Three days of Lent have passed and I haven’t engaged with the idea of Jesus in the desert; probably because I’m not good at coping with the isolation of desert experiences.
I have suffered from depression since I was quite young. Not that I knew what it was in younger years. I would feel almost trapped at times, surrounded by a dark shadow, held by this sort of feeling of melancholy that had no cause or reason. I used to watch the television news, even when I was at primary school, not that I understood most of it, but because it was a way of escaping from myself and the world around me. Life on the television news seemed to make sense; the world seemed a controlled and ordered place. I didn’t understand the awful things that were happening in
I liked a world in which I didn’t have to things too much, where things were ordered and predictable and where not much was expected of me.
Since those times I have feared being alone and being isolated. I have always liked the feeling of security that comes from knowing that you are surrounded by people going about their daily duties. In my university days I lodged with an uncle and aunt in Kew in west
Remote places have always held a fear for me. They leave me exposed to my own thoughts and reflections and my first instinct is to try and find familiar things, to try to find sounds and experiences that make me feel secure. I remember, being in the
The idea of going into a remote desert place to pray and reflect would frighten me. I’m not very good at Lent.