Forecast: Rainfall

A Reflection on the First Reading for Sunday, December 11th, 2022:
Third Sunday of Advent

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Isaiah
35:1-6, 10

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the LORD, the majesty of our God. Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, "Be strong, fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you." Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then shall the lame man leap like a hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; And the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

I have never seen a desert. I did visit the enchanting Carcross Desert in the Yukon, but I gather this is actually a series of sand dunes and not, as widely claimed, “the world’s smallest desert.” That distinction belongs to South America’s Atacama, also known as Earth’s driest desert. The Atacama receives on average 0.6 inches of rain per year, but parts of it have not seen a drop of rain in recorded history. It is one of our planet’s best substitutes for a Martian environment. 
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Apparently, you can drive for a hundred miles in the Atacama and never see so much as a blade of grass. And yet, analysis indicates that seeds are plentiful in the soil, where they can lie dormant but viable for 10, even 20, years.

Deserts are not, as we may be tempted to think, lifeless places. 

Once every 5-7 years, the Atacama has a rainfall “event.” Showers, swift and intense, descend on the desert, awakening the tenacious and long-suffering seeds of more than 200 species of flowers. Weeks later, they spring to life, carpeting the desert with pink, purple, blue, yellow, white and orange blooms.

That is the awakening of a physical desert. 

What about spiritual deserts? What about those times when the heart feels like a brittle thing, hollowed out by fear and dessicated by resentment?  Can we trust that somewhere in our heart of stone there are dormant seeds of joy and virtue that, when nourished, will spring to life and recreate for us a heart of flesh?

Of course.

The first reading for this Sunday speaks about a spiritual desert of weakness, infirmity and fear, but Isaiah forecasts a rainfall event. “God will come, “ he says. “He will come and save you…. [W]aters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert.” And “the desert shall rejoice and blossom … abundantly…. [T]he ransomed of the LORD shall return …. Everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.”

Lord, I know I will walk through deserts in this life, times when my spirit is too feeble to “rejoice and blossom.” But, You, Lord, have planted in the soil of my heart seeds that can lay dormant but viable for years. And I trust that You will fulfill Your promise of water.




Donna Davis

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