At daybreak, he went off to a deserted place, but the crowds tried to find him and when they did discover him, tried to prevent him from leaving them. But he told them, "I must tell the good news of the kingdom of God to other towns as well - that is my mission." And he continued proclaiming his message in the synagogues of Judaea. Luke 4:42-44
Here is a photograph of the 4th century monastery of St. George, hidden in a deep gorge of the Judaean desert. This is the kind of wild, deserted geography Jesus escaped to: a place of temperature extremes, of low vegetation and little water. I sometimes meet people who say they'd love to get away to a place like this because they need some silence and a good rest. But we can easily romanticize life in these places.
Four diocesan priests arranged for a week long retreat in an Ohio monastery where the monks live solitary and spartan lives. The priests arrived in the later morning. By afternoon they were wandering around the property. That evening they disappeared by car for several hours. By 11:00 A.M. on the second day, they left for good without saying good-bye. One can go to a deserted place, but I take myself with me, and with no outer thing to distract, I can find myself in an impossible situation.
Maybe this is the deserted place Jesus went off to, three hundred years before the monastery was built. He has left the crowd.The word disciple means, one who learns. Maybe what I need to learn from this short passage is that there comes a time when I need to leave the crowd. Some people don't know how much they live in the crowd. They can't conceive of it being otherwise. Jesus wants me to be free of anything that keeps me from finding God (who by the way has found me long before I even had an idea of looking for God). The "crowd" can be just such an obstacle.
The crowd can deceive me into thinking this is what I need. I only need to watch a few television commercials to hear the crowd's voice. The crowd can pressure me into thinking I've got the truth. Folks who consider themselves to be "the base" in religion or politics might envision themselves as truth carriers. The crowd can dull my conscience or my imagination, leaving me satisfied with business as usual. "Oh well, what are you going to do?" a priest from my boyhood used to say whenever the news was unpleasant or hard to hear. Living in the crowd can cause me to fear rejection. "They won't like me or accept me if I disagree."
"And he continued proclaiming his message..." Sounds like Jesus has a mind of his own. Some people never develop a mind of their own. In seminary we were taught what to believe, what to say, how to solve the problems, how to respond to questions and arguments. We became religious tradesmen - like the appliance repairman who knows the ins and outs of machines and how to keep them all working. We only learned someone else's experience of God and were never invited to share our own. Imagine if seminarians were trained and encouraged to write hymns, prayers and poems, with their own vocabulary and insights.
What's my life when, Jesus-like, for at least awhile I leave the crowd's demanding, mesmerizing, reassuring, manipulative voice? It isn't about finding a convent or monastery to hide out in for a few days.
