Two True Things

I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Psalm 27:13KJV

At one time I was a member of a church where members would exchange greetings with the call, “God is good,” and the response was, “All the time!” Often, it felt pretty automatic, but as I am proceeding through Lent, this reminder of the goodness of God has become more of a lifeline than a casual greeting. The lifeline of God’s goodness reaches into my wilderness of uncertainty. I realize I am holding in my spirit two seemingly opposite things that are true: I can be in the wilderness and I can still experience the goodness of God.

The lifeline of God’s goodness reaches into my wilderness of uncertainty. I realize I am holding in my spirit two seemingly opposite things that are true: I can be in the wilderness and I can still experience the goodness of God.

My wilderness began last year when I had surgery. That began a shift, or maybe a free-fall, in my life that was evident when I did not maintain my Lenten ritual of daily journal writing and reflection. I continued to dismantle my well-ordered life when I decided not to practice as a counselor anymore. I had practiced for almost thirty years, but that identity no longer energized me. I left a place of comfort and have not yet arrived at my new, unknown destination. This place where I am now can only be called a wilderness—unmoored and uncertain of my future and identity.

But at the same time, this year I welcome Lent. It’s an opportunity to acknowledge my wilderness and use these 40 days as a time of personal examination and fasting. It is fitting that the Gospel scripture for the first week of Lent begins with, “Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness.” Jesus was full of the Spirit after leaving the Jordan where he had experienced a love fest from God after being baptized (Luke 3:22). What a shock to have everything going well—in fact, going great—then to suddenly be in the wilderness. Why would the Holy Spirit lead Jesus to the wilderness to be challenged by Satan?

Maybe Jesus needed a time of what Teihard de Chardin calls “instability,” having his identity questioned so he would become more committed to his mission. Or maybe Jesus needed that time of testing to remember how good God had been to him. We don’t know why any of us go in and out of our own wilderness. Being in the wilderness is a challenge and an opportunity. It is a spiritual time-out, though not a punishment. It calls into question our core beliefs. We have to resist voices of doubt and fear. We have to become clear on what matters. I also call this a place of liminality.

Embracing the Liminality in Lent

I intend to take the time this Lenten season to accept this spiritual time-out to figure out—no, listen for what is true for my bonus years (years 65 and beyond). For the first time in my life I don’t have a plan or a clue. This is uncomfortable and unfamiliar, but also peaceful. I can wait, listen, and release the idea that I have to know or figure out the answer.

For the first time in my life I don’t have a plan or a clue. This is uncomfortable and unfamiliar, but also peaceful.

So, I began Lent by working on being grateful for this liminal time. Father Richard Rohr offers this on liminality,

“But what if we can choose to experience this liminal space and time, this uncomfortable now, as . . . a place and state of creativity, of construction and deconstruction, choice and transformation? I wonder whether it is, then, also the realm of the Holy Spirit, our comforter, who does not take away the vastness and possibility of this opened-up threshold time, but invites us to lay down our fears and discomfort to see what else is there, hard as that may be.”

Father Rohr speaks to the discomfort of not knowing “what’s next” yet being willing to submit to the deconstruction that is necessary for our transformation—our renewal. It is in this space of liminality where we can yield to God’s goodness that requires nothing from us.

You may find yourself in a sacred space of liminality, also. You may be like me, trying to make sense of a life transition or an identity free-fall as you move from one season of life to another that is yet to be revealed. Your time of transition may seem like a wilderness experience, marked by the feeling that you’re being tested by the events in life. Or you may feel like this is a liminal period, a time to wait for a new thing that energizes you.

Regardless of what brings you to your own liminal space, this is an invitation to join me as I return to my Lenten ritual of writing in my journal and listening for God. This is an opportunity to think about who we are becoming as we release a long-held identity or embrace what is seeking us. Maybe you are retiring or starting a business. Maybe you’re adjusting to the pain of loss or reclaiming your joy. Sitting in a sacred space of liminality (not even trying to imagine what the “new thing” looks like) gives us a chance to catch our breath and reflect on the strength, creativity, and faith that have gotten us to this place.

Sitting in a sacred space of liminality (not even trying to imagine what the “new thing” looks like) gives us a chance to catch our breath and reflect on the strength, creativity, and faith that have gotten us to this place.

A Lenten Practice of Listening

I began searching for the words and practices that would allow me to catch my breath. Then I thought about a practice that enriched me during another wilderness over two decades ago: centering or contemplative prayer. It was then that I joined a small ecumenical group, led by an Episcopal priest, who met weekly. There was no meal or no after-gathering chit-chat. We simply gathered at the appointed time, sat in our seats arranged in a circle, and after the few words of greeting and direction for new arrivals we began. Actually, we began our doing nothing. We sat in our seats, arranged in the circle, and gazed at the candle in the center of the circle or closed our eyes. And. Did. Nothing.

The Centering Prayer steps are:
• Choose a sacred word that invokes God’s presence. (I choose two words: God’s goodness)
• Sit comfortably, close your eyes, and introduce your sacred word to “consent to God’s presence and action.”
• When repetitive thoughts come into your mind (as they will) focus again on your sacred word.
• At the end of your prayer period, just sit for two minutes and breathe. (The Contemplative Outreach website recommends sitting for twenty minutes in the morning and the evening.)

Colleen Thomas of Contemplative Outreach states in her essay, “Resting in God through Silence and Stillness: How centering prayer leads us to the God within,”

“In contemplation, we are being, not thinking. Centering Prayer is a method that can lead us to the unitive reality of contemplation, but the method is not the end. It’s one of many methods or tools to prepare me for the contemplative act of just resting in God, being in God, that can happen. The embodied presence that contemplation inspires can happen anywhere, whether walking, driving, or doing the dishes. ” (emphasis mine)

Colleen emphasizes the being role of contemplation. Centering Prayer is the method that helps us to rest in God through inviting God’s presence. But the end is to still our minds and spirits so God may unite with us.

By returning to a practice that has worked for me in the past, I am regaining some familiar ground. Once I made this decision I felt a little less disoriented. Centering prayer allows me to feel connected to God and to a virtual community where I can sit in silence and know I am exactly where I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing.

God is Good—Even in the Wilderness

Sitting in my sacred space to contemplate God’s goodness gives me peace. When I am uncertain my belief is renewed, or as the Psalmist said, “I had fainted unless I believed,” I can trust that God will get me through it all. Right now, I am not looking to excel nor am I actively seeking answers. Right now, I am contemplating the goodness of God, which happens even in the wilderness. God fed the people of Israel throughout their forty years in their wilderness. In fact, the wonder, strength, and love of God are often felt most powerfully in the wilderness.

Two opposing things can be true at the same time. For this Lenten season 2025, I invite you to join me in my practice of contemplative prayer or return to a practice of your own that allows you to just be—not act. Begin again a practice that reminds you of the goodness of God despite times of uncertainty. Also, I offer you this song to remind you that despite the wilderness, “The Goodness of God” will run after you. Shalom.