Learning to Walk Downhill

During my recent February visit with my daughter and her family in Edinburgh, we decided to take a break from the rather gloomy Scottish winter and travelled to the sunny island of Madeira off the west coast of Africa.

Madeira is a very young island, having only emerged from the ocean a few million years ago, and with volcanic activity having ended only six thousand years ago. Because of this, Madeira possesses a very rugged and mountainous terrain. In fact, this is why my daughter and her family wanted to go there.

This part of my family became very keen on hiking during the pandemic, and Madeira is ideal for this. They enjoy challenging hikes on mountain trails. They never pick easy hikes. Generally, they’re almost straight uphill on narrow winding trails … and they’re all very, very long!

So, there we are, on our second day in Madeira, setting out on a hike my son-in-law has planned. I know it’s going to be a tough day of hiking, but I really don’t know exactly how rough it’s going to be!

We park the car by the side of the road, and we proceed along a trail that takes us down into a valley, a thousand feet below. From there, we hike up the other side of the valley, to the top of a mountain – 1500 feet up … then back down 1500 feet by another route, and finally the last thousand feet back up to the car once again. All in all, five hours of rugged hiking.

Now, I admit, we did experience some amazing views, and at the high point of the hike, we were actually above the clouds! And I did feel a self-satisfied sense of accomplishment at having completed the climb.

But there's something about mountain hiking I didn't know. I guess I couldn't have known it until I experienced it.

It’s this … a significant part of the ache you feel the day after a hike isn't from the ascent, it’s from walking back down the mountain – that 1500 feet down from the peak was actually the hardest part – and here’s why - walking downhill, stretches your muscles in unusual ways. You tense unused muscles against the gravity pulling you down. You arch your back to avoid a fall or a face-plant.

On an uphill climb we lean forward naturally. But walking down, we have to bend backward. It's an unnatural posture, using different muscles. In some ways, it's actually harder to walk downhill, than up.

And that brings us to the passage from the Book of Acts that we read this morning. You see, the Mount of Olives - the traditional setting for the Ascension of Jesus - is some 2500 feet above sea level at its highest peak. So before Jesus ascends into the clouds, Jesus leads his followers up a mountain.

So there they are, high on the mountain, taking in the magnificent vista of Palestinian countryside laid out below them.

It’s been a relatively quick ascent for them … in more ways than one …

From casting nets or working in the family business, to finding themselves among the coveted inner circle – a disciple of Jesus - inspired by his healings, transformed by his teaching, catching his vision for God’s Kingdom on earth, and becoming much more important and privileged than they had ever imagined.

But, by now, they have lived through his death. They have wrestled with their own fears and regrets, and finally encounter Jesus as the risen Lord, who keeps his promise to overcome death and return to them.

Well, with all that adrenaline, they must have raced up the mountain trail in their ongoing contest to determine which one of them is the greatest. And once atop the mountain, they could look back and imagine just how far they’d come … overcome with the breathless accomplishment of reaching the top of the mountain with a spectacular view laid out below them.

Up on that mountain, they find themselves in what Celtic Christians might have called a thin place … a thin place - a place so elevated, the veil between earth and heaven, human and divine, seems to thin … where it’s so easy to see God, to hear God's voice, to sense God's Spirit lifting you up.

It’s a wonderful place to be. We love to seek out places that feel this way to us – to ascend to such places ... the mountaintop … the dazzling light … the grand view ... the feeling of satisfaction.

Experts on leadership and executive coaching often use the metaphor of mountain climbing with high-powered executives. They use this metaphor more than any other to interpret their lives.

They set goals, and accomplishing those goals are, for them, milestones of success. They plan and prepare for the upward climb. They measure progress based on the day's mileage. And they rarely stop, for fear of someone else getting past them – someone climbing faster up that corporate ladder!

But here’s the thing, they often sweat and climb to reach what they imagine is the goal of their life – the pinnacle of accomplishment and victory … but when they reach the top … and it levels off … they may have a sense of emptiness – a loss of meaning and purpose in life … perhaps even feeling that in all of their work and striving, there were things of great value left behind … moments and feelings and people neglected.

