Lead Kindly LIght

PREFACE:

1. Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom;

Lead thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home;

Lead thou me on!

Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see

The distant scene—one step enough for me.

2. I was not ever thus, nor pray’d that thou

Shouldst lead me on.

I loved to choose and see my path; but now,

Lead thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,

Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years.

3. So long thy pow’r hath blest me, sure it still

Will lead me on

O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till

The night is gone.

And with the morn those angel faces smile,

Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!

Text: John Henry Newman, 1801–1890

Music: John B. Dykes, 1823–1876

STORY:

The Crestone Needle on the Ellingwood Arete is one of the most beautiful “Fourteeners” in all of Colorado. The great state of Colorado has 53 peaks that stand at least14,000 feet above sea level., and my group of climbing buddies picked The Crestone Needle in the Sangre de Cristo Range for its rugged beauty and sheer East face.

There were four of us on the trip, one extremely experienced mountaineer who had climbed the route before; and the rest of us nervous but eager to tackle such a massive mountain. With the excitement and anticipation that comes from waking up at 5:00 am at the base of a very large mountain, we quickly heeded the direction of our climb leader and gathered up our climbing equipment and headed up the trail to the base of the climb – the East Face of the Needle. Leaving our tents, and camping gear at base camp, we took only what we needed to reach the summit and return, hopefully by nightfall.

The climbing was wonderful. The weather was perfect and although the ascent took several hours longer than we had anticipated, we were all in good spirits at the summit as the sun began to set. What was a pleasant 50-degree fall day, was quickly becoming a windy, below-freezing night. We stowed our ropes and climbing gear and started our decent down the steep and narrow trail that lead down along the south ridge of the mountain. Within an hour of starting down the steep trail, evening shadows had turned to complete darkness. We searched for our headlamps. Two worked well, one cast a soft glow that didn’t quite reach the ground, and one was missing in action. Four tired climbers with only two good lights now found ourselves many difficult miles away from our tents and sleeping bags at base camp.

Staying on a “rock ridge trail” thousands of feet above the treeline is hard work in broad daylight. With no dirt path to follow, staying on route among the cliffs and canyons in the dark is an exercise in constant searching for a safe place for each footfall. It was slow going. Our tired legs were moving more and more slowly. We were prodded to accelerate our pace by the most experienced climber in the group who knew that the only rest for our cold, exhausted bodies waited for us at the bottom of the mountain, and no sooner. After trying unsuccessfully to speed us up by walking behind us; he decided to see if we would move a bit faster if he were out in front leading the way.

It was a moonless night, but the stars illuminated every patch of sky that wasn’t blacked out by huge rock cliffs around us. As our leader’s working headlamp got further and further down the trail, we could see it bouncing in the blackness, showing us the way home.

At about eleven-o-clock, the three of us came to a fork on the ridgeline trail. We knew that our camp was somewhere down to our left, and we thought we must have been close by now. Yet our guide clearly had taken the trail that turned to the right, and in the distance we could see his headlamp as it occasionally turned our direction to see if we were still following.

I can tell you that what should have been as easy decision to follow the most capable, most experienced member of our party turned into quite a discussion among the three of us. “I am NOT following him AWAY from our camp,” I said. “I’m sure he missed this trail and will have to retrace his steps back up here… we should head East so he will know to turn around,” said another. We hollered into the darkness, but the wind swallowed any chance at communication beyond the small light.

While each of us wanted to believe that we were right and our guide was wrong, we also recognized that it was His knowledge and skills that had shown us the way up. It was his hand on the rope that had caught us when we were struggling on the ascent. He had come before, and we knew that he knew the way home.

With nothing more than faith in our friend and the beacon of a small bouncing light now a good half mile away, we turned to the right and followed the trail away from camp. Decision made, we walked on silently praying that we had made the right choice. The trail gradually became less steep, the going more easy. In another half mile or so, it doubled back towards the East and after crossing boulder fields, forest stands and a stream or two, we did indeed end up at our base camp.

It wasn’t until the moon rose over the horizon at about two in the morning as we were crawling into our tents that we were able to see where the East fork of the ridge trail would have taken us – right off the top of the South Buttress, another climbing route best done from the bottom to the top in the light of day.

It was all there. Just as the Hymn I has sung for years had taught me. Every line, every verse, I experienced it all. Lead Kindly Light.

The dark of night. Being far from home. One step enough for me. Lead Thou me on. The pride of thinking we knew better than Him. The crags and torrent ‘til night is gone. So long thy power hath blest me. Lead Thou me on.

I still can’t sing all three verses without tears of gratitude for my friends, and my Savior. Lead Thou me on.