Friday Farrago

• I haven't had time to blog about all the backpacking trips I took over the summer. The season added up to over 200 miles: lots of Ramen and pictures and oatmeal and trail mix and starry nights. Too much to write about, and besides, there's probably been enough blogging about hiking around here already.
  
• Next week I'll be attending a Youth Bible School in Colorado. I don't expect to be blogging, at least not very much. Please pray that the time is profitable.
• In other news, Derek Webb is going to be playing at Fresno Pacific University at 7 PM next Thursday - free. Yes, I'm going to miss it, and yes, I'm disappointed. Go if you can. Derek is an excellent musician and an outstanding songwriter, not to mention a clear bell ringing in the foggy swamp of what passes for Christianity here in America.
• Confession time: I love lolcats. I know it's just another corny internet craze, but I can't help it: I'm even making my own now. I guess I'm just a pushover for feline funniness. Does anyone have the number for Lolcatics Anonymous?

The Yosemite Triple Crown

Last Tuesday, I was joined by my good friend Joseph Lindvall for a challenging all-day adventure in Yosemite National Park. Our goal was to hike Half Dome, El Capitan, and Glacier Point, doing each trail from the valley and back. A nice bit of walking, that: approximately 43 miles worth. And that's just the horizontal direction. Vertically, we're talking about 4.5 miles - 24,000 ft - of elevation change. I can has Advil?

This marginally intelligent idea was hatched by Joseph and I several years ago, as we waited at the bottom of Half Dome for the rest of our group to finish the hike. Lounging in the shade, we began wondering how feasible it would be to do Half Dome twice in a single day. Sounded pretty extreme.

Then a few weeks ago, we hiked El Capitan with the Lindvalls for the first time. It occurred to us that it would be much more interesting to do Half Dome and then El Capitan, instead of just doing Half Dome twice. Joseph suggested we throw in the "Four Mile Trail" to Glacier Point for good measure. Sure, why not.

Joseph arrived at our house Monday afternoon, in time for an excellent pasta dinner. (Thanks Leah!) We went over last-minute details, double-checked our gear, and prepared lunches for the next day. I showered. Then it was time to hit the sack for a few hours of sleep before our departure.

The alarms went off at 2 AM and we loaded our packs, water, and ice into the truck. The highway was dark and deserted, and we made good time to our first trailhead. By 3:35, after stowing our cache of food and water in a bear locker, we were hiking.

To our delight, we found the valley much warmer than we anticipated. Clad in polyester T-shirts, we attacked the climb up to Nevada Falls, the stone steps illuminated by the soft glow of our L.E.D. headlamps. The nice thing about hiking the Mist Trail late in the season is the lack of spray from the waterfalls. It's not called the Mist Trail for nothing. (Of course, the waterfalls are not nearly as dramatic as they are in the spring, when the water is crashing pell-mell down the cliffs with the exuberant fury of unfrozen winter, but you can't see them in the dark anyway.)

We hiked on through the night, enjoying the silence, stopping only to answer nature's call or grab a quick snack. Mmmm, a soft Pecan Pie LARABAR at 5:00 in the morning is tough to beat.

As we rounded the curve just below the lower dome, we noticed the first glow of dawn gathering behind the eastern horizon. By the time we reached the stairs, we were hiking comfortably without headlamps.

So far, we hadn't seen anybody. It was 6:20, and we were feeling really good about our progress. As we crested the top of the lower dome, we heard voices at the bottom of the cables. Sure enough, there was a party there ahead of us. They had started at 1:10. What can I say - some people are just crazy.

After stowing our hiking poles, we passed the other party and hauled ourselves up the 900 ft. of cable to the top. Gloved hands against braided steel, the surging fear that clutches at me every time I do this. Somehow, however, this sullen hunk of granite seemed less intimidating in the soft, diffused light of the early morning.

6:36 AM - Half Dome

We snapped a few pictures, shot a couple minutes of video, called our families, and then headed back over the edge to begin our descent. It wasn't until we were off the cables and back on the lower dome that the sun finally broke over the mountains, precisely at 7:00.

We set off down the trail at a good clip, stopping intermittently to stretch. The idea is to strike a balance between making good time and overworking yourself. Overall, we both felt we paced ourselves reasonably well throughout the day.

