Sermon: The Desert Blooms

Sermon preached by Rev. Emily Tanis-Likkel

EagleHarborChurch, UCC        

December 16, 2007

The Desert Blooms        

              Life is difficult.  Thus begins The Road Less Traveled by Scott Peck.  This famous line was quoted by a speaker at a recent workshop for caregivers that I was involved with.  We were discussing  spiritual distress, which is “a disruption in one's beliefs or value system” that affects the whole person, emotionally and physically.   Spiritual distress can occur due to illness, grief, depression, loneliness, when one feels they have no purpose in life or are angry at God.  Have you ever experienced spiritual distress? 

              Isaiah 35 recalls the dry desert that the exiles wandered through.  They trudged through wilderness, and I bet that they often found themselves saying, life is difficult.  God had saved them from slavery in Egypt and guided them to the promised land.  But it was not a quick trip.  They had to trek through the wilderness first – for 40 years.  They often found themselves in spiritual distress.  They became weary, and their lives of slavery in Egypt no longer seemed so bad.  But God surprised them again and again with grace, giving them water in the desert, food in the wilderness.

              God does not promise us an easy life.  You may not be where you had hoped you would be as 2007 winds down.  Like the exiles, you may be frustrated that you are not at the destination you seek.  You may have unmet goals, you may have had disappointments, or ill health.  Our lives at times feel like a spiritual wilderness, a desert where nothing is growing.  Or maybe you feel okay, but you thirst for something more.  Anxiety and fear are pervasive in our society.  Depression seems to be the norm. 

              The Christmas season can accentuate our pain.  The emphasis on family during this time is hard on those who are in the midst of grief and loss.  Our society's obsession with presents is a lot of pressure for those who can't even pay the rent.  And yet . . . and yet today we light the pink candle, a symbol of joy.  Joy is not something we muster up on our own.  Joy is found in the blooming desert.  Joy is found in water gushing from dry land.  It is a grace bestowed by God.  It is received when we walk the path of faith, when we trust in the hope of God's promise to restore us.

              The Hebrew people were homeless, except for the tents that they took down and put up on their journey through wilderness.  They lived with the threats of starvation, attack by wild animals, and attack by enemies.  Isaiah prophesies a radical transformation: The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom . . . For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water . . .”  The earth will be renewed, the people will be renewed, everything will burst with joyful new life.  This is the promise.  But we don't have to wait until the end of time for glimpses of this promise fulfilled.  Already we can make out a highway.            

              Isaiah prophesied, A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way.  The Holy Way is the journey of faith.  On this path, we walk through a desert, but it is a desert that blooms.  Life is tough, but hope and joy are like lanterns lit along a winding path.  Isaiah writes that “no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray” on this highway.  As someone who has an extremely poor sense of direction, I love this concept.  When I drive to a new place, it can be nerve-wracking.  I would give anything to drive on a highway on which it is impossible to go astray.  The way of faith is beautifully captured by the winding path of a labyrinth.  When one walks a labyrinth for the first time, they may wonder if it is a maze, and if they'll get lost.  But it is only one path that leads to the center and then back to the beginning.  If you put one foot in front of the other on the path, then you cannot go astray.

              I grew up surrounded by a lot of sand in Western Michigan.  We lived about a mile from the beach, and I loved to wade in the water to cool off in the summer.  On really hot days, we had to walk through sand that was so hot it felt like it was burning our feet.  Even wearing sandals didn't stop the sand from seeping in and making the run to the water very uncomfortable.  Our house was built on sand, and in our front yard was what we called “the pit.”  It was a large sandy ditch covered with dune grass.  It became a conversation piece.  Wow, you've got a pit in your front yard.  I thought it was cool.  I'll never forget the Fourth of July that we were lighting fireworks with our neighbors, and one flew right into the pit.  Flames shot up high into the air, and the adults leaped to put it out.  That dry sand and grass was the perfect environment for fire.  I imagine the Israelites trekking through endless dry desert sand.  Harsh weather and lack of water would have been constant companions.  On the uneven ground, their sandals would sluggishly sink into the terrain.  Disoriented, they relied on God as their compass.  “The desert shatters the soul's arrogance and leaves body and soul crying out in thirst and hunger.  In the desert, we trust God or die.”

              For the refugees from Darfur, Sudan, their wilderness was witnessing genocide.  They were horrified as friends and family members were killed, helpless to do anything to stop it.  In their anguish, they packed up a few belongings and left for Chad.  They put up tents, and do what they can to transform them into homes.  They have lost so much, but many cling onto hope.  As the director for the committee on conscience wrote, "For refugees, the tent is a symbol of loss. Every time they come back to their tents, they are reminded of what they used to have, what was taken from them, and their longing to return home. Yet, even though the tent represents loss, they immediately humanize their situation by creating a new life. In the camps in Chad, this is most obvious from the fences and screens they build around their tents with sticks and grass and the little plots they scratch out next to their tents to grow vegetables. Loss and hope exist side by side." -  These refugees lift up beauty wherever they can find it.  They look for streams in the desert.

              The book Three Cups of Tea tells the true story of Greg Mortenson, a mountain climber who attempted to summit K2 in Pakistan in order to honor his sister who had died.  He got within six hundred meters, but failed to reach the top.  He was devastated, and after seventy-two days at high altitude, he was hurting.  He fell behind his porter and found himself alone.  Trudging along through the wilderness, he took a wrong turn and because of it was immeasurably blessed and forever changed.  He stumbled upon the village of Korphe, where he discovered his life's purpose: to promote peace by building schools for girls in Pakistan and Afghanistan.  Life is difficult, but signs of joy and hope are around us and within us.  The desert blooms.

              Brett volunteered last week with the Union Gospel Mission, handing out food and clothing to people on the streets.  He remarked to me afterward how many of the people he met seemed to help each other.  They didn't have much, but many gave to one another out of their poverty.  A group of diverse men had teamed up to watch out for each other and become a kind of family.  Acts of love and kindness align us with God's redemptive work in this world, and helps water the desert for one another.

              Isaiah called on the people to remember the future.  Remember what God has done, and understand that it is what God will do.  As one author explained, “To remember the future is to recall and recollect the Exodus drama that took us to the edge of despair only for the waters to part.”   At times when we are walking in the desert, grace rushes in like water.  As medieval mystic Julian of Norwich said, “But all shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of things will be well.”   The highway journey is not easy, but it is a healing and redemptive path.  It is a transforming journey, freeing us from whatever confines us.  This sacred path may lead us away from safety, predictability, and comfort.   But we can rest in the knowledge that God will renew us, will renew the whole earth.  We can be assured that when we take the way of Jesus, we will not go astray.

              How has your Advent been?  We wait for Christmas, we wait for God, and God waits for us, too.  The waiting can be like pregnancy, an anticipation that relishes the moment and at the same time wants to get that baby born, wants to move on to the next chapter already.  Rejoice: Christ is coming.  Rejoice:  Christ is here.  We wait for new life, we wait for renewal, we hope for joy like streams in the wilderness, like a desert in bloom.

      Hospice and Palliative Nurses Association

      The Healing Path, p. 21.

               Jerry Fowler, Director of the Committee on Conscience, U.S.HolocaustMemorialMuseum. 

      Dan B. Allender.  The Healing Path: How the Hurts in Your Past can Lead you to a More Abundant Life. Colorado Springs: WaterBrook Press, 1999.  p. 147.

      The Healing Path, p. 19.