Learning about spirituality on the West Highland Way (pt7)

I wake thinking over what I had been reflecting on yesterday and how the sense of being out of control is a significant stressor. Yesterday, I had not been in control of the weather, but I had planned and prepared in order to mitigate against it as much as possible by ensuring I had a good rain-jacket and overtrousers. I also opted to wear contact lenses in order to avoid the depressing feeling of rain-covered glasses slipping down one’s nose. Neither was I in control of the route - one simply had to accept that it was what it was. I had read about the stretch of moor and watched some videos to get a feel for the landmarks and terrain.

My mind plays back some of the times in ministry when I had felt not in control; the most painful of which had been with people who initially had acted as if they were wanting to be close supporters but who, over time, revealed that they had been operating their own agenda leading to conflict over issues of approach or direction. Even years later, the memory of these pains remains near the surface.

Being in control suggests having the power and resources to overcome the chaos, but that is the role God plays.

From the waters of chaos you drew forth the world,
and in your great love, fashioned us in your image.

as I read each day in Morning Prayer. However, we can plan and prepare so as to inhabit the chaos most intentionally, and thereby reduce the impact of our not being in control. I wondered whether it is fair to say that we tend to assume leadership is about the Godly exercise of power, rather than in the Christ-like embracing our weakness and accepting the reality of the chaos around?

I savour a slower start. That suits me with only 9 miles to walk today. The rain begins as I leave Kingshouse toward Glencoe. I don’t normally do rainbow photos, but I couldn’t resist one looking towards Buachaille Etive Mor. and up Glencoe. The scenery is stunning. For the first hour the path runs very close to the main A road north and there are lots of groups of walkers. I try to focus on the mountains and clouds and not get distracted. Eventually the path veers right and starts to head up towards the skyline on the hills looking above. This is where the Old Military Road makes for a pass over the side of Glencoe over to Kinlochleven and is commonly known as The Devil’s Staircase.

I am aware that the noise of the traffic slowly reduces as I rise up the side of the valley. Other sounds become audible; birds and water. This is more like walking in the wilderness. However, I am aware of a continued disturbance. I find myself irritated by the confident progress up the hill being made by a younger, more athletic walker. My mulling over previous hurts also intrudes the peaceful landscape. The noise of the traffic had merely been a cover for the more intrusive noise which rises from within me. The stillness I seek is not something which can be absorbed from the wilderness around. Rather, stillness needs to grow within and then, by osmosis, to move outward into the environment - for that sense of inner stillness to connect with the peacefulness of the place.

The path rises for some time before a series of switchbacks begin to overcome the steepest gradient. One could see the path stretching up and ahead by the bobbing and swaying luminous rain-covers on rucksacks.

I look up and took a photo of the final stretch of the climb. I realised that my mind calmly tries to estimate the remaining distance to climb and can say to myself “another 20 minutes”, rather than wish I was that tall, athletic young man with the blue cover who had just strode effortlessly past me. Trusting my own ability to get there eventually is something I am learning on this trip.

The climb is actually easier than the long descent into the town. For much of the way we were on a road connecting the hydro-electric station to the town - just steep enough to make you feel you need to brace yourself from going too quickly. The surface is gravel and the long descent places great demands on the knees and quads. I am glad of my walking poles as I don’t want to loose my footing.

As I enter the town I chat briefly with a lady tidying the front of the Salvation Army building. A cafe offers a well-earned cup of tea. I sit and watch the river for some time before heading off to find my digs for the night.