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While visiting Malawi in April 2015, my companions and I set off to climb Mount Michiru. When we told native Malawians of our plan, they looked at us with a quizzical glance: ‘Why?’ they all asked one after another. The very idea of climbing a mountain for ‘fun,’ ‘exercise’ or ‘to enjoy the view’ was deemed absolutely ludicrous. Although the pastime (some would say obsession) of ‘bagging Munros’ in Scotland is well known, Malawi is not Scotland, in fact it is nowhere near Scotland, and the thought of climbing a hill for any other reason than to pray or get somewhere, is the height of madness.

For those who don’t know what a Munro is, it is a Scottish hill on or over the height of 3000ft, first compiled and listed by Sir Hugh Munro in 1891 (Hence they are called Munros). The list occasionally changes due to more accurate ways of measuring them, shifts in land mass, and of course, human error, but when I started out and climbed my first Munro, there were 284 of them, and since that number is divisible by two and four, I like to keep that tally for no other reason than mathematical simplicity. If I’m honest however, it’s not only Malawians who ask with perplexed expressions and inquiring furrowed brows, as to why anyone ‘in their right mind’ would spend their time and energy climbing a hill (or Scottish Mountain, as they’re officially designated), for no other reason than to climb right back down again. There’s no money to be made from it, in fact, in terms of quality walking gear, petrol costs in getting to remote Scottish destinations and food and drink for the journeys, it actually becomes quite expensive. ‘Ah, but the rewards’ I hear you say … well, is that including the sore feet, lost toenails, sunburnt, rain-whipped, wind-lacerated face, being soaked to the skin, shivering, cold damp sweat, waking up in the middle of nowhere, having had no sleep, too cold and stiff to function, with the nearest Costa a good fifty miles away, and swarms of midges feasting on every bare millimetre of exposed skin … Ah, yes, ‘the rewards,’ you’re quite right!

There are rewards however, great, memorable, life-enriching and soul-refreshing rewards, but they’re not without cost. It’s the cost and hardship however, that make the rewards all the more satisfying. To drive to the top of Ben Alder (if that was possible!) would be an incredible safari ride, and you would end the drive with superb views from the summit, but there would be little achievement in that. If however, you ‘walked in’ from the A9 for three hours before even reaching the mountains, and then you’ve traversed the wild Canadian-like atmosphere of the Alder Estate, followed by the thigh-throbbing ascent to the summit, for no other reason than ‘you could,’ the sense of satisfaction and achievement is incredible. There is more than just a sense of achievement involved however.

In a world that seems to be getting increasingly small, densely populated, loud and fast-paced, I’ve found the greatest antidote is to wander in the wild places; to walk for two days straight and not see a single person, to listen to a bubbling brook for no other reason than it’s pleasant, to stop and stare and take in the vast uncompromising wilderness that is no slave to alarm clocks, mobile signals, deadlines, fads or fashions. Above all, the great outdoors starts recalibrating a true perspective of ourselves; our smallness in the great expanse of open country, our frailty in the shadow of towering mountainsides, impenetrable buttresses, and weather that can kill our bodies as easily as it thrills our minds, and the sheer transience and ephemerality of our passage through time in comparison to the ageless slopes and ridges and the unchanging valleys and vales that we leave no trace upon but which stamp their presence, colours and majesty on our mind’s eye for the rest of our days. As the Psalmist once wrote: 11 My days are like the evening shadow; I wither away like grass. 12 But you, Lord, sit enthroned forever; your renown endures through all generations. Psalm 102:11-12 (ESV). You see, as a Christian minister, the wilderness is the place that most easily reminds me of the Lord’s presence and glory over his creation; it’s so immediate, intense, all-encompassing and inescapable. This is what the Apostle Paul would write in his first letter to the Church in Rome, when he speaks about the created order of the universe: a truth that it so evident is leaves all people without excuse. For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. Rom. 1:20 (ESV). OK, I admit, I like to get out for the exercise, for simply getting away for the day, for the cementing of friendships, for the indescribable views which no camera (of mine at least) can ever seem to do the panorama of beauty any justice. But the Malawians were right on one thing. The hills are a great place to pray and be reminded of God’s presence and involvement with his creation.

Back in civilization with all the trappings of comfort and ease one quickly becomes self-reliant. There is definitely a difference between being in the security of my home, with the central heating on, electricity and hot water, and a warm comfy bed to fall into at the end of the day, and spending the night alone on the hill. No comforts, no fridge, no bathroom, and perhaps most strangely of all, no people (sometimes within a ten mile radius). Instead of security there is a sense of vulnerability. The elements, the solitude, the walls of the tent flapping like a duck trying to take off from water, and often just as wet! There, in the wide and wonderful expanse of God’s creative handiwork, it’s me and him; and that’s a profound experience to have. It’s a journey well worth making, where the ‘long walk in’ is often painfully bad for the back and legs but nourishingly good for the mind and soul. In that sense, the Malawians are right, it is a good place to go and pray, because thankfully the Scottish hills are not ‘alive with the sound of music’ but rather, they hold that delightful peace of nature and are filled instead with the majesty of the life-giving, Creator God.

by Rev Dr Jon Mackenzie