My dear brothers and sisters in Christ, 

We have entered Lent. And if we are honest – the world around us already feels like a desert.  

There is a strange barrenness in the air. Confusion spreads like sand in the wind. Truth feels obscured. Hearts feel tired. Families feel strained. Even the Church feels as though she is walking through a dry and thirsty land. 

The prophet Isaiah once cried: “The just perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart, and men of mercy are taken away, because there is none that understandeth; for the just man is taken away from before the face of evil” (Isaiah 57:1). 

“No man layeth it to heart.” 

That may be the truest description of our time. We are flooded with information, but starved for contemplation. We are surrounded by noise, but empty of meaning. We are connected digitally, but isolated spiritually. And no one takes it to heart. It feels like a wasteland. 

And yet – Lent does not begin in the city. It begins in the desert. St. Matthew tells us: “Then Jesus was led by the spirit into the desert, to be tempted by the devil” (Matthew 4:1). 

Notice that carefully. He was led. The desert was not an accident. It was not a failure. It was not abandonment. It was intentional. The Spirit led Him there.  

Brothers and sisters – what if this moment in history is not merely collapse, but desert? What if the dryness we feel is not proof that God has left us, but rather evidence that He is leading us somewhere deeper?  

The desert strips away illusion. In the desert, there are no distractions. No comforts. No applause. No false security. No excess. Only hunger. Only thirst. Only truth. 

And it is there – in that stark simplicity – that Satan approaches. “If thou be the Son of God, command that these stones be made bread.” That is always the temptation in the desert. Turn stones into bread. Turn faith into comfort. Turn sacrifice into convenience. Turn the Cross into something easier.  

But Our Lord answers: “… Not in bread alone doth man live, but in every word that proceedeth from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4). 

The desert reveals what truly sustains us. And here is what we must face. The modern world has been turning stones into bread for a long time. We have built systems that promise endless comfort, endless consumption, endless affirmation. But souls are starving. We have more bread than ever before – and less meaning. More stimulation – and less peace. More opinions – and less wisdom. More technology – and less reverence. 

The desert exposes this. And perhaps that is why so many feel unsettled. Because Lent pulls us away from illusion. 

The prophet Hosea gives us one of the most tender desert passages in Scripture. God speaks of His unfaithful people and says: “Therefore, behold I will allure her, and will lead her into the wilderness: and I will speak to her heart” (Hosea 2:14). 

“I will lead her into the wilderness: and I will speak to her heart.”  

The wilderness is not punishment. It is purification. God leads His people into solitude not to destroy them – but to speak to them. But look honestly at the landscape around us. 

Wars and rumors of wars. 

Nations trembling. 

Economic instability. 

Borders strained. 

Families divided. 

Confusion about the most basic truths of human identity. 

Children subjected to ideologies that distort nature itself. 

Innocence attacked. 

Authority mistrusted. 

Truth relativized. 

We are witnessing governmental corruption exposed in real time. We are seeing institutions collapse under the weight of their own dishonesty. We are watching cultural foundations erode – marriage redefined, life discarded, virtue mocked, faith pushed to the margins. 

And now, dark things once dismissed or whispered about are being confirmed and uncovered – abuse long concealed, networks of influence shielding perversion, power protecting itself while the vulnerable suffer. What was hidden is surfacing. What festered in secrecy is being dragged out into the light.  

The desert light is harsh – it exposes corruption protected by power, moral collapse in culture, abuse within institutions, and sins so grave they cry out to Heaven for justice. The shadows are thinning. The veil is lifting. And we cannot simply look away. 

It feels barren. It feels severe. It feels like judgment. But Scripture reminds us: “… Behold, I make all things new …” (Apocalypse 21:5). 

New life does not begin in comfort. It begins in barrenness. The Israelites wandered forty years in the desert before entering the Promised Land. Forty. Our Lord fasted forty days. Lent gives us forty days. Forty is the number of purification. Forty is the number of preparation. Forty is the number of transformation. But we must not romanticize the desert. It is hard.  

The Israelites murmured. They longed to return to Egypt – to slavery – because at least slavery felt familiar. And that is another temptation of our time. Return to Egypt. Return to what is comfortable. Return to what is socially acceptable. Return to what requires less courage. But God did not free His people to return them to chains. And He did not call you to holiness so you could blend into the world. 

St. Paul tells us: “Be not conformed to this world: but be reformed in the newness of your mind …” (Romans 12:2). 

The desert reforms the mind. The desert strengthens the will. The desert clarifies vision. When everything else is stripped away, you discover whether Christ is truly enough. 

When the world grows cold, the temptation is either despair or distraction. Despair says: It’s too far gone. Distraction says: Don’t think about it. But Lent offers a third path: Return.  

“… Be converted to me with all your heart, in fasting, and in weeping, and mourning” (Joel 2:12). 

With all your heart. Not partially. Not politically. Not culturally. But wholly.  

The world may feel desolate – but desolation can become the doorway to revival. The great saints were forged in deserts. John the Baptist emerged from the wilderness with clarity and fire. The early monks fled to the deserts because they knew silence sharpens the soul.  

The desert does not last forever. But it must be embraced before resurrection comes.  

My dear friends, do not waste this Lent. If the world feels empty – fill your home with prayer. 

If culture feels confused – immerse yourself in Scripture. 

If leadership feels weak – strengthen your own soul. 

If the Church feels shaken – become steady. 

Fast not only from food, but from noise. Fast not only from indulgence, but from indifference. Pray not mechanically, but desperately. Because the desert reveals who we trust. 

If you feel spiritually dry right now – do not assume you are abandoned. Dryness often precedes depth. Silence often precedes revelation. The desert often precedes glory. 

“He brought forth water out of the rock: and made streams run down as rivers” (Psalm 77:16).  

He can do it again. But first – the desert. 

May this Lent not be routine. May it be honest. May it be holy. May it purify us.  

Because the desert is not our destruction. It is our formation.  

May Almighty God bless you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. 

Bishop Joseph E. Strickland 

Bishop Emeritus