From the Pilgrim's Road: Letter 5

April 2024

Dear friends,

I have been gone quite a while, or at least it feels that way. Life gets busy this time of year, and even after so many years of school ending around this time, I think this past month and a half was the busiest springtime I’ve ever had. Last month was spent in intimate contact with the harsh reality of nature in the Mountain West — as was the beginning of this month. I went on a small excursion back east too, but more on that another time.

Cow bones lie in the dry, matted grass of central Colorado, and the Sangre de Cristo mountain range looms on the horizon.

Through blasting, relentless wind, unexpected and unwanted flurries of snow, and many many hours in the baking sun, I return to say that I consider myself very blessed to have had a straight month of trips with hardly two days between each. Burdens were great and the work was often difficult, but it’s work I was called to do, and so is a great joy to me. I’ve hardly been home lately, and after this week I won’t be again for some time, but I will find ways to write you again — if only in bits.

We spent a week in this canyon system, and in that time I only caught a glimpse of the world beyond. We Creatio missionaries were sent to train with COR¹ to test our backcountry skills a bit more. It was a difficult course, but rewarding, and as far as I can tell it served its purpose despite our frustration and exhaustion throughout.

We left Denver a couple days early, working our way south to check out some land near Westcliffe, CO. A friend of Creatio offered us his property for whatever we may want to use it for, and we were planning on running a “how-to-camp” trip for high schoolers there a few weeks later, so the three missionaries went down to scout. It’s a beautiful property and has plenty of room for a high school camping trip. When you look out towards the southwest, Pikes Peak looms behind you, and the Sangre de Cristos march off into the south.

Rito Alto Peak, a 13er in the Sangres, from my tent that morning.

After a drive through the mountains and down the Western Slope, we finally made it to Utah for the beginning of the course. The wind didn’t stop for even an hour. It was only a minor annoyance the night we spent on the plain around Grand Junction, but it became much worse by Sunday night when we set up camp and had to try and get some sleep lying under a tarp as desert sands swirled through camp all night.

With heavy packs and full stomachs, we started the next morning.

Starting in Bullet Canyon, we began a week-long trek through the Grand Gulch canyon system, working on camp skills and leadership strategies under tight deadlines. I wouldn’t say there was no fun, but it was training, and the operational pressure was somewhat intense. There was some frustration along the way, and I didn’t want to be there for the first few days, but by the end we all got something out of it. I’m grateful for the instruction and feedback that’ll help me be a better guide for my own participants, as well as for the new friends we made.

The group climbed a cliff to explore a Pueblo ruin in Bullet Canyon, Utah. You can see it in the darkest fold of the canyon wall, on the right.

One of our instructors climbs out of a Pueblo “kiva,” a small, circular, basement-like structure used for ceremonial rites and political meetings. Unlike national parks, where traffic requires archaeological sites to be roped off, the ruins throughout Grand Gulch are free to explore, with the trust that you respect the site while there.

Throughout the week we had a few conversations about why exactly COR, Creatio, and other similar outdoor organizations bring participants out into the backcountry. Is it to see pretty things? Is it for a suffer-fest and “doing hard things?” Is it reactionary, to escape the chaos and noise of the modern world? Is it because it’s somehow easier to pray outdoors? I think it’s a mix of all of those things and far beyond them, but instead of giving a direct answer I think it’s worth mentioning the oddity that is our modern conception of life and “religion.” To the pre-modern person (such as the Pueblo who built the kiva), there is no separation between religion and the rest of life. Everything is religious. Everything has transcendent meaning. We’re not just sacks of meat with computer minds wandering through a canyon or driving down the road, we’re profoundly spiritual beings with lives and purpose beyond material needs. Interestingly, it’s often when our material needs are our primary concern that we’re most aware of this. The wilderness brings us low while reminding us of the true heights we’re called to, it sharpens our sight and simultaneously clouds it in mystery, and it strips away so much excess to give us so much in abundance. A place of paradox, it seems, and we realize that everything in the universe makes perfect sense right up until the moment that it doesn’t. God is so utterly beyond us, and yet the Son of Man came to serve.²

The Pueblo kiva is practical and mysterious, social and religious. Life ought to be integrated in a marriage of paradox. I wonder at this, my friends. Are our lives a cohesive whole or a jumble of disparate parts? The stakes are too high in the wilderness to be an individual made of individual parts. So it is at home too, even if we don’t realize it.

COR week ended; we wandered our way up out of the canyon and headed home. I had a brief two days to get my stuff together again, and then I was on my way back to New Mexico for another trek to Chimayó. This was an “open enrollment” trip, meaning it was for anyone who signed up rather than for a specific group. It was a small bunch; only four, but I learned much from them and am grateful for the miles we walked. I think it’s important to remember that not everyone is a super-Catholic young adult. I missed time with others in different places and stages of life, and am glad to have had it for a few days on our walk to the Santuario.

Rancho de Taos, where we start our pilgrimage before following forest roads into Carson National Forest and over Picuris Peak.

This was the 5th time I’d been down to this area of New Mexico, and the first time I’d seen it so green. The snowmelt had pushed streams and rivers beyond their banks, and the land was overflowing with life in so many ways. For a very rural and poor area, it was moving to see how life can spring forth so abundantly even in places that aren’t “well off.” This, by no means, romanticizes the reality of living in the second poorest county of the second poorest state in the Union, but in a time when so many up and leave these ancient lands for the sprawl of the cities, perhaps the beauty of spring points to why some stay. Water bears a complex symbolism. It is both dangerous, unpredictable, chaotic, and a portent of death, and at the same time, it sustains life, quenches thirst, and washes us clean. The waters of the Flood destroyed mankind, and the waters of baptism, sprung from the pierced side of Christ, save it. Ezekiel saw water flowing from the side of the Temple to bring life to the whole world. I saw water flowing from the side of the mountain to bring life to this land I am coming to love.

My month-long marathon of trips came to an end with a somewhat ill-fated campout back on the Westcliffe property. We brought the freshman of John Paul the Great, Catholic High School down for a two-day intro-to-camping trip but ended up having to bail early because of snow. I’m learning that the weather can be difficult to predict in the mountain springtime, except when you can see it looming on the horizon with your own eyes. We had planned two hikes and a lot of instruction for the kids, somewhat akin to the Boy Scout campouts I went on years ago, but only ended up doing one hike and a little over half of the other stuff before having to bring everyone home a night early. The kids were physically capable of lasting the night, no doubt, and perhaps the resilience of having done so would be a big confidence boost, but heading home early was the right call. Doing hard things is good and important, but it doesn’t need to be pointless and excessive. I should probably remember that.

---

Well, it’s off to Spain now. My first Camino starts this week and I’ve got many miles to go with some folks from a Michigan parish. After that, I’ll have a few extra days in Spain with my sister, and then it’s back to Colorado for the end of June. Pray for me, my friends. I’m praying for you always. Thank you to everyone who supports me and the whole Creatio team as we bring so many on pilgrimage. You are an incredible blessing, and your support does so much for the people we walk with on the road.

in statu viae

Ryan

1. “Catholic Outdoor Renewal” guides trips and runs outdoor leadership courses around the Mountain West. They are associated with Wyoming Catholic College and based in Lander, WY. They’re kind of like a Catholic NOLS, if you know what that is.

2. Matthew 20:28