The return trip was uneventful, and we reached the bottom just after 9:00. One down, two to go.

***

We drove over to the El Capitan trailhead at Camp IV to regroup and prepare for the next hike. New socks, new clothes, a new handful of LARABAR's (and one Clif Nectar too). We took turns dunking our feet in a large cooler of ice water Joseph had brought for that purpose. Not particularly comfortable, but I think it helped.

Munching on bananas and roast beef sandwiches, we mentally prepared for the next ascent. El Cap is not as high as Half Dome, but the trail is almost as long, and the climb up to the top of Yosemite Falls is killer. The staggering immensity of the day was slowly beginning to sink in.

We started up at 10:05, hiking poles clawing rhythmically into the trail. This was the hottest part of the day, climbing the switchbacks to Yosemite Point in the direct sun. About halfway up we met a rather talkative young Austrian named Florian - one of those random encounters that makes you feel like you're in a dream. But no, I'm not in a dream - my feet hurt.

There were crews doing controlled burns down in the valley, and the smoke was drifting up around Half Dome - good thing we were done over there.

11:30 - Yosemite Point: Cashew Cookie. Yum-Yum. Still less than halfway, so we keep the break short. Florian's eating an apple, telling us about the mountains in Austria. Friendly, unassuming chap, and a decent hiker to boot. We take our leave and move on.

The trail was relatively quiet for it being the middle of the day. Right around noon I had a mega hungry attack and gobbled my entire ziploc of trail mix. I guess it was lunch time. The two of us talked sporadically, mostly walking silently, smiling to ourselves, exhilarated by the challenge. And then we were there.

1:00 PM - El Capitan

El Capitan was a leisurely summit break, an extravagant 20 minutes. We called our families again and relaxed in the sun, thrilled with the perfect weather. Life is good.

Before long, it was time to go again. We passed a few hikers on the way down. Can someone tell me why Boy Scouts have to take breaks smack-dab in the middle of the trail?

Coming back by Yosemite Point, I started noticing a bit of nausea. I took a little food - string cheese and dried figs. That helped. When I noticed the feeling coming back, I ate some more. This would be the pattern for the rest of the day. You have to keep your gut under control to ward off the risk of vomiting and subsequent dehydration. Keep eating - keep drinking. Oh yes, and keep walking.

We reached the bottom just after 4:00. Ah, that feels grrrreat. We tossed the packs in the back of the truck and headed over to Yosemite Lodge for a restroom break before driving back to the other side of the valley, under the lengthening shadow of Glacier Point.

***

Parked about 50 feet from the beginning of the Four-Mile-that-is-actually-4.8 Mile Trail, we refilled our Camelbaks with water and snacks and lashed our pullovers to the outside. Once again we dunked our feet in the icy water and changed into fresh socks, looking up at Glacier Point, 3,200 feet above. This time, we also grabbed our music players.

We started up just after 5:00. I took the lead, feeling refreshed and excited to be on a new trail. We wound our way up the mountain, through the pines and dogwoods, with views of El Capitan and Yosemite Falls opening up across the valley. I turned on Derek Webb's I See Things Upside Down.

"I don't want medication / just give me liberation / even if it cuts my legs right out from underneath / don't give me medication / I want the real sensation / even if living feels just like death to me..."

We stopped briefly to stretch, and Joseph got his music player out. The day was still warm. Plenty of hikers coming down; a nod of the head, a raised hand, trail salutes.

I ripped open another Banana Cookie LARABAR and rounded a switchback, waving at Joseph's camera. "What do you think?" "I think we're gonna make it, man."

Switchbacks, switchbacks, and - what's this? - more switchbacks. Finally, we came around the edge of the mountain, where we could see the ever-majestic Half Dome suffused in a brilliant pink. The top was close now.

7:07 PM - Glacier Point

We plodded wearily up to the top, nodding to the tourists, almost too tired to feel elation. Besides, we weren't done yet. 5 more miles to go yet, downhill in the dark, and the lingering potential for something to go wrong.

Joseph called home, and we got a rousing cheer from the Lindvall clan. The wind blew chill. We rested a bit more before switching on the headlamps and starting down.

