I'VE BEEN TO THE MOUNTAINTOP

I had never thought of my dad as old until August 2, 1992. I remember the date, because it was the day Betsy and I celebrated our seventh anniversary, and it was the year my parents turned 60. We were visiting their home in Colorado Springs, so Dad and I decided to take advantage of the opportunity and hike to the top of Pike’s Peak.

As I write this, I recognize how strange it was that I went hiking with my dad on my anniversary.

Dad enjoyed the mountains. He was pastoring a small Baptist church in the Springs that gave him time to be outdoors and to pursue an impressive fitness streak that he maintained for about six years. From about 1990 to 1996 he ran a minimum of two miles every day, without missing once. He was physically fit. Strangely obsessed, perhaps, but physically fit. He had done the Pike’s Peak hike a few weeks earlier when a college intern that was working at the church for the summer had made the trip with him. The intern had joked about Dad’s age and stamina before the hike. The intern’s youth was sucked out of him by the mountain, leaving him faint and stumbling. My father taunted him most of the way for being shown up by the old preacher. The young man had paid in lungs and muscle; he would also pay with his ego. Dad can be brutal that way.

The mountain can be brutal as well. Barr Trail runs from the Springs to the summit of Pike’s Peak (14,110 ft. elevation) over a distance of 13 miles and an elevation gain of 7,500 feet. It is not a journey for the faint of heart or weak of leg. I was in pretty good condition, but I was a little concerned about my ability to keep up with the man. It never occurred to me that things would turn out as they did.

I had never considered my dad as anything but strong. He was one of those men who could do whatever he set his mind to. He knew how to do everything and he had an answer for every question. If a threat or a problem ever presented itself, he rose to the occasion and took care of business. I had faith in him. When I was younger there were times I didn’t like him very much, and times I challenged his authority, but I never doubted his strength.

Once we nearly came to fisticuffs when I told my mom to shut up. Before I even had the words out of my mouth, the side of my face stung from his open hand. I was 17 and had been lifting weights pretty seriously for a year or two. I was playing football and benching 210 at the time, so when I instinctively came out of my chair and pushed him, it was no surprise that he hit the floor. But even then, after I retreated to my room in shame, I didn’t view my dad as weak. If anything I considered myself lucky. I thought the only way I had escaped a serious thrashing was that the Baptist preacher had risen up to calm the former truck driver and sailor in him.

So when we made our start on Barr Trail, I fell in behind him just hoping to keep up. The plan was for us to make our way in a single day hike to the summit, where the rest of the family would meet us, and we would drive home together on the Pike’s Peak Highway.


Barr Trail

The day was beautiful and the hiking was good, but not particularly wild. With the city sprawled out below and the Summit House Visitors’ Center and Gift Shop perched on top, civilization always seemed nearby; but it was still one of the most grueling treks I had ever taken. We reached the halfway point at Barr Camp and we were feeling pretty good. The only awkward moment was the brief rain shower that sent us under an A-frame shelter that we shared with a couple of dudes, who I can only assume were looking to treat their glaucoma with some of nature’s painkiller. We declined their kind offer for a hit (“Our eyes are fine.”) and got back to the trail. Never thought I would see marijuana and my dad in the same place.

Shortly after that, we started to come out above the tree line. Even though it was summer, the air grew colder, oxygen was in short supply, and the clouds began to roil. My body was hurting, but the pain was tolerable. Inspired by Greg LeMond and Miguel Indurain, I had been training pretty hard on the bike that year. I just kept envisioning myself pounding through the Alps in the Tour de France. All of a sudden I realized Dad wasn’t beside me. I looked around and saw him laboring fifty yards behind. I assumed he had stopped to relieve himself or tie his shoe, so I sat on a rock to wait. It didn’t occur to me that he was struggling. As he got closer I could see it on his face.

Before I continue, I have to tell you that there is risk in my writing this. My dad is still alive and well. In fact he is incredibly well for a 71-year-old man. If he reads this (of course the only way he will is if you or I show it to him, since he won’t have anything to do with computers) he may dispute my account of the events. He may challenge my story and claim that I am full of it. He is a proud man. And the truth of the matter is that my perspective may have been skewed by some unconscious journey, some deep emotional urge to weaken my dad as a way of strengthening myself. The Freudians and Jungians among you can fight over that one.

