Arizona Desert Faith: Can an RV be catalyst for contemplation, renewal, and hearing that 'still small voice?'

Parker Strip crosses

From an early age, the son of a Pentecostal Evangelical pastor hears, reads, and memorizes scripture.

I had Sunday School teachers who went so far as to insist that that 1611 King James Version was truly the only perfect Bible available. 

Every word, direct from the Throne of God, was that paper and ink, the holy, undiluted and unchallengeable WORD of the Creator. Period.

My Sunday School teachers explained this phenomenon with surreal zeal, albeit competing ideas. Moses, King David, Daniel, Samuel, Isaiah and the rest of the prophets, and later Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Paul and the disciples got the exact words of their writings delivered by angels. 

Or they fell into “the spirit” and a heavenly trance during which a blessed  “automatic writing” spell followed.

My Dad never seemed to buy into those ideas. He was more about preaching the themes, messages, and love of the words of Jesus, and words about Him. His sermons often would turn to “the original Greek” to gently steer congregations away from, well, literally plucking out their lustful eyes … or lopping off wandering appendages to escape hell fire.

It’s metaphorical, he’d say, using the Webster Dictionary to define "metaphor."

It was mostly successful for Dad. But there was always someone who’d point out the word “metaphor” wasn’t in the King James Bible. . . sooooo?

Apologies. I digress, something I do increasingly as an old fart.

So, patience IS a virtue, OK? I wanted to share some examples of how faith plays out in the Arizona deserts, where my wife Barbara and I camped these past six months.

We saw the silent examples in the many memorial crosses dotting the hills along the Parker Strip, a road that runs about the Colorado River between Parker, Arizona, over the Parker Dam, and then into Lake Havasu City some 40-plus miles to the north.

elievers gather in many small parishes, too, from scattered Catholic and Orthodox Christian missions to a variety of denominational and non-denominational Protestant churches, and even in grassroots fellowships at RV parks on Sundays.

We saw the beach at our own park become the sandy threshold to lay ministers doing Colorado River baptisms, as waves from passing motorboats punctuated the prayers and dunking with waves.

And along a long desert drive through tiny rural hamlets in the Mojave, we spotted a tiny chapel where visitors were invited by signals to stop, rest, and pray.  (See video below).

Deserts are big in faith narratives, both multiple millennia ago, and today. Prophets, saints, monks found solace and grace in the sands of perceived desolation, but to them, inspiration and revelation.

Today? Escape from the stresses of modern city life, surely.

And like for my own patron saint, Elias (Elijah), isolation and contemplation, prayer, and faith are still catalyst for hearing that “still, small voice,” as the KJV puts it in 1 Kings 19:12.

Or, as the more modern and accurate English Standard Version translation (to me, at least) a "low whisper" rewarding attentive devotion.

Our deserts, whether of nature or the heart, seem to help us hear what's true and precious.

Beauty: We were created with its peace, eternal grace and purpose in our hearts

Saint Patrick's Lorica prayer is precious to both Orthodox and Roman Catholic believers, and its expressions of grace, faith, and a "one-story" spiritual cosmos echo throughout his creation.

There is much of Christian faith, humility, and commitment with the Lorica. It is a long prayer or song that goes back to Patrick's life and mission in Ireland.

And its truth exists beyond the time he lived, breathed and touched Ireland 1500 years ago, and all of us since.

But for me, the heart of this prayer comes in these lines:

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,

Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ on my right, Christ on my left

Christ where I lie, Christ where I sit,

 Christ where I arise

Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,

Christ in every eye that sees me,

Christ in every ear that hears me.

  During near a half-year desert pilgrimage or sorts, in a small motorhome with my wife Barbara, I've sought to experience what Patrick prayed.

There have been moments I caught glimpses of the Lorica, brief times of peace, reflection, and mumble awe. 

Still, I have so, so far to go in that quest. And I have thought of this journey as far more than my own, too.

