Diamonds on the Mount of Olives

“They each went to his own house, but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives” (Jn 7:53-8:1).

Ok, so you gave up cookies for Lent.  Or you promised to pray every day.  And as we’re nearing the end of these 40 days, I ask: how are you doing?  Me—I want to bail out.  I’ve already failed enough times, so I’m feeling discouraged.  I’m starting to ask myself: why not just give up?

Well, today God reminded me of a story of why I shouldn’t:

During the third hour of the afternoon, two brothers set out into the untamed wilderness of central Colorado.  With backpacks full of food, water, first aid, and light sleeping bags to boot, the brothers laughed at how they had everything they needed to survive—all laid upon their shoulders.  They were starting out on what they had dreamed about when they first saw the beauty and glory of the mountains: they were going to climb one.  And today, it was San Luis Peak: 14,014 feet.

As the two of them trudged through pine forest and grassy field, over snow-melt brooks and rocky pass, the two slowly became tired, backs sore from the weight of their burdens, and oh so hungry.  Shortly after the sun had set, they found a stunning clearing with a beautiful view of the peak.

Here, they broke for camp, pitched a tent, and started a fire.  This was only their second day in Colorado and their lungs were heaving as a result of the low oxygen.  They had made it to 12,200 feet in their afternoon hike and, now, the pine trees were black against the purple of the twilight sky.  A northerly breeze was bringing in a surprising chill, and the brothers decided to call it a day.  They curled up in their sleeping bags and prayed for sleep.

During the night as the boys dreamed, the cold front that had brought the chilly wind passed through.  The temperatures plummeted.  Inside the tent, the boys began to toss and turn, their sleeping bags unexpectedly too light for this freezing weather.  It was late spring and warm enough to wear shorts when they starting hiking, but now, beyond all expectations and planning, the boys were caught unprepared: their bodies were shivering.

Now, since the brothers had exerted themselves so much during the afternoon hike and were not adjusted to the low level of oxygen, their shivering bodies were actually harming them.  They did not have the energy to become warm by shivering and so they slowly developed elevation sickness—in particular, the younger one.

He woke up: cold, trembling, in the dark, and feeling nauseous.  He forgot where he was.  His head was spinning from the disorientation and his body trembled at the cold and the need to empty his stomach.  He frantically searched for the zipper to the door of the tent.  He wanted to escape.  He had to bail.

The older brother heard the commotion and woke up as well.  Cold, but aware enough of what was going on, he tried to calm his brother: “take it easy, dude… slow, deep breaths… you’re going to be fine.”  This helped the young man, but he still felt trapped.  After another minute of fumbling for the zipper in the deep blackness of the tent, he found the zipper’s chilly metal, pulled back the door, and walked to the center of the clearing.

Suddenly, his breath was taken away and his eyes widened.  Before him in the vast velvet of sky, he saw piercing diamonds of light, an entire universe of stars, brilliantly illuminating the Colorado wilderness.  There was no moon, nor cloud—just millions upon millions of dazzling white and electric blue light pouring forth from many tiny, powerful portals.  For the first time in his life, he could see the Milky Way.  The breeze rustled through the high grass of the clearing, but he heard it not.  Nor did he feel his sufferings.  Beauty had captured him.

Now, I don’t mean to ruin a perfectly good story, but I have to ask you: will this young man stay in this spot forever?  Or, when he finally does go back into the tent and wakes up the following morning, do you think he is going to reach the top of the mountain?  After all, he has elevation sickness, he’s tired, and the peak is still a strenuous hike away.  Do you think that this glimpse of something heavenly might change the young man’s health and state of mind?  Will he make it?

I ask you these questions because here, in the Fourth Week of Lent, when our burdens seem too great and our sufferings overwhelming, when we really start to wonder: “Why did I give up cookies for Lent?”—it is here, when we start to give up and our despair for the remaining Easter climb seems too great, that Our Lord reaches down and lifts us up into his heavenly arms.  He brings us within sight of our heavenly home and tells us through the Eucharist, through the Gospel, through Reconciliation, through a friend—or even through the stars themsleves—that “you’re going to make it.”  Be not afraid; it is I.

He knows we’re suffering.  He knows that the remaining climb isn’t easy.  He knows that promises are hard to keep.  He knows forgiving others seems ridiculous and that carrying a cross is near-impossible.  But we know that Jesus has climbed the mountain (whether the Mount of Olives or the Hill to Calvary); we know that even he—God himself!—fell three times on the way up; we know that he has kept his promise to “be with us always until the end of time”; we know that he has offered forgiveness, even when it seemed ridiculous (like to the Prodigal Son or to the Woman Caught in Adultery); we know that he has carried a cross—THE Cross.  We know all of these beautiful assurances of Christ and we know that he has told us to do the same:

Jesus said to his disciples: If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.  Or again, Take up my yoke upon you, and learn of me, because I am meek, and humble of heart: and you shall find rest to your souls.

This is not impossible.  Even Simon the Cyrene could do it.

This is the beauty of the faith: we can follow Christ.  John the Apostle? Never denied Jesus; only apostle at the foot of the Cross; received Mary into his home—saint.  Peter, a fisherman: Pope, crucified upside-down—saint.  The rest of the apostles: martyred.  Perpetua and Felicity: young women in Rome (one pregnant with child), martyred, became saints.  Augustine? declared himself the worst sinner ever, converted—saint.  Thomas Aquinas? known as the “dumb ox” by his brothers—saint.  Maximilian Kolbe? Mary for a middle name, priest, died in the Holocaust when he offered his life in place of a Jewish man who had a wife and kids—saint.  Gianna Molla? sacrificed her life for the life of her child—saint.  Georgio Frassati?  teenager, mountain climber, fed the poor in between his studies—saint (blessed).

And you?—

Let us not think that in these higher levels of divine calling that we cannot continue on because of lack of air or lack of spirit.  Sure, our desire may feel like the brothers’ lungs on the mountain, burning and gasping for breath, and unfulfilled.  But it is here that we must remember God the Father who breathed into the lungs of Adam, or Christ who breathed upon his disciples and gave them His Spirit to strengthen them and to confirm them in the mission to proclaim the Gospel and to carry the Cross.

Sure, we may think that when our bodies begin to fail us, that our ability to do God’s will is too weak and that we may die on the way up.  But we must remember: it is only in dying with him that we rise with him.

Let us take a moment, then, to see the diamonds in the sky—the saints and those who have carried the Cross.  Let us ask for and remember the Spirit which God wants to and continues to provide you in your sufferings.  It is only thus that you will be able to have strength to make it to the top of the heavenly mountain.

This younger brother is proof.

“Worthy is the lamb that was slain to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing.” (Rev 5:12)

God love you!