Moving from a vast sweep of philosophy, I want to turn now to a more focussed look at the imagery of the desert as a reference point for spirituality in the Bible, in the medieval period, and in contemporary texts. This will, I hope, illustrate my point that history is not simply a matter of avoiding the negative, but can add to the richness of a contemporary understanding as well.
Within the Bible, the desert is an ever-present reality. One only needs to consider the geography of Israel to think of the Arabian Desert to the East, and the Negeb, Sinai and Egypt to the South. To get to the Promised Land Abraham needed to pass through the desert, to flee Egypt the children of God had to enter the wilderness of Sinai, where they remained for 40 years. Elijah ran from Jezebel into the desert and the people of Judah were taken into exile in Babylon, separated from their homeland by the same Arabian Desert that Abraham had crossed some 1,400 years previously.
In the New Testament, John the Baptist seeks a simple life in the desert, as did the Qumran community. Jesus mirrors the historical Israel’s wanderings in the wilderness, spending 40 days in the desert, which is still recalled during Lent; the Garasene demoniac is driven by his tormentors into the desert; and Philip encounters the Ethiopian eunuch on the desert road.
Yet in all these cases, the desert experience is not a mere inconvenience. The forty years spent in the wilderness following the exodus, for example, strengthened the people physically, but also spiritually as they were physically led, fed and watered by the Lord. Elijah similarly received food in the desert, as well as spiritual refreshment and a chance to hear God after the clamour on Mount Carmel and the threats of Jezebel; and while the people of Judah were not exactly nourished in the desert, they were stripped of their idolatry while in Babylon, and returned to Jerusalem the stronger for it. Alister McGrath notes that, “Jeremiah and Hosea … spoke of the desert as a place of purification and renewal of Israel. The prophets often looked back to Israel’s period of wandering in the wilderness as a period in which the nation was close to God, before becoming corrupted by increasing wealth in the eighth century BC.” Jesus similarly overcame the temptations of Satan in the desert, as did Philip in spreading the news of the kingdom of God to an Ethiopian while both were in the desert.
Such desert experiences then are not futile. They are times of growth, of spiritual development, of drawing closer to God. In the medieval period, such experiences were actively sought by those intent on developing their walk with the Lord. This essentially took two forms: that of literal retreat into the desert, and the more metaphorical notion of a spiritual journey.
In the first category, Antony of Egypt (c.251-356) separated himself from the sins of city life and founded a new community in the desert which would be, he hoped, uncontaminated by the worldliness of the cities and afford for a level of spiritual contemplation not otherwise available. In this he was not unlike Elijah, running from the corruption of the world to seek not the earthquake, fire or wind, but the voice of God that followed the quiet whisper in the wind. Cassian (360-435) held similar views when he settled in Egypt, writing that:
It is the perfect ones, purged of every sin, who ought to go into the desert. And when their faults have been purged in their monastic life, they should enter solitude – not because they are cowards who are running away from their sins, but because they are pursuing the contemplation of God, and long for a more sublime vision [of God] which can only be found in solitude, and then only by those who are perfect. For every sin that we bring into the desert unpurged will still exist within us, hidden and not destroyed. For a life that has been purged of sin, solitude can open the door to the purest contemplation and unfold the knowledge of spiritual mysteries. But, in the same manner, it usually preserves and occasionally worsens faults which have not been cured.>
The Carmelite order, established (1206-14) under Albert of Jerusalem, developed around a group of hermits living on and around Mount Carmel. As regional instability made this location unsafe, the order moved to Europe, but developed the concept of regular retreats to isolated places to recreate the desert solitude of their original locale.
In the second camp, Origen, true to his general theological outlook, interpreted the desert allegorically. To him, the wanderings of Israel were not, or at least not merely, an historical event, but an allegory for the church, and especially the individual Christian, who was to seek God in the desert of life before reaching the Promised Land at the moment of glorification. He writes,
Before the soul comes to perfection, it dwells in the desert, where it can be exercised in the commandments of the Lord, and where its faith may be tried by temptations. Thus when it overcomes one temptation and its faith has been tried in that, it comes to another. And so it passes from one stopping-place to another, and when it has gone through what happens there, it goes on to yet another. And thus by passing through the trials of life and faith, it is said to have stopping-places, in which the growth in the virtues is the real issue, and there is fulfilled in them the saying of Scripture: "They shall go from strength to strength," until they come to the last, the highest stage of the virtues, and cross the river of God, and receive the promised inheritance.
Rupert of Deutz (c.1075-1130) drew on Origen’s allegory to develop an understanding of the allegorical nature of manna. This he found in God’s provision of spiritual nourishment on one’s desert wanderings through life, to be understood as the Word, or the sacraments:
As often as the Holy Spirit opens the mouths of the apostles and prophets and even teachers to preach the word of salvation and unveil the mystery of the Scriptures, the Lord opens the gates of heaven to rain down manna for us to eat. As long as we are going through the desert of this world, walking by faith and not by sight, we need these provisions desperately. We are fed in our minds by reading and hearing the word of God. We are fed in our mouths by eating the bread of life from the table of the Lord, and drinking the chalice of eternal salvation. Yet when we finally come to the land of the living, to Jerusalem the blessed, where the God of gods will be seen face to face, we shall no longer need the word of doctrine nor shall we eat the bread of angels under the appearances of bread and wine, but in its own proper substance.
McGrath notes that, for Rupert, “just as Israel no longer needed manna when it finally settled in the land flowing with milk and honey, so Christians will no longer need the ministries of word and sacrament when they see God face to face. For what they foreshadowed is now to be seen in all its fullness.”
Contemporary culture maintains its desert experiences, again both literal and allegorical. Films such as Michelangelo Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point (1970) and Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas (1984) look to literal desert experiences, while Douglas Coupland’s Generation X is situated in the desert where three friends discuss stories about the state of the world in which they have grown up. Two bestselling books in the last couple of years, Paul Coelho’s The Alchemist and Yann Martel’s Life of Pi have explored the notion of an individual journeying alone and gaining spiritual insight. Similarly, films such as As Good As It Gets and even Groundhog Day explore personal, allegorical desert experiences.
I know that I do not need to suggest to this gathering that we could be using these contemporary references to illustrate and discuss areas of Christian spirituality, but I do feel that in churches too often I see the film related directly back to the Bible in isolation, as if we were only just rediscovering Christianity. As Christians and presenters of God’s message, we are not involved in a simple matter of comparing the contemporary with the ancient, but with a rich continuum of thought and ideas. By studying the historical, we can be introduced to new frameworks for studying spirituality, such as the aforementioned literal and allegorical perspectives on the notion of the desert. This then enables us to develop in turn a richer critique of the contemporary points of reference. We are not the first to do this, nor will we be the last, but if the work that we do draws on the long history of the efforts of others, we can hope that our efforts too might someday be woven into the history of Christian spirituality.
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