We are in good company when we ascend mountains, joining the likes of Abraham, Moses, Elijah, and even Jesus. As a spiritual discipline, the ascent gives us perspective, providing distance from what we leave behind. And the path itself can teach perseverance. Perspective leads to peace, gratitude, and wisdom. Perseverance calls us to prayer and prayer is mercy.
Climbing Mount Subasio to the eremo delle carceri, a traditional place of withdrawal for Francis and his early companions, perspective is slow to come but prayer for perseverance quickly sets in. This is not a typical mountain climb of switchbacks. It is worse than the Stairmaster. I’m not sure if it’s a stairway to heaven or a descent into hell. I’m not in as good a shape as I should be.
Prayer, then, is constant, as is gratitude that I didn’t drag the kids on this one. (At times I wasn’t sure if I would make it, and certainly couldn’t have handled the chore of keeping them motivated and moving.)
An hour of solitude passes and then in the distance of this dreadful incline is a pack on the ground. Is it friend or foe, brother or bandit, waiting to stab me for my 23 euros, old phone, and credit cards. I’m that tired. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Maybe I’m just tired enough to die like Elijah after battle with the Baal prophets.
We exchange buongiornos and a brief conversation ensues (in English). He’s made the journey before, he knows the way, and he promises the reward is worth the effort. I am reminded we often need the counsel and encouragement of others, companions even, for the journey. The irony is the journey is our own but we don’t walk it alone, nor were we intended to do so.
Back on my own it begins to rain gently. The clouds are actually a blessing and the sun would’ve been unbearable. Closer to the top the path narrows before widening into signs of activity. A road—for cars. Yes, you can drive here but the spiritual life is rarely expedient or efficient. It takes time to cultivate. We are not tourists on a Disney cruise, after all, we are pilgrims and pilgrims must sometimes endure rocky paths. Why drive when you make yourself tired and miserable?
I enter the grounds and almost immediately the sun breaks from behind the clouds. A sign?
I’m also joining the tourists, those who have come by more civilized means-the tour bus.
The tourist gawks. The pilgrim savors. And the pastor takes pictures for sermon and devotional purposes.
The tourist also talks a lot. And loudly. Too loudly. The pilgrim quietly treasures these things in his heart. As tourists pass through the cramped space and hobbit sized chapel with undersized doors where Francis is purported to have prayed, I sit in meditation on a small rock outcropping. Could you please shut-up? I’m trying to have a spiritual moment here!
But even the tourists are eventually quieted by their surroundings and now they flash glances of disdain my way when I pass by their quiet, and sometime intense, circles of prayer—I guess I am a loud walker. I am reminded not to judge another man’s journey. They are bringing their own burdens and aspirations to what they hope will be sacred space and a sacred encounter. I don’t think all roads lead to the same destination but neither must everyone’s look like mine. Or yours.
Our friend rejoins us. “It was worth it, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Yes. Yes, it was.”
How Francis found this place makes no sense. But I get it. It’s a fairy tale forest. Why he found it does compute. We all need a quiet place to pray. And sometimes those places are miles away. My legs are dead but my soul is filled.
We ascend mountains to draw near to God, and there is value in the ascent, but God’s grace is really in the descent, his descent to us – the lamb provided for Abraham, the Law given to Moses, the fire from heaven and the gentle whisper for Elijah, and, not least, Christ on the cross on Mount Calvary. None of these were required of God but he graciously showed up, as he continues to do.
And now my descent begins and begins with temptation. The devil’s wiles come not in the form of a Mars bar, man does need bread sometimes, and sometimes it’s all you can find. Instead, temptation comes in the form of 3 taxis patiently waiting to aid those on their journey. No shortcuts today, Satan. Today is about perseverance, running the race, and enduring the slippery, loose rocks, perfect for rolling an ankle.
The return brought encounters with many more pilgrims, those getting a later start. It’s all over their faces: some are struggling, some wonder what they’ve gotten into, others just want to know how much longer. And I can now offer the encouragement, with a smile, “This is the hardest part. It’s terrible. But keep going. The climb is worth it.”
Below: Doing what Christians do, the site was quickly turned into a place of pilgrimage with a monastery and chapels. Francis and his comrades, it seems, were content with nature, caves, and stone outcroppings. Me entering the place, now chapel-ized, where Francis supposedly spent his time in prayer. Gorgeous views and a few flights of stairs climbed for the day.
Final Projects... 