We recently spent a couple of nights with a friend who has retired to a beautiful cottage by a river on the edge of Dartmoor. Mornings in the conservatory, watching ducks, squirrels, a pheasant and other birds enjoying the garden were wonderfully restorative. I expected walks on the moors, with their sense of wilderness, to provide a great source for a Lenten reflection. But in fact, what I’ve come away pondering is the risk and the reward of visiting a friend.
It’s a very different experience meeting a friend for dinner at Wagamama’s and negotiating a shared living space for a couple of days. Will conversation run out? Or will they talk too much? Are they grumpy in the mornings? Am I? Will we still like each other at the end of it? But being with a friend in the safety and familiarity of their own home allows you to see and know them in a far richer way; in their quietness and their frustrations, their uncertainties and their assertiveness, when they swear at the world or sing out loud.
Jesus visited a lot of people. He experienced both openness and hostility, warm hospitality and less attentive receptions. But when his hosts allowed themselves to be seen and known, he brought healing and transformation.
Apart from our two days on Dartmoor, I haven’t made time this Lent to meet God in a place of wilderness or retreat. I feel exhausted by the awfulness of the world’s conflicts, the inequality and injustice of the world’s systems, and the struggles of my patients. All I can do is rely on God to visit me, right where I am. The conversation won’t be great and there will definitely be grumpiness. I just pray that occasionally I will let myself be seen and known.
Susannah Woodd