Once we were down off the point and moving again it didn't take long to feel warm. It was a lovely evening. I had Caedmon's Call and a Chocolate Avalanche Payday to keep me company. The valley floor was sprinkled with tiny sparkling lights, like an inverted planetarium. We could see the red, glowing remains of the controlled burns.

We reached the truck at 9:30, feeling remarkably chipper after 18 hours of nearly non-stop hiking. Epic? A little bit. But mostly just another day on the trail.

For more information please visit www.yosemitetriplecrown.com

What Susan Said

What is the logical thing to do when you're having trouble keeping up with two blogs?




Start another one, of course!

For some time now, I've wanted to create a very simple blog for sharing little fragmented bits of insight that I encounter reading books or listening to music. Last weekend, I finally hit on the inspiration I needed to get it off the ground.

The blog is called What Susan Said, after the song by Rich Mullins by that name. You can read more about the blog on the aptly-named About page.

Every morning, I will post a short quote or lyric that for one reason or another made an impression on me. You will notice that these quotes will unapologetically display my narrow, eclectic taste in writers and musicians. This list, however, continues to grow, slowly but surely. Thanks for sharing the journey.

"There's so much beauty around us / for just two eyes to see / but everywhere I go / I'm looking..." -Rich Mullins

Image courtesy of Worth1000.com

Welcoming Autumn

I know Fall is still a few days away according to the calendar, but it arrived in Oakhurst yesterday. Gentle breezes under a gray sky, a few spatters of rain, wind chimes awaking from their summer stupor. The bracing air of Autumn rushes in, filling your lungs with the sharp, tart taste of the fading year.

One of my favorite things about Autumn is getting cold water from the tap again. I also love ski caps and sweatshirts and lumberjack flannels. After having worn as little as possible all summer long, it's fun to put on an extra layer and feel the exhilaration of being dressed exactly right for the temperature. Even the playful nip of cold around the ears is heart-warming somehow, like Autumn's kiss of peace.

I don't know what it is that is so magical about the way the seasons change, but it never ceases to capture me. Even here in California, land of the sovereign sun, the drama of the ancient cycle is unmistakable. Granted, our rituals are somewhat lest dramatic than those of our eastern cousins: we don't have cranberry harvests or icicles or breathtaking forests burning with reds and yellows and oranges. But there is still firewood to stack, boots to oil, tire chains to inspect. There is the promise of crackling fires, the suggestive warmth of a chainsaw muffler against dusty denim.

And apple pie. Don't forget the apple pie.

Image courtesy of minigallery.co.uk

God in the Dark

"Every man is occasionally visited by the suspicion that the planet on which he is riding is not really going anywhere." (129, Quoting James Thurber)

Doubt is in many ways the dirty d-word of modern evangelicalism. In a culture ruled by Oprah and Osteen, everyone tends to keep their demons and doubts hidden away under the bed. We are told we must be positive at all costs - even if it means being plastic.

Thankfully, there are still saints who reject this artificiality. The plain truth is that "we are not as strong as we think we are," and our cheap cosmetics are wearing off. We sin. We struggle. We trip over trials and temptations and plunge headlong into darkness. But God is still there.

God in the Dark is the second title I have redd from Os Guinness (after Prophetic Untimeliness last year). I appreciate his simple and robust writing, as well as the numerous well-chosen quotations he includes from other great authors such as George MacDonald, Søren Kierkegaard, Oswald Chambers and C. S. Lewis. Guinness is writing in the great orthodox tradition, while at the same time making his insights highly accessible to the modern reader.

The book begins by clearing up a widespread confusion surrounding the words doubt and unbelief. Many people use these terms almost interchangeably; Guinness attempts to show that they are actually quite different. Unbelief stands over and against faith - doubt is simply a state of suspension between the two. Doubt, like temptation, is a neutral proposition. It is the forbidden fruit, the proffered bribe, the fork in the road. It is only when doubt hardens into unbelief that it becomes damnable.

Many people suppress doubts because they are embarrassed or uneasy about them. Embarrassment or uneasiness may be appropriate feelings, but suppression is not the proper response. Doubts may be distressing, but they must be faced and dealt with. They are, in a sense, a sickness, and we cure sicknesses by treating them, not ignoring them.