Most of us don't ever prepare for the walk down from the high moments and high accomplishments of life …

And it's not just the over-achievers. It's so many of us, in so many parts of our lives - career, home, community service, education … maybe with the expectations we have of our children … maybe even in our lives of faith.

Oh, we’re prepared and willing to do the hard work of hiking uphill … but what about the way down … are we ready for that?

There was a member of my Unionville, Ontario congregation, who had a life-changing opportunity some years ago to spend a summer in Calcutta, India – to work in the homes of Mother Teresa.

She had prepared for months, with so much leading up to this moment where she imagined having the opportunity to work alongside Mother Teresa, one of her idols … maybe even holding the hands of those who were nearing the end of life, or running programs for kids living on the street … helping them to know themselves as beloved children of God.

Only when she arrived, Mother Teresa wasn't there.

She learned her idol would be spending those months on an international benevolence tour.

Then when she reported for work her first day, she was placed in the kitchen, washing pots and pans. And then the next day in the laundry, washing sheets. This went on for weeks, frustrating my friend.

So, she asked one of her supervisors, "Hey, I've been spending all of my time washing pots and cleaning sheets and folding bandages. I came here to work with Mother Teresa. What does Mother Teresa do when she's here?"

And the supervisor said, "Well, when she's here, Mother Teresa cleans sheets, she folds bandages, and she washes pots."

And somewhere in that moment, perhaps my friend heard the words of Jesus echoing in her mind: “The greatest among you will be your servant.”

The way down is not what we expect.

As Jesus ascends, the disciples stand there, looking up—perhaps wishing they could follow him into something higher, clearer, removed from the messiness of life.

How many times have we assumed the way of Christ - the way of faith - is a journey upward?

Is it possible, instead of a story of climbing and going up, the way of Christ is actually a story of coming down … Christ coming all the way down into our brokenness, woundedness and fear? Could it be, that’s our job too … following Christ on the downward journey?

Here’s what I’m wondering … could it be the message of Jesus from the manger to the cross, from the tomb to this Mount of Ascension … could it be the message is, the world is changed not from the top … but from the bottom?

For all of us wanting a mighty Messiah, he arrives instead as the newborn babe of a refugee family.

Instead of a powerful ruler, he operates as a homeless teacher.

And it’s not some great show of power and strength that saves the world … but his enduring love … humbling himself to death … even death on the cross. And as our risen Lord, he carries not only the wounds in his wrists and side, but the wounds of all those beaten down, cast out, and despised.

As the prophet Isaiah describes the coming Messiah, “he bears our sorrows and is acquainted with grief.”

But even as he rises, Jesus points them in another direction. “Stay here,” he says. Sit down. Remain.

It’s a strange contrast—Jesus going up, and the disciples being told to stay down.

And then came the words of the messengers: “Why do you stand looking up at the clouds?”

And so as he rises, we are reminded to look not upward, but outward—to return to the places where people are hurting, where love is needed, where life is lived.

It’s not easy. It feels unnatural. Like walking downhill on tired legs.

But it’s there, in the city—in the ordinary—that the Spirit comes. That community is formed. That lives are changed.

We may prefer the mountaintop, where the air is thin and the view is clear. But the call of Christ leads us back down—into the world as it is.

And so we hear that question again: “Why do you stand looking up?”

The disciples eventually lower their gaze and begin the slow walk down the mountain.

Could it be, we are called to follow in that same way… learning, perhaps, that the path into the heart of God… is a path that leads us down … a walk downhill … back into the noise and need of the city. And somehow, in that place, they begin to recognize him again.

It's down in the city that the Spirit comes, rushing through the streets on the Day of Pentecost, crossing barriers of language, race and culture - organizing all his followers into a new way of life.

The Book of Acts describes it like this … "All who believed were together and had things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people."

Maybe we'd prefer to stay up where the air is thin and the view of God's glory is so clear, but the mountains … and the valleys … of our world are right next to one another. And while we strain our necks looking up, the messengers of God call all of us who choose to follow in the footsteps of Christ … to lower our gaze and to look around.

Down the slope, there are people who need us … who need our care and our love, our compassion and our generosity.

And it is there, on that uneven ground, that the life of faith begins to take shape. May we trust, even on that way down, the Lord who ascended, walks that downward path beside us. May we be reminded, again and again, in this life of faith and service … We do not walk alone.