 Where we have camped is along a stretch of the Mojave that is home to the Colorado River Indian Tribes reservation, and one of the four tribes that comprise it is the Navajo. 

Their Blessing Ceremony closing prayer includes these words:

In beauty all day long may I walk.

Through the returning seasons, may I walk.

On the trail marked with pollen may I walk.

With dew about my feet, may I walk.

With beauty before me may I walk.

With beauty behind me may I walk.

With beauty below me may I walk.

With beauty above me may I walk.

With beauty all around me may I walk.

In old age wandering on a trail of beauty,

lively, may I walk.

In old age wandering on a trail of beauty,

living again, may I walk.

My words will be beautiful…

There is a "seed" of beauty, or at least the desire for it, in us all.

For me, that is the image of God we all were created with, our potential for honoring and growing with, or struggling with, our call to eternal beauty in Him.

In the Orthodox Liturgy, we are reminded by a priest's opening declaration that the beauty, purpose and grace is found in the "Father, Son and Holy Spirit, One God."

__________

Perspective: It is everything, when you want to value the journey -- in an RV, or just plain Life

When embarking on a veritable sea change in life, and doing that late in life, perspective is everything. It can feel like those memorable moments, whether experienced in a second, minutes, or hours, are what make it so.

A beautiful sunrise turning skies red, orange, and gold; the lapping of the waves on the Colorado River’s shores amid the Mohave Desert; that feeling of being at peace and rested, stress and sickness things of the past.

Well, those moments can be decorative snapshot of eternity -- if you work to make them such, and accept them as such.

But there are other "moments."  There are those breakdowns of motorhome equipment, that winter chest cold that takes a month to finally clear your lungs, a twisted knee especially determined to make what formerly was a day or two recovery into an unwelcome handicap of weeks from a 72-year-old body.

Perspective can get lost in those moments. The key is knowing it will always be there, if sought, and recognized, and embraced.

Adventure can be bliss, and also have its detours of maddening Homeric Odyssey. That flight the soul and senses takes through crisp, early-morning desert canyons? The exhilaration may disintegrate when windstorms and cloud bursts rock the RV and collapse tents.

Perspective must evolve when you are experimenting with long-term RV life that may morph into full-time living in that Abode on the Road.

In the past five months, for us, such perspective – and faith in our Maker, and each other – were initially under-appreciated treasures for Barbara and me, but we have found in Arizona, camped between Parker and Lake Havasu.

The “slide out” that becomes our bedroom failed the first week, and fixing it took a bite out of our carefully, and wisely set aside emergency fund. Another week, and the tow bar system used to pull a small car behind us shorted out, resulting in a fire that baked the Ford Fiesta’s transmission and engine. The car was hauled off as scrap by a junkyard truck.

A rugged start, ambushed twice by metaphorical brigands on the trail, as it were. The emergency fund, though depleted, at least had served its purpose.

This week, perspective was tested again. Our electric awning decided not to open for the shade needed as Arizona's "winter" turned to temperatures in the 90s. That gets fixed in a few days, and if we were wondering, now we know where at least some of that coming tax refund will be going.

So, when the blackwater tank connection came loose this morning it seemed a minor setback. Heck, poo perspective, perhaps . . . but an hour's worth of labor, bleach, shoveling, and gravel Clorox, cleaned it up. 

Long showers did the same for us.

All that recounted, you’d think the “big picture” of fullt-time camping, or at least longer-term RV trips in our (not so) golden years would be a wee bit spattered as well? Oddly enough, not the case. 

You should not measure your dreams merely by monetary losses or derailed expectations. Or ... crap.

It has been a season of anxiety, frustration, and doubts at times. It also, upon quiet reflection, embraces our appreciation for the beauty around us, in us, above us and in others.

There is that inexplicable yet real peace of faith realized, too, on a personal pilgrimage Barbara and I  share.

That journey, for this couple of 52 years, is not over. It’s just begun.