Anyone who has done any endurance hiking knows that your leg muscles will from time to time "doubt" your ability to continue. Our spiritual pilgrimage is similarly demanding, straining heart, mind and soul to the breaking point. As Rich Mullins sings, "On this road to righteousness, sometimes the climb can be so steep." Sometimes it's hard to avoid wondering how much longer we can keep going, or whether it's even worth it. And that's okay. In the larger scheme of things, everything - even doubt - is part of the process of maturity. As Guinness writes, quoting Richard Sibbes, "We learn to stand by falls, and get strength by weakness discovered - virtutis custos infirmitas - we take deeper root by shaking." (18) Or as Aaron Tate wrote, "He came to show the way, not around but through." (-We Come To You)

Getting into the meat of the book, Guinness masterfully describes seven different kinds of doubt. This is where his insight really shines. At once very spiritual and very human, he gently leads the deluded, delirious doubter back to the cool, rational waters of truth. He is very comfortable with intricate matters of theology and philosophy but is not afraid of common sense either: "Interestingly, God's remedy for Elijah's depression was not a refresher course in theology but food and sleep." (137) "[Sometimes,] what is needed is not fresh arguments so much as fresh air." (159)

Near the end, Guinness deals with two tough, gut-wrenching questions: Why, O Lord? and How Long, O Lord? I actually skipped ahead and redd these two chapters before the central section, because I was in need of some answers and wanted to hear what he had to say. I was not disappointed. There was no jaunty self-help gobbledygook or gushy positive thinking, just solid exhortation to faith and fortitude.

"Faith does not know why, but it knows why it trusts God who knows why. We do not trust God because he guides us; we trust God and then are guided, which means that we can trust God even when we do not seem to be guided. Faith may be in the dark about guidance, but it is never in the dark about God. What God is doing may be mystery, but who God is is not." (176)

Image courtesy of samford.edu

Thinking About Missional Living

Underneath its current high-strung status as a "buzzword," the term missional is a good word that can be put to good use. We as a Church are called to share - and to live - the Gospel, and missional is a strong, pithy adjective that crisply captures the essence of this calling.

Despite not having made it into spell checkers yet, the word does not signify a new idea - it is not some kind of profound postmodern breakthrough. Being missional is firmly rooted in historic Christian orthopraxy. It is what we do, it is what we are. We have a mission as sure as MNF-Iraq has a mission, except our struggle is not against flesh and blood.

Missional living is active, radical, communal, culturally informed, and humble. This is not your typical knock-down-drag-out evangelism from 7-9 PM on Saturdays - it's a lifestyle that's 24/7/365. (There may very well be a place for such aggressive tactics, but that is not the meaning of missional.) We shouldn't be kicking in our neighbor's door trying to get him interested in Jesus. Our calling is to attract our neighbors by our love and way of life, not to intimidate them with our rhetoric.

***

Missional living is active. There seems to be a lot of missional thinking in the Church - a lot of talk about being "missional-minded." It is true that action requires thought, but sometimes we forget that the point is the action, not the thought. We have whole fleets of watertight theories that have never been to sea. Sooner or later we've got to cut the moorings. Otherwise, we are not unlike those people who claim to be "fitness-minded" but never get off the couch. Good intentions don't burn calories, and neither do they save souls. We have to put feet to our philosophy. Discussion is useful and necessary, but it is much easier to discuss the Kingdom than do the Kingdom. It's time to roll up our sleeves and stop looking for the open doors and paths of least resistance. The harvest is plenteous and the laborers are few. That sounds like work to me.

Missional living is radical. The world doesn't need any more hobbies or pat answers. The world needs living water and love without fine print. If we have nothing more to offer than spiritualized consumerism and a mediocre commitment to truths that happen to be convenient, we might as well shut down the show and go home. Outreach that waters down and distorts Christianity can be worse than no outreach at all. As Derek Webb sings, "Truth is never sexy / so it's not an easy sell / you can dress her like the culture / she'll shock 'em just as well / and she don't need an apology for being who she is / she don't need your help making enemies".

Either we believe something solid or we don't. The world desperately needs us to stand our ground, but at the same time can smell a hypocrite a mile away. Therefore, it is crucially important that we work hard at figuring out what we believe and why we believe it.

