Week Two: The Wilderness

A Word for the Way: Guiding Scripture for the Week

"Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness..."
—Matthew 4:1

The wilderness is not exile.
It is not punishment.
It is the place where illusions fall away,
where silence stretches wide,
where we meet ourselves as we truly are.

This is the landscape of stripping down,
of unlearning the need for control,
of standing in the rawness of hunger—
not just for bread, but for certainty,
for reassurance, for something solid beneath our feet.

The wilderness asks the questions we would rather avoid:

• What remains when all distractions are gone?

• What are we truly hungry for?

• Where do we grasp for control instead of trusting what is given?

• And beneath it all—what do we fear will happen if we release our grip?

But the wilderness does not offer easy answers.
It does not deal in certainty.
It is a slow teacher, a quiet sculptor,
carving trust where grasping used to be.

Jesus did not walk into the wilderness alone.
The same Spirit that called Him Beloved
led Him here.

And so, we hold onto this:
The wilderness is not the absence of God.
It is where God is already waiting.

A Practice to Carry: The Breath of Trust

The wilderness unsettles.
It shifts the ground beneath us.
It stretches time,
holds up a mirror,
reveals the hunger we have buried.

This is the work of Lent—not to numb or bypass,
but to sit in the ache, to name what is rising,
to allow hunger to teach us instead of running to quick relief.

• Where do you most long for clarity right now?

• What would it feel like to let go of needing answers?

Trust is not learned in certainty.
It is shaped in the spaces we cannot control.

This week, let your breath be your anchor.

• Inhale: "Even here…"

• Exhale: "I am held."

Let this be enough.
Not to solve the wilderness,
but to stand inside of it
and know you are not alone.

A Shared Practice: A Thread That Weaves Us Together

Throughout the week, you will find small invitations—
practices that extend beyond your own journey,
linking you quietly to those walking this path alongside you.
These are not obligations, but sacred moments of connection,
a reminder that even in solitude, we are not alone.

This week, on Wednesday at sunrise, wherever you are, step outside.
Feel the air on your skin.
Let your feet meet the earth.
Notice the weight of yourself standing here.

Let this be a moment of awareness—
the shifting light,
the hush before the world fully wakes,
the stillness that is never truly still.

Whisper:
"This ground is holy, even in the wilderness."

And then, ask yourself:

• Where am I tempted to believe I walk alone?

• What if presence is here, even in silence?

Know that others are doing the same.
A shared breath.
A shared moment.
A quiet tether in the vastness of this season.

The Invitation of This Week

The wilderness is not something to conquer.
It is something to walk through.

This is not a journey of performance.
You do not have to “do Lent well.”
You do not have to force revelation or clarity.
You are not failing if all you feel is disorientation.

But you are being formed here.

Not with quick relief.
Not with easy answers.
But with the slow work of something deeper.

This week will invite you to:
🔹 Step deeper into the unknown – letting go of the need for clear answers.
🔹 Sit with hunger – not just physical, but spiritual, emotional, the ache for something more.
🔹 Listen in silence – allowing the wilderness to reveal what is true.
🔹 Let lament rise – being honest about what feels heavy and unresolved.
🔹 Trust the unseen work of God – believing that transformation is happening, even when we cannot see it.

The wilderness unsettles.
It does not move at our pace, nor give us quick resolutions.

But something is shifting.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Unseen, but real.

And so, we do not rush forward.
We do not force meaning.
We let the wilderness do its work.

Take a breath.
Step in.
Let yourself be led.