During our pilgrimage to the Holy Land last year, my friend George and I ended up in the desert. And it was hot… Brutally hot. Bakingly hot. Unbelievably hot.
At one point, George and I trudged through a desert ravine, in order to reach the Monastery of St. George. It was so hot and dry that I thought one or both of us would pass out. And the line from today’s psalm came to mind: O God, you are my God whom I seek; for you my flesh pines and my soul thirsts, like the earth, parched and lifeless without water. Actually, the whole line didn’t come to mind: I was too hot to think! Just the part about my soul desiring God as much as the dry land.
How much do I want God? I remember thinking.
How much do I want God? As much as I did when I was thirsting in the desert and would have given anything for a long cold drink of grape juice, or a mouthful of Cherry Slurpee? As much as that deer seemed to long for water in that painting, his head bent down, completely intent on lapping up a cool drink? I wonder. Sometimes I end up not praying as much as I want to, or even, to use a loaded word, should.
Why is that? I have a work ethic that gets me to my desk every day at 9 a.m. without fail. What’s my prayer ethic? How much do I want God?
--Fr. James Martin, Facebook, June 2, 2012
Image source: https://sojo.net/articles/learning-walk-desert
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