On my recent North Sea excursion to Norway and the Orkneys I often enjoyed standing on the outer decks looking out to sea. It struck me that the ocean is, or could be viewed as “the desert” in the same way that third and fourth century ascetics went out into the desert to master the art of transcendence.

And yet, to my knowledge at least, there is nothing like the Philokalia of the Sea.

The idea of the desert was one of relying not on the social network of other humans, but on God alone (and I dare say the gifts and talents God provides for self-sufficiancy). On the Ocean – on a small ship, or as some have done in the past few years – on your own in a tiny, fragile sailing vessel – you are very literally on your own, and I dare say very reliant on the Divine for company.

The awe inspiring sense of isolation at sea is I think comparable to that of the classic image of “The Desert” – but I wonder are there other places where humans go that can fit this idea? The city perhaps? Afterall London, where I live is a place where it is very easy to be very alone, very isolated, by choice, and by accident. I can see how this very man made “desert” could be a place of spiritual growth and renewal in the same spirit as that of the early ascetics.

After many months of indecision I have finally published my MA thesis on the emergence of the Virgin Mary as a figure of female asceticism in the third and fourth centuries. You can pick up a copy by clicking here.

Primarily through the writings of Origen and Athanasius I trace the development of the image of Mary from a young virgin to the paragon of female asceticism.

If you are interested in early developments in the image of Mary, or early ideas behind asceticism (and early monasticicsm) you might be interested in this essay.

Consider for a moment what it is we “do” during Lent. Because of the fast, we consciously consider our diet, we adjust what we eat, we are increasingly aware of the ingredients – are they vegetarian or not. During Lent the discipline of the season shapes our daily life, it informs and refines our choices. But too often our focus is on “following the rules” because this is the tradition – rather than the purpose and effect of practicing “discipline” or asceticism.

The discipline of Lent is not about deprivation and dieting. The discipline of Lent like any ascetic practice, is about refinement and conscious action. Our fasting practice erupts into our daily life and challenges us to integrate spiritual practice into daily life. Too often we divide the two letting one overshadow the other, compartmentalising the “public” and the “private” aspects of our life. So here’s the question – in your experience of our Christian faith which is public, and which is private? Does this paradigm require an adjustment? How can you carry this conscious integration into your post-Lent living?