Missional living is communal. Strictly speaking, there is no such thing as an isolated "missional Christian." Missional living only makes sense in the context of community. As Jesus said in John 13:35, "By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." This is why I keep using plural pronouns in this essay like we, us, and our. Like it or not, we're all in this collectively, and working together is not optional.

On one level, the body is made up of parts. On another, deeper level, it is made up of joints. It is joints - the interactions between parts - that make life and movement and traction possible. As Christians, you and me are just raw material - stones in the quarry - waiting for the master-builder to fit us together into something beautiful and transcendent.

Missional living is culturally informed. The relationship shared by Christianity and culture is very tense, but it is a relationship nonetheless. Too many Christians have "excommunicated" culture in the name of non-conformity and consequently lost touch with their societal surroundings. Os Guinness, in his book Prophetic Untimeliness, defined three ways of engaging with society: assimilation, resistance, or negotiation. Obviously, assimilation won't do. Many Christians choose resistance, as it seems a bit harder and feels holy. Guinness argues, and I'm inclined to agree with him, that negotiation is the proper course.

The point is not to avoid the culture but to avoid evil. (Of course, if you avoid everything, you're automatically avoiding the evil. But that is not what Jesus prayed for.) A working knowledge of what makes our culture tick is vital if we want to engage with the people around us and understand their perspective. We are not "in orbit" somewhere above the earth; we are here, on the ground, breathing the same air, seeking salvation from the same curse.

Usually, we're too slow about doing the proper homework and too quick to go on witch-hunts. Really, cultural illiteracy might not be such a problem if we stopped vilifying things we know nothing about. It is certainly prudent to foresee evil and get out of the way, but there's a difference between authentic discernment and merely being slow to research and quick to opinion. Sometimes, when we are "called to ignorance" in certain matters, we would do well to leave it at that.

Missional living is humble. I don't have all the answers. Neither do you. But I'm still hungry for the truth. So are you. Sometimes that's all we need to know.

***

We in Western Evangelicalism face the continual challenge of overcoming settled stereotypes and vast misunderstandings about our faith, not to mention dealing with the "heavy bias of fatigue" that G. K. Chesterton spoke of in The Everlasting Man. Derek Webb in a recent interview deplored the Christian subculture that we have in America, something he feels does more harm than good. Lines are blurred. The faith begins to lose its edge and piquancy. Christian words and labels are emptied of meaning and become ambiguous, and extra care and attention is needed to avoid confusion.

This is one area where Emergents and Fundamentalists can learn from each other. Emergents tend to better understand the blurry side of things, while Fundamentalists tend to like things in sharp focus. Accordingly, Emergents seem to have a greater respect for the nuances and complexities of being a Christian in a post-Christian society, while Fundamentalists seem to take greater care in preserving Christianity's orthodox theological heritage. If we can somehow combine the strengths of both strains we would have a Church that is both sensitive and stable, ready to negotiate with and transform the culture around it.

Wherever we find ourselves - be it hostile 1st Century Rome or complacent 21st Century America - our obligation to share and live the good news remains the same. Missional living is not a catchphrase, it's a calling. Let's do the Kingdom.

Image courtesy of missionalmarketing.com

I'm Crying Again

The headlines in the dailies are the horses in a race
They lead you to believe that life and death are commonplace
Some believe it
And I'm crying again

I heard some good intentions; not all were second-hand
But bravado and pretension will not feed a hungry man
It's been said before
And I'm crying again

Very quietly
The world loses blood overnight
Without a fight
In the morning
The sickness will hide in the light
Out of sight

Running from a world that they will never understand
The masses ride their passions with the throttle in their hands
Nobody knows
What is waiting around the bend

Very quietly
The world loses blood overnight
Without a fight
In the morning
The sickness will hide in the light
Out of sight

Now and then the criminal in my skin lets out a sigh
He'd like to think he's innocent, but he cannot tell a lie
Truth is like a knife
And I'm crying again

-Mark Heard, Stop the Dominoes

All out of Think

Posting has been light lately, for three reasons:

1. I'm busy and tired.
2. Internet at the house has been a royal pain.
3. I'm busy and tired.

Thank you for your understanding.