On the mountain peak

Yesterday was the Feast of the Ascension, 40 days after Easter. It commemorates Jesus' ascension from the Mount of Olives, returning to God the Father after his resurrection. I read recently that one tradition on this day is to climb up a mountain, remembering Jesus on that mountain as he ascended. (It's also a tradition to eat poultry or fowl, since birds fly upward -- eating the birds would seem to prevent their flying, but never mind.) So I suppose in honor of that, I walked up the steep hill behind the church, following the roads through the grapefruit and kumquat and avocado groves and looking out over the valley below. A hawk flew overhead, reminding me that birds have an easier way of climbing upwards. I replied that it looked quite graceful, but that I liked the work of climbing just fine. It feels good to put one foot in front of the other uphill, a break to all the sitting of a day at work.

I love the chance to get up higher, gaining a different perspective and seeing the bigger picture - it always helps me think things through and free myself from mentally chasing my tail. When I visited the Holy Land and saw how mountainous it is, and realized how many scripture stories involve climbing mountains, I felt affirmed -- Moses, Elijah, and of course Jesus went up mountains a lot, connecting there more easily to God's presence and escaping the busy, hostile crowds below. Thank God we also live in a place where we can do this when we need it.