40
The process rolls on. My interior life is a barren wasteland, devoid of much but mirages and slowly shifting dunes. I walk in circles. I find myself fixated on wilderness and the number forty. Moses, the bringer of the old covenant and Jesus, the bringer of the new, parallel each other and reveal the way of transformation.
The journey I’m on is very much an exodus. Like the Hebrews toiling under a cruel master who hated them but could not give them up, I lived my life consigned to the devil I knew. Like Pharaoh, only prolonged and intensifying personal crisis could affect the much-needed change. Once free, I questioned the journey. Losing myself in the wilderness is in many ways more painful than my previous life of slavery. The uncertainty is oppressive and swift deliverance does not come. God provides all I need, but I detest it because it’s only what I need.
The promised land isn’t far away, but that doesn't mean I'll get there quickly. It's not so much a matter of distance as it is being ready. The old generation reared in slavery must die and be replaced by a new generation, born in the wilderness and reared on dependence in God. Each step of the way, trust is front and center. It’s cultivated or diminished; put on display or shrouded from sight. It requires I stay true when the direction is clear and when it is not, to see it through either way. When all vestiges of who I once was have fallen in the barrens, he'll lead me to the promised land beyond.
This journey is also like being led into the desert to be tempted. Like Jesus, I'm robbed of food and water - the pursuit of temporal trappings I used to seek as though my life depended on them. Their absence leaves me parched, hungry, and vulnerable, and in such vulnerability I'm tempted to turn back. For me, that food and water comes primarily in the form being respected professionally and being able to provide an elevated lifestyle for my family. The fruit of that pernicious bounty is ultimately capitulation, indulgence in all the best distractions life has to offer. I partake in them to blunt the hardship of the journey, but it's like eating sand.
Much like the Hebrews, when Jesus returned from the wilderness he was new - they a new nation and he a new kingdom. Folks say Jesus was human in every sense of the word. If that's true, it's also true he was once a vulnerable child. Like all children, he faced hardships, mistreatment, and perhaps cruelty from strangers, friends, and even those entitled to his care. And like any child, those events left lasting impressions upon his worldview and his view of himself. In other words, he too was a slave in Egypt - a child of this world, a son of man, forged by circumstance. In the desert, he too shed the slave and put on the Son.
In the end, it all comes down to trust. I'll not pretend to know exactly why that is, but I will forward my best guess. One, I believe the work required to deconstruct one's ego is impossible for the conscious mind to accomplish itself. God works on the unconscious level, in places the conscious mind cannot reach. Second, the work is relational. I can't do it alone, any more than I can bear a child alone. The work then is to receive God, for in receiving God I also receive myself.