I’ve previously mentioned on this blog, my desire to celebrate mass in the mountains with my parents and our family priest friend. God hears and answers all prayers in His own way and His own time. During a Colorado trip this summer we were finally able to go hiking with the Father. For many reasons, this experience was a beautiful and singular gift from God. Many of our mountain adventures take us to remote lakes in the clouds with stunning views along the way but on this occasion we chose a special destination. Mount Sopris proudly stands at the head of our little valley, a picturesque set of twin peaks which is in view from almost anywhere in my hometown. While this isn’t the tallest mountain in the area it is certainly among the more formidable hikes around. It is a 14 mile trek round trip over a variety of rugged terrain. 

Growing up and before any of my family were even entertaining ideas of coming to the faith, Mount Sopris stood as a perpetual reminder of the beauty of creation whenever we happened to glance up the valley. As my sister and I grew older it also became a testament to our determination, our own personal Everest, as we both reached the summit for the first time when I was just 10 years old. At the time, it was possibly the hardest thing I’d ever done and my skinny legs were shaking when we arrived back at the truck that day. However, I never regretted having done it. On the contrary, after wiping away a few tears as well as plenty of dirt and sweat, I felt like I was still standing on top of the world, realizing for the first time that I can do hard things. 

Since that initial trip up Sopris as kids, my family has completed this hike several times, though the last instance was when I was in high school. As such, we thought it a fitting experience to share with my husband and our priest friend, both relatively new to Glenwood Springs and never having done this hike before. Our first small blessing came with the priest’s ability to clear his schedule for the occasion. This is hardly a short afternoon jaunt into the wilderness. Thankfully, the day was wide open for our adventure. We began our journey in relative darkness, setting out from the trailhead at 2am to avoid the long upward slog in the midday sun and to reach the top by sunrise. While the rest of the world slept soundly in the valley below, we hiked to the light of a super blue moon on a cloudless summer night. This was the second blessing. The small pools of light from our headlamps were almost unnecessary at times and paled in comparison to the shining silver orb floating in the sky above us. 

My husband and the priest both reached the summit just as the Sun sliced through the dregs of evening while my parents and I arrived a short ten minutes later. There is no comparable feeling to standing on top of the world when the Sun comes up, watching it bathe everything in honey light. Its warmth was slow to reach us as we stood on the summit but we’d packed for the occasion and quickly donned thick fleece jackets and pulled knit hats over our ears. Once everyone had caught their breath, the men set to work preparing a makeshift altar and the Father pulled a chasuble from his pack. 

Before my conversion to the faith I often wondered why anyone would need church when we have nature. What better way could there be to worship than to simply witness the wonders of God’s creation. I’ve since come to realize the errors in my thinking, now with a much more complete understanding of the happenings in a Catholic mass and Catholic sacraments. To participate in the sacrifice of the mass is always a miraculous blessing but this reverent ceremony on the peak of Mount Sopris, a beloved monument of my childhood, in which the priest consecrated the entire valley below us was a gift I will never forget. The first time I ever stood on this mountain I’d been a child. Now, I returned as a baby Catholic, a child in God’s eyes.