In the thirteenth chapter of Exodus (vv.17-18), when the Pharoah finally lets the Israelites go free from slavery, the passage states: "God did not let them take the direct road, although that was the nearest way….God led the people by the way of the wilderness." A strange passage is this to the ears of people of Global Positioning Satellite and Google BlackBerry maps who are constantly looking and plotting the shortest way from point A to point B. There was a quicker path to the promised land but somehow God had another map that included forty years of wandering around in the wilderness. God’s goal for His people was not getting to the destination but rather God’s ways were designed for the journey itself. Faith’s journey is principally shaped by the wilderness.

I first encountered that spiritual law as a young man in the Holy Land. My guide was a Jesuit priest. He had taken a group of young Americans out to the Judean wilderness. He asked us to stay together as we exited the tour bus. The heat was extreme. As the priest spoke, he asked my group to imagine walking in this wilderness. I was moved as to how difficult the journey for the Israelites must have been. The thing I remember most about the wilderness experience was how easily it would be to lose your way. The priest said, "Look around. The problem with this wilderness is not the unbearable heat. The real problem is everything looks the same." He added, "People are easily disoriented. They suffer a vertigo. They lose their sense of direction." As I scanned my eyes over the hills and rocky terrain, I came into complete agreement with what the priest was saying. The desolate hills and rocks all looked identical.

Over twenty-five years later the memory of the above wilderness experience returned when I recently was on a four day silent retreat. The retreat center was in the

middle of nowhere. The silence was deafening. Part of the self directed retreat was to spend time in nature. My communion with nature began as I headed out on a three and a half mile "wilderness" walk. The trail was marked in the rugged terrain. Every quarter of a mile was a cement bench in a little clearing from the surrounding brush. When I began my silent journey in the wilderness, I thought I would sit on each bench and pray a decade of the rosary while meditating on the passion of our Lord. In the very beginning, I became distracted and veered off the path. When I returned back to the path, I noticed my entire shoes and pant legs were covered with thorns and stickers. As I painstakingly pulled off the prickly clinging vegetation from my clothes and shoes, I heard a gentle voice say, "Stay on the path." I began to pray. I noticed that internally I was bracing. I felt fear. I realized how alone I was from anyone. My cell phone did not work. It was me alone. At that moment, my mind offered no peace. The ruminating thoughts were these: "what was I doing, why was I here, am I nuts?" Through the endless chatter of my mind, I heard the Lord ask, "Why are you so afraid?" I stood still and felt the rhetorical question enter into my inmost being.

I became still and asked the Lord to lead me. I surrendered my fear as best I could. The internal bracing subsided. For the next two miles of the wilderness trek, I was amazed at creation. The wild flowers and foilage adorned the hills. The wild life that surrounded me such as exotic deer, a bobcat, and a large flock of wild turkey which crossed the path slightly up ahead were magnificent to behold. I was amused and had relished in the life which surrounded me in the wilderness. I had become comfortable. It was not until I was near the end of my journey that I heard the Lord say, "Stay vigilant. Use no weapon." Upon hearing that I did not fully understand. It was at that moment of

puzzlement I looked down the trail. I saw five or six javalena hogs laying in the middle of the path. Instinctively I looked for protection. I saw a large stick. Despite the temptation to grab the stick for security, I kept walking toward the herd of javalenas. They lay there staring at my approaching figure. Finally, the largest javalena rose. He stood and shook the sand from his body. The others followed suit. He led the herd off the path some ten feet. They continued to stare at me as I slowly passed by. As a sense of relief came over me, I glanced down at where the herd lay. A large snake was curled up. He darted off the path. A cold chill came over me that if I had used the stick to fight the herd, I may have missed the snake which was coiled up.

As I left the physical wilderness, I have come to realize that my wanderings in the wilderness of life have refined my faith. The wilderness is God’s path for me. Safety and security are really just my desire to be God. God provides if I allow him to provide. Staying on the path when my spouse was diagnosed with cancer or when I tragically learned that my son was addicted to drugs caused everything to look the same. During those times and other difficult events in my life, my faith has been eclipsed by the vertigo of suffering and I lose my path. The internal bracing of fear seems to overcome my faith. If I but listen and surrender during those dark and dreaded moments of the wilderness, I can return to the Lord’s gentle lead. Silencing my voice to listen to His Spirit is a refined faith’s constant challenge in the wilderness. The Prophet Hosea says it best, "The wilderness will lead you to your heart where I will speak."