I have long held the belief that nature is to be enjoyed in the intimate presence of God. Mountain ranges, lakes, even a vast blue sky or one dazzled with stars is enhanced in beauty in the fragile hold of silence, while the clatter of words threatens to muddle it all. How can one concentration on the sight set before them when their mind must be divided between a speechless sense of awe and a conversation that demands upholding? How can one converse with the God of the Universe while simultaneously conversing with a human friend? The value of a hike seems to exponentially decay as the size of the group you go with linearly increases.
I must be overreacting, right? Surely the company of one, five, or maybe even ten people is still not enough to affect the experience? Maybe there can be some unspoken agreement to shut up for the next few hours, to simply walk side by side and nothing else? Maybe, but 40 people is definitely pushing it. And how do you successfully quiet 40 people, some of whom barely know one another well enough to feel comfortable enough not to talk to each other?
The unlikely happened when I put up the sign up sheet for our fellowship’s morning hike excursion. For a week after I had posted the sign up sheet, we had seven cars and drivers available and only 3 individuals signed up. And then two days before the actual event, 37 more people signed up, one other car was found, and more food to feed the influx of mouths was prepared. As we congregated in front of the sign, “Lone Wolf Trail, 1.5 miles”, it was all I could do to think of anything other than how to make sure no one was lost or forgotten along the way.
All throughout the trail, the chatter was incessant. One person had even begun playing his music out loud while several danced along. Several complained loudly of hunger while others walked along silently, too shy to talk to others around them. We made our way through the hike, stopping every once in a while to take photos of the mountain and river stretched out before us. Several strangers hiking passed by us, while we struggled to move aside for them. “Sorry,” I wanted to say. “We’re kind of a big group.”
We finally made a stop halfway through the hike, having reached the river (?) after descending the mountains. Many threw off their shoes, ecstatic to feel the coolness of the water against skin already damp with sweat. Others, water-shy, stood at the edge, adored by the small tadpoles darting near the surface or busied scouting out flat rocks to skip along the water. We collectively laughed together, and we even screamed together upon the discovery of a (potentially poisonous? Unconfirmed) water snake. With joy I looked at my brothers and sisters around me as they shed their restraint at the vast foot of nature. In the same way that man-designed organization of cities and towns had made way for the vast and perhaps intimidatingly uncontrolled mother nature, my urge for regulated control of large groups and enjoyed hikes made its way for a sweeter harmony amongst us veiled by discord. This hike had turned out to be oddly very enjoyable.
There is something amazing about hiking in a giant group of brothers and sisters in Christ. It is not hindered, but simply exists as a separate experience, one that can’t be compared to hiking alone or in a small company. Perhaps it’s God’s beauty around us that makes fellowship sweeter, that relationships in the presence of God’s glory is given greater security. Everything in our interactions, albeit superficial and meaningless play, is assigned meaning, and watching my friends skip stones across still waters stands as one of the highest points of my week.
the.teleidoscope 