has for us, we must learn how dependent we are on Him. It’s easy to seek the things that flow so graciously from His hands; however, we need to learn a yearning for His face, the simple and devastating reality of His countenance reaching into our cloudy eyes.

We hiked for hours under the April Jordanian sun, which may mean nothing to you, so feel free to insert your particular town, and instead of April, add July. Uphill. Camels and donkeys passed us on the path, carrying awkward looking and significantly more wealthy (thus they were able to afford a camel ride to the top) tourists from the far corners of the globe.

Eventually we reached a bit of a shady spot. I stopped, opened my Bible, and eventually found my way to Psalm 19,

In them he has set a tent for the sun, which comes out like a bridegroom leaving its chamber; and, like a strongman, runs its course with joy. It’s rising is from the end of the heavens, and its circuit to the end of them, and there is nothing hidden from its heat (vv. 4b-6).

I looked up from my weather worn Bible, scanned the rocky horizon frantically looking for some semblance of life (apart from the sun scorched tourists bobbing like corks upon haggard camels). Nothing. The Psalmist seems to liken the heat of the sun to the relentless nature of God’s presence among His people–if the sun covers the face of the earth, how much more does God (who made the sun to burn) cover His creation.

It’s hot. My neck is quickly running the summer spectrum of skin colors–stopping on cherry red. God is near. The sun tells me so.

Deserts are lonely places. They represent humanity’s limitations. While we’re able to tame certain landscapes–diverting water and leveling ground–in places like Petra we can do nothing more than throw our hands in the air. But God is still at home. God isn’t tied to rainfall amounts or soil types. He is. And He welcomes people like Moses, David, Jesus and Paul, as well as you and I, into barren places so that we might know that God alone is our sustenance.

To the people of Israel, God made this profoundly clear,

And you shall remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep his commandments or not. And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord (Deut. 8:2-4).

When the rocks cry out, “desolation”, we are reminded that He is our portion. Why does God lead his world-shakers into wilderness? Because something happens when we allow the One who clothed the first humans to strip every semblance of comfort from our frail frames, and re-clothe us with garments of grace. Grace: getting all that we don’t deserve; receiving with open hands all the affection of the One who causes our hearts to bloom in broken places.