Wednesday morning, Nathaniel and I ventured out for one last hike before the end of our Adirondack retreat. Clouds were hanging low, but every forecast indicated the sun would be burning them off by late morning. We headed up Pitchoff Mountain. The higher we got, the soupier the fog. When it became obvious that we would be afforded no commanding vistas, I was mostly concerned about how disappointed Nathaniel would be. Turns out, my concern was misplaced.
Standing on an outcrop that on most days would provide a clear view of the falls on the side of Cascade Mountain, Nathaniel said, “This is cool. I’ve never hiked in the clouds before.” He also told me how nice it felt. “When you hike in clear weather,” he explained, “you’re always sweating. This is much more comfortable.” It’s not that he doesn’t revel in breathtaking panoramas. Who wouldn’t? But this walk in the clouds provided its own rewards.
As we continued on, climbing to what was sure to be a complete whiteout at the summit, a thought developed in my head. Knowing there was no great view awaiting us, we weren’t hurrying to get to anything. We were just hiking for the sake of hiking. It seemed to me that this settled us into a more relaxed pace (even though some of the steeper scrambles were quite challenging). We had slowed to a saunter – or its hiking equivalent. The word “saunter” derives from the same root as the word “saint.” A saunter is a sacred walk that is unconcerned with a destination, for the focus is on the walk itself.
This led me to an additional thought. In the ancient Middle Eastern world of the Bible, clouds were associated with God’s glory. (That’s probably because big thunderheads are pretty scarce, so when they come, they turn heads.) Moses was covered in a cloud on Mt. Sinai as he stood in the presence of God. The same thing
This second thought led to a third. Since the Scientific Revolution, Western society has placed a premium on clarity and has regarded mystery as a problem to be solved. In popular spirituality, people often describe “God-moments” as bursts of spiritual sight when everything becomes clear. Sometimes that’s true, but not always. In Psalm 17:8, King David pleads, “Hide me in the shadow of your wing.” To be in God’s sheltering presence, in other words, would not be a time of light but of shadows. Sometimes, the “darkest valley” mentioned in Psalm 23 is not a time of death, grief, or crisis, but of spiritual shadows when nothing is clear yet God’s presence in palpable.
This is an aspect of spirituality that mystics often describe with great wonder, but which our contemporary world would rather deny. It offends our modern sensibilities that a place of darkness or obscurity would ever be desired. Yet some of the most meaningful experiences of God come when we cannot see. We are wrapped up in mystery. We don’t even have a need to see, because we know we are in the “shadow of God’s wing.”
I shared these thoughts with Nathaniel as we leaned against the balanced rock on the southern summit of Pitchoff. “Does this make any sense?” I asked him. “Yeah,” he said with a quick nod and a lilt in his voice. He stared up into the milky mist. After a moment to reflect, he half-whispered, “I like that.” I believe I know Nathaniel well enough to say he wasn’t just indulging his Dad.
We began our journey down the mountain. The cover seemed to be thickening rather than lifting. We didn’t finally emerge from beneath the cloud until we were almost back to the trailhead. I think we were both a little sad that our sacred walk had ended. (Of course, we were also sorry we had to end our mini-vacation.) We had enjoyed magnificent vistas earlier in the week. Wednesday was a day to focus on the journey rather than the destination; to see only enough to walk in the midst of God’s mysterious glory.
Copyright 2013 by J. Mark Lawson
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