“For thus says the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel:
In returning and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”
–Isaiah 30:15
Those words from Isaiah are read in St. John’s every Thursday at the healing service following the 9:30 am Eucharist (if you’ve never been to either, you should try them—they’re lovely services). They’re a powerful reminder that none of us will be saved by what we do. There’s no earning God’s love, the love that has been given to us freely way before we were born. In fact, what we do—busy lives of constant activity—can be a distraction. The endless string of tasks, meetings, calendar invites, social engagements, etc. can keep us from seeing how God’s love may be working in our lives and where God may be leading us.
I had planned to take a trip with a friend from college at the end of August. His plans changed, my schedule filled up, and the trip fell through. That disappointment also offered an opportunity. I had five days without anything scheduled. Summer was ending, and I desperately needed to be in the mountains. After some hasty research and a minimal amount of planning, I headed to the Adirondacks.
I backpacked for five days with no real goals other than to make it back to my car and to see as much of the High Peaks wilderness as I could. Most hiking, camping, or backpacking trips I’ve been on have been very destination-oriented. But on this trip, I was able to let myself just walk, covering as many miles as I wanted and not having to worry about one day’s distance affecting the next.
I saw people on the trail, but mostly I was alone, left to encounter the wilderness and myself with relatively few distractions (other than the profusion of mushrooms dotting the forest floor after recent rains). It took a couple of days for my mind to stop whirring and to drop the work I had left behind, but when I did, I was able to settle into what Wendell Berry calls “the peace of wild things”. Those few days were simple—break camp, eat breakfast, walk, eat lunch, walk some more, set up camp, eat dinner, sleep. The simplicity opened me up to the beauty around me, the subtle changes in the forest, and the subtle changes in myself. I realized I hadn’t been intentionally alone in a long time. The experience of solitude that’s been sought out is so much more than just being alone. It brings a stripping away of clutter, a chance to reconnect—with myself, the natural world, and with God.
Solitude. It’s what Jesus sought after he went to the wilderness after being baptized in the River Jordan. It was what shaped the spiritual lives of the desert mothers and fathers and drew people to them. It’s often where God is able to meet us, where we encounter the love that we cannot earn, but receive through our returning and rest, quietness and trust.
