Lent 23: called to chaos.

"In the beginning when God created the heaven and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters." Genesis 1:1-2

Last week, my husband Kyle and I spent our time in a whirlwind of travel, conversations, interviews, phone calls, and discernment around which conference we will serve in next year. It has felt like utter chaos as we choose what part of the country we want to move to and serve in ministry. It is hard to know how to process through this unsettled feeling about where to go next. We pray and try to listen for God's voice in the midst of this; we try, also, to be logical about what is the best fit or opportunity. But in truth, it feels like there is no clear right answer. It feels like we have wandered into a wilderness.

While we stumble through the wilderness of our discernment process, I've been thinking about how Lent's invitation into a wilderness place often means leaving a familiar place of safety and order, for the rugged landscape of something more untamed. The wilderness way of Lent is not always as peaceful and quiet as we might hope and expect. In fact, sometimes it doesn't even feel all that spiritual. It feels complicated, difficult and confusing. It feels like chaos.

As I reflect on the chaos of wilderness places, I am comforted by the idea that Lent is a return to Genesis. I am reminded of the story of creation: when the earth was a formless void. From the place of chaos, life is formed.  Lent's wilderness is an invitation to dance in that same life-giving chaos, an opportunity to explore the unsettled places in ourselves. As we leave the safety of what is settled and domesticated, we come to a place where we are vulnerable to the motion of the Spirit. We come into the elements and confront our whole selves: all the naked fears and insecurities and dreams, and we allow God's spirit to hover and breathe over our deepest and darkest places.

I confess that I am exhausted from my trek through the wilderness, and I am afraid of the uncharted terrain that lies ahead. But as I face the chaos, I see small movements of hope and newness-- no stronger than a light breeze, or a little flutter of breath, or a tiny flicker of light, and I know that Holy is here, flickering. God has always moved in the wildest places, and seen them as an opportunity for creativity and life. As I listen and watch for the Spirit's movement, I am meditating on this beautiful quotation from Nietzche shared with me by my Spiritual Director: "One must still have chaos in oneself, to give birth to a dancing star."  May Lent be a journey into that beautiful glimmering chaos.