Unexpected Vistas and Mountaintop Prayer
Freezing Hikes, Determination, & the Sorrowful Mysteries
Though the sun shone brightly, I thought it best to avoid the overlooks, where the violent wind cut to my core. Bundled in layers, with a scarf pulled up over my nose, I set out towards the trailhead for a January afternoon hike.
I’d been unsure where to hike today, knowing only that I wanted to explore a new trail, one that hopefully would allow me some time in the sun. As I paused at the trailhead, I studied the helpful sign, wishfully eying a long route, one that was estimated to take about 2.5 hours to complete. Knowing I had just under two hours before sunset, I considered settling for a shorter trail I’d hiked before. But then the thought struck me that instead of completing the entire 2.5-hour loop, I could hike for about 45 minutes, rest a bit, and then retrace my steps to make it back before sunset.
With a decision reached, I began my journey. The woods were quiet, the only jarring interruption being eager squirrels bustling about. The intensity of the cold startled me, almost immediately feeling like it was too much to bear. The temptation to succumb to cowardice in the name of prudence began to whisper at the edge of my mind. But then a crazy sort of determination set upon me. I would challenge the mountain, tackling the sharp incline, the bleak surroundings, the lacerating winds biting at my legs, and the apparent solitude.
As I made my way along the trail, I wound my scarf about my neck a second time and prepared for the adventure. Though not a very long hike, the elements seemed to extend each minute, and the unfamiliar path kept me guessing what my destination would be. The trees groaned in the wind, filling the air with haunting sylvan murmurings. Cut off from its companions further in the woods, a single deer stared me down as I passed, remaining in place with a timid yet statue-like stance.
The elevation, exertion, and frigidity quickly found me out of breath, and I slowed my pace as I got my water bottle out to add in some electrolytes and rehydrate. Thirst quenched, I restowed my bottle and continued onward. Knowing that I wouldn’t complete the full loop, my destination was unclear to me. This uncertainty gnawed at me as I walked, but pushed me onward with greater determination.
When knitting a hat or a sweater, one method is to knit “in the round,” where instead of knitting in rows, back and forth, you join ends of the first row and then knit using connected needles in one endless loop. When I knit in the round, I have a very hard time knowing when to take a break. As I make my way around and around, a sort of obsession takes over, and I continue onward, often finishing a hat in one setting. I happened to finish a hat in an afternoon exactly a week ago, last Sunday, so the feeling was fresh in my mind. The same spark burned within me as I climbed higher and higher up the mountain. Without a natural ending point, the trail felt infinite. Though I could technically stop at any time to rest, or turn back, an obsessive determination took over. I wouldn’t stop until I’d reached a point that felt like a proper end.
After quite some time, I finally hit my first natural stopping point. A tree had fallen dramatically in the path, little enough to scramble through the branches and continue onward, but still big enough to act as a decent conclusion to my hike. I considered turning back now, but the sun shone through the trees with an inviting warmth, and the feeling that I must keep onward prevented my turning back. So, sliding between the branches like a thief passing through a laser maze in a heist film, I continued my relentless path.
Perhaps it was grace that moved me onward, hastening my feet. Just minutes beyond the fallen tree the land dropped away to my right, exposing the cascading treetops, fading down into the valley beneath me. I walked along the mountainside path, now exposed to the buffeting winds, but also basking in the sunshine. Suddenly the path opened into a clearing where an outcropping of rocks jutted away from the woods, providing an astonishing view of the surrounding valley. Scrambling up onto a rock, I gazed with affection over the sundrenched vista before me. This was the destination I had been anticipating throughout the bitter trails below. This was what had pulled me forward.
I lingered in the clearing, resting, soaking in the moment, and praising the Lord for the beauty before me. Then, checking the time, I realized this exact spot lined up perfectly with my timeline. If I turned back now, I would make it back just before sunset. So, with gratitude and satisfaction, I turned my steps downhill.
Though on the way up my mind had been distracted by the elevation, incline, and harsh wind, hiking down freed me to turn my thoughts elsewhere. Reflecting on the blessing of the unexpected vista, I found myself praying out loud. I often pray when on my walks and hikes, but rarely out loud. However, the joy from conquering the mountain seemed to well up in me and I found myself reflecting that perhaps the Lord’s name had never before been proclaimed to this little patch of the earth. While there was no with me one to listen, I rejoiced at the opportunity to bring the name of the Lord to this corner of creation. Though not made in His image and likeness, the mountain, trees, and stones were still created out of love. Scripture and Creation seemed to encircle me.
Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to his disciples, “Sit here, while I go yonder and pray.” And taking with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me.” And going a little farther he fell on his face and prayed, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.” -Matthew 26:36-39
Almost every time I pray the rosary on a walk or a hike, I choose to pray the Sorrowful Mysteries. I cannot help it. The first Sorrowful Mystery is the Agony in the Garden. They literally begin in the garden, so as my feet hit the path, and the trees and wind wrap about me, my heart is transported to the garden with our Lord. More than anywhere else, walking in nature places me physically with Christ in the garden of Gethsemane.
