I go to the mountaintops to feel the breath of God in the wind and see the creation of God spread before me in the vista. I think on the vastness of what I'm seeing and feeling, and in that vastness I am aware that the height, and breadth, and depth of God is far vaster, that I'm seeing just a miniscule portion of Creation, a Creation that goes on and on, farther than I can see or even imagine.
And so it was that Easter Sunday, after worship with the saints in a packed church with a packed parking lot that I headed for the vista. I sought out Mt. Cutler which overlooks Colorado Springs. I'd been told it was just the place for me this day.
But turns out it was just the place for many on this day. People, cars, runners, dogs, strollers crowded every available parking spot and then some. It was a beautiful Sunday ... who could blame them? But, my hopes for vista dissolved and I came down the mountain unfulfilled, until I turned my thoughts to Easter Monday.
And, yes, just like the crowded church with its crowded parking lot on Sunday, Monday at the Mt. Cutler trail head found that where there had been many, now there were few - make that just one. On Easter Monday, the crowed parking lots were empty save for me and my borrowed Jeep. The trail, a solitary walk for me all the way to the top. My heart's desire fulfilled the day after I'd longed for it, and a fitting reminder that our hope is no more nor no less on Easter than on any other day of life in Christ.
And, so I proceeded up the trail, not too long after day break, a brisk cool day with North Cheyenne Mountain all to myself. What a gift.
Slowly but decisively I continue upward, anticipating my goal of the vista at the top, fueled by the promise of rising up, and of ascending to a new place physically and spiritually. The whole of this adventure a worship experience.
Along the trail, the roots of this tree say to me, "When you feel the earth is falling away from beneath your feet, or the way is unsteady, or the winds are wiping the way from view, hold on to your Source. Go deep with your Roots even if they're battered and exposed to harshness. Go deep with Life even if you're on your tip toes in muck. Live it."
I revel in the solitude. I've gotten just what I've hoped for. And, then I come to a darkening in the woods. The rising sun has not reached this place. The rush of cool air coming from the recess is startling. I gasp a bit. Fear creeps in. I'm entering in to the shadows all by myself. There could be bears, or ... my mind races. Perhaps out of consideration of those who love me I should turn around. Forgo this solitary journey to the top for my vista. I pray. I consider. I keep walking.
Fear begins to dissipate. I make it through that shadowy cove and enter back into the sunlight. A glint of granite catches my eye. Something lovely. Think on those things. Pink granite. The trail is lined with boulders of pink granite. I think of Heaven's gold and pearls. It's all right here on earth, spread before us if we'll just see it.
A rock blocks the path with about only 18 inches between it and the edge of the mountain. It's either over or around. Is this the Stumbling Block? I may go down on my knees. Do I give up now? Do I turn around? In my mind's wandering I presume that if I fall off the edge everyone will assume this is where it happened and at least know where to come looking for me.
But, no. Proceed. With caution. Proceed. Just look at the Rock. Just look at the Rock. Don't look away from the path. Hold tight to the ROCK. The Rock that is stronger than I. Stay the Course.
My fear overcome, I begin moving upward and onward again, and the view further unfolds before me. Seven Falls. The reward of a glimpse of paradise.
Regretably, it seems at the moment, it is not fitting to remain on the mountaintop, though the exhilaration and thrill are enticing. That is not where we are to remain. It is time to descend, to retrace my steps back down the mountain and enter in to that which I have beheld from above.
And it is just beyond the Stumbling Block (that I have once again navigated with prayer and focus on the Rock) that I first encounter another person on the journey up. He's a young man making this favored hike for the first time in two months after foot surgery. About half way down the mountain, I meet a second person, a woman who passes with no greeting or acknowledgment. She is within herself just as I was on my journey up.
Near the trail head on the end of my journey, I meet a woman with two happy dogs racing ahead of her, and with a newborn baby strapped to her chest. We chat. It's such a happy day for them all, she says. Tell me about your baby, I say. The baby, born three months premature is now five months old, but he should be only two months old. She starts to unbundle the still little one, but I say don't disturb him, please. Let him rest. So, I never see his face, just the tiny outline of head, arms and legs splayed on her chest. But look at you both now, I say ... out and hiking a mountain. Yes, she says, but I'm not his birth mother. I am his foster mother.
And, I think to myself, we must come down from the mountain top to enter in with the people of God's world. To be foster mothers and fathers, to care about God's creation and not simply view it from the mountaintop. That mountaintop experience and praise matter. But so does entering into the world as the hands and feet of Christ, the love of God poured out.
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