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| The Little Cross |
In 1948, as a first time camper at The Salvation Army’s Mt. Crags Camp in the Malibu Mountains, I got my first glimpse of The Big Cross. Do the math – 63 years ago. Actually there were and still are two crosses, including The Little Cross sitting on top of a lesser peak on the opposite side of the camp (see photo - note that the crosses have been there much longer than the 40 years noted in the attached article).
From the very beginning, like the Siren Song, the Big Cross was pulling me magnetically toward it. It was such a treacherous and demanding 1600’ almost straight up climb, that only older campers were allowed to make the weekly trek. I longed for that day, yet two years away.
I remember the first climb very vividly. Up before dawn and reaching the rocky incline as daylight was breaking. Looking up that steep, perilous, craggy slope, my knees were shaking and my mouth was dry. Upward we ventured under the watchful and experienced eyes of our camp staff guides, one in front and the other in the rear. It turned out to be more strenuous than I had imagined as fatigue began to set in. There were times when I didn’t think I was going to make it.
Up through a cloud cover we climbed until finally reaching the bottom of the steep crag formation upon which the cross was sitting. It is the highest of crags surrounding the camp, thus the genesis of its name, Mt. Crags Camp. We inched our way up precariously, ultimately reaching the pinnacle at last.
It felt like we were on top of the world, a sea of clouds beneath us as far as the eye could see, the sun beginning to rise from the east, casting its glow upon the cloud formations and bouncing off the cross. It was an intense spiritual moment for me, so much so, that several years later as a member of the camp staff I volunteered to lead the hike weekly. I cannot tell you how many times I've scaled that peak, but I do remember the last one just as intensely as the first, perhaps more so. Here’s why.
It was during my last week as a staff member during an Easter camp for kids. I was now a Senior Counselor and Bob Docter of Hollywood and Pasadena Tab fame was the Program Director for that week. I was assigned the older kids, tough, undisciplined direct from the inner city ghettos of Los Angeles. They picked on the younger kids and when I attempted to discipline them was threatened to the point of my inability to sleep at night. Even though I was older, they were bigger and very street wise. Fear gripped me that week like never before, resulting in lethargy thus affecting my ability to function properly. Docter interpreted this as laziness.
His antidote for this perceived laziness, and as a form of discipline, was to send me up to paint The Big Cross. Trekking up that mountain hands free was a challenge in itself. Hauling along paint buckets, brushes and a ladder made it even more harshly challenging. On that Good Friday morning we persevered and painted the cross. Immediately the fear was gone. It was another intense spiritual moment as I gazed upon that freshly whitewashed cross. And I must confess, here and now, feeling just a wee pang of spiritual pride in this act of contrition.
Those memories came flooding back last week when I read that someone, in the middle of the night, climbed that mountain and cut down the cross, this 56-years after that painting. I don’t know what possessed this ill begotten act of vandalism, but the resulting publicity has been a Godsend. The following link is but one sampling.
“Then He said to them all, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me” (Luke 9:23 NKJV).
“What appears to be human tragedy is often the seed of divine triumph” – David Casland.
JN
1 comments:
hey commish, have you ever seen the great cross in st. augustine. google it, we are about a half hour from it xoxo barbara
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