More Than Just a Hike

A couple of Sundays ago was Mothers Day, and my sweet wife and the mother of our children had a plan for her Special Day.  She wanted to go on a hike. 

Quite different from what Dad will want on his day - which will likely consist of a medium rare steak he cooks himself, and a .... sit.  As opposed to a hike.  But enough about me.

We loaded up the car with a simple picnic lunch, and took off for this place, above Glendale.  The best part of the day was that Older Daughter had decided to board a plane and fly 1,700 miles home from college, just for Mothers Day.  For me, this was a wonderful illustration of the magnetic power of a mother's love. 

And so, the whole family was together again.  It doesn't happen as much these days, with Older Daughter off at college, and Younger Daughter quite independent and very busy as a high school junior.  And so, there was a simple sense of celebration in the collection together of us all, if only for a weekend.  Studies and time with high school and college friends was put on hold.  We piled in the car and headed out, if only for a couple of hours.  It was time for Mom.

More than two years ago I wrote here about the Station Fire, and the overwhelming nature of this epic wildfire.  For our hike, my wife had chosen a park and trail that was right in the middle of this fire.  We really did not know what to expect, two years following this massive and utterly devastating event.  I have read that the measured temperature in the middle of an open wildfire can exceed 900 degrees Celsius, or 1,650 degrees Fahrenheit.  Complete annihilation of the landscape.  One would expect to find black the predominant color, with patches of green showing through, finally, two years after the fire. 

What we found was stunning.  But the primary color of black only visible in small patched, with the overwhelming portion of the landscape now a brilliant green, spotted with flowers of an amazing array of colors.  What was once black everywhere has now become, in time and the healing of nature, a showing of resurrected color.   Blackened chaparral stumps and younger oaks yielding to the healing of time.

We hiked up and around the canyon, we enjoyed the vistas through the spring clouds hugging the San Gabriel range, marveling in the variety of flowers and plants, and laughing, just at the chance to be together.

Many years ago, John Muir wrote a poem that captured well our little afternoon in the hillsides and clouds, among the new hope of Spring.

WALK WITH NATURE

John Muir

Let children walk with nature,

let them see the beautiful blendings.

communions of death and life,

their joyous inseparable unity,

as taught in woods and meadows,

plains and mountains and streams.

And they will learn that death is stingless.

And as beautiful as life.

Our faith teaches us that death is stingless, but two years ago it looked as if death might have the last word in the foothills.  And on this weekend, we learned the opposite.  Regeneration, new life, bright color, these are the things that have prevailed in a once charred and barren land.

May it be so for our lives.

Good Friday

This morning I heard a truly beautiful narrative on the meaning of the cross and Good Friday here.  The text seemed so thoughtful, I have transcribed it below. 

Beyond all the hypocrisy and pomp, above all the pain and confusion caused by the church, this is truly the essence of the who Christ is.

"As you stand there, in this strange, powerful mixture of recognition and horror, bring bit by bit in the picture, the stories upon which you have lived.  Bring the hopes you had, when you were young.  Bring the bright vision of family life; of success in sport, or work, or art.  The dreams of exciting adventures in far off places.  Bring the joy of seeing a new baby, full of promise and possibility.  Bring the longings of your heart.  They are all fulfilled here.  

Or, bring the fears and sorrows you had when you were young.  The terror of violence, perhaps at home.  The shame of failure at school.  Of rejection by friends.  The nasty comments that hurt you then, and hurt you still.  The terrible moment when you realized a wonderful relationship had come to an end.  The sudden, meaningless death of someone you loved very much.  They are all fulfilled here too.

God has taken them upon himself in the person of His Son.  This is the earthquake moment, the darkness at noon moment.  The moment of terror and sudden faith, as even the hard-boiled Roman soldier blurts out at the end.

But then, bring the hopes and sorrows of the world.  Bring the millions who are homeless because of flood or famine.  Bring the children who are orphaned by  AIDS or war.  Bring the politicians who begin by longing for justice and end up hoping for bribes.  Bring the beautiful and fragile earth on which we live.  Think of God's dreams for his Creation, and God's sorrow at its ruin.

As we stand here by the cross, let the shouting and pushing and the angry faces fade away for a moment, and look at the slumped head of Jesus.  The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Him, here, on the cross.  God chose Israel to be His way of rescuing the world.  God sent  Jesus to be his way of rescuing Israel.  Jesus went to the cross to fulfill that double mission.  His cross, planted in the middle of the jostling, uncomprehending, mocking world of His day and ours, stands as the symbol of a victory unlike any other.  

 

A love, unlike any other.  A God, unlike any other."

O Magnum Mysterium - University of Utah Singers

Today is Maundy Thursday, the day Christians commemorate the Last Supper.

This piece seems particularly appropriate for today. Although the lyrics deal with the mystery of the common birth of Jesus, I find the mystery continues to the last moments of his life - the moments of that last meal.