And on this freezing cold day, I am bundled up against the harsh cold, a vivid reminder that the world is not my home. As I walk, I notice countless holes crafted by animals in the passing trees. They seem to echo this same message. These tiny holes provide a mountaintop shelter from the harsh winds, but the buffer between the violent winter is thin, and the cruelty of the garden all too close. We suffer in this valley of tears, but the Lord has joined us here. He too has entered the garden. He knows the winds, the pain, the hardships of the world. We are no longer alone.
Pilate released Barabbas to them, but after he had Jesus scourged, he handed him over to be crucified. -Matthew 27:26
I begin the second mystery: The Scrouging at the Pillar. Suddenly around me the sight of sheets of bark peeling away from large tree trunks pierce my mind. Even the strong giants of the forest appear frail and broken when we see their bark breaking away. It is an act of violence to their majesty. Reflecting on this mystery, images of Our Lord being scrouged with cruelty enter my mind. The visual similarity these trees have to Christ’s scourging shocks me and as I gaze about me, my heart breaks and the emotion chokes me. He grew up like a sapling, and now His dignity is being torn away. With tears of remorse, I continue in prayer.
Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the praetorium, and they gathered the whole battalion before him. And they stripped him and put a scarlet robe upon him, and plaiting a crown of thorns they put it on his head, and put a reed in his right hand. And kneeling before him they mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” -Matthew 27:27-29
The previous mystery ends, and I turn to the third Sorrowful Mystery, The Crowning with Thorns.
The Lord of the Universe, the King of Kings, is crowned with humiliation.
When thorns encircle something, it is trapped, away from our reach. Thorns create a barrier between objects, severing the potential for harmony or unity. The crown of thorns does not simply add to Christ’s physical pain. It also signifies that we, in our sinfulness, have put up a barrier between Christ so that we may keep our selfish lives separate from His call to suffering and redemption.
As I begin my meditation, I glance down and notice red berries embedded in the mud beneath my feet. Like drops of blood, they pull me deeper into this mystery. Glancing up from the ground, I am blessed with a marvelous gift. Along both sides of the trail, red thorns grow in wanton tangles. I pause and bend down to take a closer look. This rosary has suddenly become a living meditation. Nature and scripture intertwining in front of me, pulling me into the mystery of Christ’s Passion.
The red thorns continue along the path as I pray the mystery, culminating in a giant swath as it comes to an end. How have I been given such a blessing?
And they compelled a passer-by, Simon of Cyrene, who was coming in from the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to carry his cross. And they brought him to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). -Mark 15:21-22
I pass what seems to be a much easier gravel path going in a different direction and begin the fourth mystery, the Carrying of the Cross. By this point, I wonder if something else along my path will strike me in connection with this mystery. Like Simon, we are called to carry the cross that we have been given with joy. Our Lord has taken the greatest cross, and ours pale in comparison, but how eager we are to drop them and free ourselves from any bit of pain. The tentacles of the world seem to pull the cross down from our shoulders, and at times we barely resist.
As I ponder the crosses we have been given, I notice that suddenly almost all of the trees beside me are entangled in strong vines. The vines shoot up and around what appear to be healthy, rooted trees, pulling many to their demise. Many trees stand tall, though enwrapped in vines, but many more seem to litter the forest floor. As I gaze upon the desolation, thinking of our struggles to carry our crosses, the entangled mess of fallen trees about me become a stark inspiration to shoulder our burdens and continue onward. We must yank out the tendrils of sin that have taken root within our lives. May we join the Lord with joy, shouldering our burdens alongside Him each day.
And when they came to the place which is called The Skull, there they crucified him, and the criminals, one on the right and one on the left. And Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” ... It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun's light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit!' And having said this he breathed his last.” -Luke 23:33-46
The fifth mystery: The Crucifixion. How have we done this to Him? How has He permitted it? The invasive vines increase about me, pulling down branches and trees. The brush underfoot blocks my view, creating a tunnel where I walk. The temperatures have dropped, and air is harsh and cold. Sunset is minutes away. Everything seems bleak and hopeless. Jesus dies on the Cross.
The woods have plunged me into the Passion of Our Lord, and now everything has stopped. The woods abruptly fade away, the trailhead appears, and my rosary comes to an end. But as I make my way towards my car, the beauty of the sunset captures me, and I stop to watch its final moments. The sight fills me with peace and hope. I am now reminded that though I have finished my hike, this is not the end. My determination to endure must not stop at freezing hikes and windswept mountaintops. I must continue the struggle, pressing onward towards eternal vistas, to an everlasting destination; one surpassing all expectations.
It seems it was prudence that kept me hiking in the winter after all.