In the wilderness we struggle, wandering. A-sea, we drift in the deep’s mystery. In darkness, we fear and seek. A ravine’s walls hem us in. The woods threaten. Away is longing. Strangers menace. Imprisoned, we are bound, stripped of all we intended.
At the center we rest, having arrived. On land we find fixity and footing. In light, we see and know. Atop the hill the world and its paths open before us. The clearing, or garden, calms. Home is comfort. Family invites. In the temple, we are finally fulfilled.
Those tropes and their kin touch on Mircea Eliade’s “profane” and “sacred.” Their contrasts provide the subtle, subliminal sub-text for almost every poem, novel, sitcom, movie, and ad.
In the dark wilderness, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”
Knowing the disciples are about to find themselves adrift, afraid, and alone, Jesus shows them their path home—their way to the Temple. “‘In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going.’ Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’”
Between Egypt and Canaan, Tarshish and Nineveh, Jericho and Jerusalem—or universally, Eden’s exit and Zion’s entrance—our answers, safety, and comfort are on the path.
This week, may we walk with him.