Following the death recently of a close friend, Gerry, I’ve been reminiscing with my husband about the several holidays we spent with Gerry, his wife and brother, including one on the west coast of Scotland.
During that trip we visited an area called the Fairy Lochs which lie surrounded by rocky hills, near the town of Gairloch. People come to visit a memorial to fifteen young American servicemen stationed at Lossiemouth during World War II who lost their lives when the bomber taking them home to the USA at the end of the war crashed here in June 1945.
Though not far from the town, when we visited one signpost at a crucial path junction had been uprooted and left leaning against a hedge so finding the site wasn’t easy. The uphill walk took us across boggy ground to the crash site, where parts of the aircraft’s fuselage still protrude from the bog and an engine and propeller from the water of a small loch.
Those who lost their lives here were far from the comfort of families and homes. Fortunately, their bodies were recovered and repatriated and the area is now a war grave.
Although the weather was reasonably good when we visited, it was easy to see how lonely and wild this place must seem on days of low mist and driving rain and how walkers on those days may feel abandoned and lost; as though they’re passing through a wilderness.
The wilderness isn’t one specific place of course. As well as the hot, dry, dusty places of the world where many still struggle to survive, forgotten by much of the world, anyone can experience times of ‘wilderness’ when we feel abandoned by those around us; far away from those we love. Even, sometimes, when they’re sitting close to us or at the other end of a phone line or Zoom or video call.
We might experience wilderness in the middle of the first, confusing morning in a new job perhaps, or at a busy social event where we know few, if any, other people or when in the grip of some kind of addiction, bereavement or loneliness. We feel completely abandoned and we’re not sure what’s going to happen next; there don’t seem to be many, if any, signposts so we can’t find a road through or out of that place.
I’m writing this on Palm Sunday, the start of Holy Week, the final week of Lent, that season when we’re reminded of the time Jesus spent in the wilderness. He survived the tortures of hunger and thirst and refused Satan’s temptations as he prepared himself for his salvation-giving public ministry.
Since then, two millennia have passed but Jesus hasn’t abandoned the wilderness. He returns to it again and again, coming alongside everyone who finds themselves there, sheltering and comforting them, lifting the uprooted signposts back into place again and leading the way forwards.
Since he was lifted up on the cross on Good Friday, those who follow Jesus have the assurance that they will never be abandoned. We can always leave the dry, wild places and experience the green, fertile places again, resting in his love. As we continue to move with Jesus through the busy, crowded scenes of Holy Week, let’s take time to think about and pray for everyone (known and unknown) who is in the wilderness now.
Lord, in this Holy Week I thank you for the blessing of your constant presence with me. At times I feel this so clearly that walking and talking with you comes naturally. At other times I seem to have missed one or more signposts and feel alone and disorientated, stuck in a boggy place, surrounded by broken plans.
Lord, may those who are currently in a wilderness season be aware of your presence within and around them as we all approach the end of the walk through Lent. Together, let us see the way forward clearly, rejoicing as it takes us towards and beyond your cross, humbled, saddened but renewed. Amen.
Sunlight Through the Shadows 