Regardless of what was really happening, I was unsure what to do. I didn’t want to take off and leave him, but I also knew him well enough to know that it would bother him if I held back. So I tried to do both. I went on ahead, then explored off-trail for awhile, allowing him to catch up.

Then the storm hit.

Both of us had spent a good amount of time hiking in the Rockies, so we knew it was important to be off the peaks by noon. Storms roll in nearly every day, and it can get nasty. In our hubris, we had tested the limits. It was after 2:00 and things were getting lively.

When it hit, it hit hard. The sky darkened, the wind picked up, the rain fell, and the lightning began to explode around us. You see, when you are in a storm near 14,000 feet, lightning doesn’t have far to travel, and there is nowhere to hide. If you haven’t been in the midst of such natural violence with no shelter available, it can be a terrifying experience.

We had reached the "Sixteen Golden Stairs,” a series of steep switchbacks that were not far from the top. I could faintly make out Summit House from where I was, but the exhaustion and the prospect of being blown apart by the storm were shaking my resolve to make the final push. I felt like I would have to dodge enemy bombs to make it to safety. I was reminded of a line from the Bob Dylan song, “Brownsville Girl,” when the Dylan sings, “I didn’t know whether to duck or to run, so I ran.”

We hesitated for a moment. Do we stop and hide in the cleft of a rock, or do we run like hell? We ran. As I reached the back entrance of Summit House, I felt the pain of the journey run through my entire body, but I was exhilarated. Mostly I wanted to dig into the “world famous” Summit House doughnuts. I expected Dad to be right behind me, but I didn’t see him immediately.

Then there he was, battling through the rain and exhaustion. Made it.


View from the summit.

He seemed smaller as he stepped out of the storm. He moved in slow motion. Absent was the look of accomplishment and joy. Instead he looked ill. As I made my way to counter for doughnuts, Dad headed to the restroom. I saw him returning down the aisle. He did not look well. When he got near me I swear I smelled the hint of vomit. I offered him a doughnut, but he just shook his head and sat down. I had to look away.

Who was this man I had followed all my life? This prophet. This king. Dare I say, this god. Who was he and what had he become? My center wasn’t holding. The effect was dizzying.

Who was I and what had I become? What was I becoming? I realized I didn’t know the answers to these questions. I didn’t know the answers, because I had not been asking the questions. I was a young man with a strong father. I didn’t need to have those things worked out. I felt like I was lost.

It seems that God has a way of delivering important messages on mountaintops. Abraham was asked to sacrifice Isaac, Moses received the 10 Commandments, Jesus’ Transfiguration…to name a few. I made a discovery on the mountaintop that afternoon. I discovered that I was on my own. It shook me with fear but also with anticipation. I mean, what value is there in grace if there is no risk? I had been living within an illusion of protection. All the mystery in my life was ultimately controlled or explained by my father. That mountaintop taught me that he is a victim of the storm just like me. I had always been able to count on my dad’s strength. When he became weak, I was able to see him in truth, and become strong for the first time in my life.

I return to that mountaintop—in my mind if not in person—from time to time, and I feel the fear of a little boy who can’t find his mommy or daddy, the disorienting feeling of losing your meaning-maker. I know now that the fear is the gateway to the strength. When I can let go of all the things: relationships, possessions, reputations, routines, answers, etc. that give me comfort and provide meaning for me, I am able to embrace the beautiful mystery that is faith.

For a long time I have resisted telling this story, because I didn’t want to hurt my dad’s feelings. But I know him, and I know the greatest gift I can give him is the truth, and the story of how I found greater strength and faith in his weakness.

Not long ago I visited the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis with one of my daughters. The end of the tour brought us to the spot in the Lorraine Motel where Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot. Before we reached the spot of that tragedy, we came to an exhibit that brought all this back to me. It was about the speech King gave in support of the striking sanitation workers on April 3, 1968—the day before he was assassinated. His words became my words.

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

I recalled the fear and the freedom I had when I stood on my mountaintop. I could only imagine the feeling of fear giving way to freedom on Dr. King's mountaintop. I couldn’t help it, I wept. I felt the deepest sadness and the presence of the deepest glory. At that moment I probably didn’t look very strong. To my daughter I might have even looked...older.

Dear God, may she find strength in my weakness.