above the treeline

The other day I turned to a book I first read in my very early days of ordained ministry (so nearly a quarter of a century ago!). I found it hard going back then and only over time and many attempts to re-read it, have I begun to unearth its real riches. It is a book about a journey, a journey of the spirit, and perhaps only as I walk my own journey of searching can I really reach for its deepest insights. The book is called 'Above the Treeline' written by a Dutch theologian, who remarkably held teaching positions in both Protestant and Roman Catholic theological faculties. (That ability to grasp insight from across the spectrum may well be one of the subliminal messages of the book which keeps me hooked).

Reading it now I find that I can finally reach the end of the final chapter. The book takes the reader on an imaginary hike up a mountain. That hike starts in the hustle and bustle of the contemporary city with all its distractions and competing claims. As the walk begins there are moments of peace as the journey moves through lush meadows but then there is a disturbing period in the wooded foothills. Here it is easy to lose direction, to become confused, frightened, taunted by glimpses of light which offer the false hope of a way out. It is here that I have previously become stuck in my reading - perhaps too often feeling that it held too many truths.

As the journey goes on the writer describes the joy of breaking free from the darkness of the wood and seeing the brightness of the open sky, glimpsing the world laid out below and the starkly beautiful rockiness of the mountain stretching up beyond. But, here it is not easy going - there is danger, there are choices to be made without the benefit of familiar landmarks. 'Above the treeline we get into a harsher climate: it is cold there; sometimes there is mist and sometimes there are storms. Certainly there is a good deal of sun, and there are wide views...but we are unprotected there: the path is difficult and hard; we have to climb...There are no longer any houses where we can live safely; we have to live in tents.'

The last time I spent any significant time in such high territory was on my 40th birthday epic adventure, cycling the Alitplano high in the Andes. Barren, but beautiful landscapes and thin air (we reached nearly 4500m) captivated us and left us struggling for breath. Perhaps the most remarkable event happened each night as we camped by the side of the road and without fail a group of local people would gather near us, unasked, not speaking or really acknowledging us they stood guard over us all night and at dawn disappeared to their homes which we never saw. They could hardly have comprehended what we were about yet somehow picked up our sense of adventure and our vulnerability.

I am about to emerge above the treeline again - I shall once more appreciate those who quietly watch over me as I seek new perspectives. I feel hesitant and vulnerable - for too long I have been stuck in the wood - my life dominated by a complex diary, energy draining meetings and argument which seems always to lead further into the darkness rather than toward the grandeur of the mountain top, The journey through Advent and beyond
will force me to ask hard questions and seek new insights. I want it to change me and leave me with the courage never to enter the woods again. I know physically where the journey will take me (and there won't be any mountains involved except those I fly over!) but I am seeking more. Finally I sense the challenge and the opportunity, the freedom and breath above the treeline and I want to stay a while.