I’ve been in a desert recently.
It is easier to find ourselves in one than we might think. Did you know that over twenty percent of the Earth’s surface is categorized as desert terrain? My mind immediately goes to the dunes of the Mojave or Sahara, but deserts are less about the abundance of sand, and more about the scarcity of water. Believe it or not, sand covers only about one fifth of those areas considered deserts. If a region receives ten inches of rain or less in a year’s time, it is classified as a desert region. According to that definition, our largest deserts in the world are located around the poles of our planet, and covered with snow and ice, not sand.
So, I mentioned being in a desert. Actually, I visited a couple of places in the last couple of weeks that fit the description. One was the high desert of eastern Utah around the well-known town of Moab. It is considered one of the mountain-biking meccas of the U.S., covered with hundreds of miles of trails ranging from mild meandering to the death-defying, hair on fire variety. I try to stay somewhere in the middle! As I took in the scenery, I was struck by the colorful and jagged sandstone mesas, only sparsely arrayed in vegetation.
A week later, I flew south into the interior of central Mexico. I was able to explore a couple of cities, Aguascalientes and Zacatecas, urban settings situated on the Mexican plateau, with a combined population approaching one million. The climate there isn’t terribly hot, but noticeably dry, and relatively barren (except for the abundance of cactus trees). Technically, central Mexico isn’t a desert region, but the landscape was a stark contrast to the lush, green hills of middle Tennessee.
During my time in both regions, I couldn’t help but think about a couple of metaphorical associations. First, this broken world that is our home (for now) feels desert-like. It is spiritually barren because it is presently under the influence of rulers, authorities, and cosmic powers over this present darkness (Ephesians 6:12). In addition, life circumstances frequently reinforce the reality of “walking through the valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23:4).
It is into this context that we are called to walk. The land we travel is a dry and weary land. And if we look to the world for spiritual precipitation, we are sure to experience spiritual drought.
If, however, we draw upon the Fountain of Living Water, resisting the temptation to dig out cisterns for ourselves that can hold no water (Jeremiah 2:13), we are assured that we will bear all the fruit we are created to bear by the One who loves to produce in his people the fruit of the Spirit.
Finally, in terms of connecting outward with the mission, God not only causes our lives to be personally fruitful, but we get to join Him as fellow workers planting and watering in his fields everywhere we go. We become an oasis of sorts to all who are spiritually parched. As our hearts and minds are drenched with the knowledge of God – who he is and what he is like – we are able to offer a life-giving drink to all who are thirsty.
As we pray, give and go this summer on mission, let’s ask the Fountain of Living Water to so saturate our lives that we might be used by him to turn spiritual deserts into spiritual rain forests, teeming with life that can only be found in those who drink in the goodness of the Gospel.
Jeremiah 33:12 is a slight shift in metaphor, but the imagery is right in line with all that you’ve just read. It is imagery that moved me profoundly as I sought to partner with God as a church planter. It is still an inspiring vision as I think about connecting outward with the mission, across the street and around the world. It is what I pray as I endeavor to live well a life in the desert.
Jeremiah 33:12 “Thus says the Lord of hosts: In this place that is waste, without man or beast, and in all of its cities, there shall again be habitations of shepherds resting their flocks.”