I remember the day I learned to go further.

It was many years ago, and my family and I were exploring the Trillium Gap Trail in Tennessee’s beautiful Smoky Mountains.  Having hiked this trail before, we knew it was a popular route, and rightly so.  The destination, Grotto Falls, is postcard-perfect—tumbling off the rocky cliffs and ensconced by old-growth forest.  The trailhead is also a point of interest on a well-known scenic route, and the hike is frequently recommended by park rangers. 

But for the first time, my family and I had a different destination than the other tourists.  We were going further.

You see, a park ranger had explained to us that the trail continued past the waterfall—climbing up the side of the mountain.  And a few miles beyond Grotto Falls, he claimed, was a “bald”—Smokies lingo for a spacious mountainside meadow.  From the bald, according to this ranger, the views were breathtaking.  As special as Grotto Falls was, he assured us, the real joy was found higher up.

We were captivated by the idea, so on this day, we passed behind the roar of the falls with our faces set resolutely higher.  We began hiking on the previously unknown route, and we made a few observations immediately.  First, this trail was a narrow, rocky track, quite obviously not as well-traveled as the lower portion.  Second, the throngs of people who had clustered along the “tourist” route were now absent.  

The climb became more and more intense, and the trail became less and less well-marked.  By the time we arrived at a rickety wooden sign that vaguely pointed to the left, we were exhausted.  But the adventure was far from over.   We were met next with a thick tunnel in the heart of what locals call a rhododendron “hell”—try to fight your way through one and you’ll understand exactly why.  Ducking our heads and at times bending almost double, we struggled along a narrow path, thinking unfriendly thoughts about the ranger and certain that nothing at the end of this route could repay us for what we’d had to endure to get there.

But then, as if by magic, the rhododendrons opened into a meadow, and the most spectacular view lay before us.  In endless scallops, the Smokies rolled their shoulders beneath us—like an eternal ocean with these blue ridges of mountains for waves.  The signature “smoke” wrapped all the trees in silver.  And the pervasive peace of the Smokies seemed to soothe our souls.  

All the way back down, we excitedly discussed the grand destination we’d experienced.  And that night, I was thankful.  Yes, I was weary, and a bit sore, but I was grateful that we’d gone higher than we’d thought we could…to enjoy something we could never have experienced down below.  And in all the years since then, to this day, when I pass the crowds of people hurrying to Grotto Falls, I feel sad.  They’ll have a nice hike with an interesting destination—but there’s so much they’ll miss.

Don’t get me wrong—the hike to Grotto Falls is nice and a great introduction.  The problem comes when the introduction becomes the entire experience.  Those who turn around there miss the thrill of standing on the bald, ducking their heads so they won’t bump them on the sky.  They won’t stand motionless and watch a flock of wild turkey pick their dignified way through a sunlit glade.  They won’t feel the joy of following a mountain ridge, peak after peak, balancing on the backbone of the Smokies.  They won’t feel the breeze, glimpse the deer’s growing antlers, smell the wild blackberries, hear the rippling streams.  Yes, their hike will lack pain, but it will also lack glory.  

There are hidden depths that can only be discovered when you go further—deeper—higher than you want to go or even think you can go.  Those who stop at Grotto Falls will be able to snap some photos and check an item off their vacation itinerary, but they won’t be close to the heart of the mountains, won’t hear the whisper of God where the trees are thick and crowds are thin.  And that is why I am sad—because as amazing as their experience is, it could be so much more.

And isn’t this true in our faith as well?

You see, just like the hikers who choose to stop at Grotto Falls, we so often reach a point in our faith journey when we come to a halt.  Oh, we’re still on the trail.  We’re still heading the same direction.  We just don’t want to climb any higher.  We’re content with our progress. 

Who knows why this attitude is so appealing.  Maybe it’s the crisis of commitment.  Going higher requires an investment of time and dedication that makes us uncomfortable.  Or maybe it’s the pull of peer pressure.  The trail to Grotto Falls is broad and well-traveled, but the path beyond is lonely and narrow.  Or maybe it’s the burden of the effort involved.  You see, God, like the peaks of the Smokies, is sometimes higher than we want to go.  The work of drawing close to Him, the discipline of learning to move toward His Presence, seems far too intense.  And when our flesh embeds our minds with I can’t or I’m not or I don’t want to, the lure of stopping at Grotto Falls seems strong.

Perhaps it’s because this option offers us the taste of spirituality without the tests of it.  We can enter into a relationship with the Creator of the universe and still indulge in secret sin.  We can soothe our consciences without wearying ourselves.  There’s no need to strengthen our faith, toughen our resolve, or build our character, because we can have God on our terms.  We can take the easy path and get in on the package deal of Christianity and contribute a painless pittance—sporadic church attendance, quick prayers, and pat Bible verses.  

It makes sense to us, because we can assuage all the inconvenience of verses like “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me” (Matthew 16:24 NASB).  While Paul proclaims, “I die daily” (1 Corinthians 15:31 NASB), we can shrug and cling to our petty existence.  And vulnerability is nothing to be concerned about, because we keep the Lord at arm’s length.  After all, He’s a God Who’s messy, unpredictable, and frankly dangerous.  So we maintain our distance—we splash at the shallow end of the pool, undeniably in the water, but close enough to the edge to leap out if we feel like it.

And if we bow to the pressure, if we decide to stop at Grotto Falls, we’ll have company—the people on a budget, on a schedule.  The people who are curious, the people who are restless, the people who are bored. The people who like to play it safe and hedge their bets.  

Jesus’ words acknowledge this fact:  “For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few” (Matthew 7:14 ESV).  “The way…that leads to life” refers foremost to salvation, but is it such a stretch to believe that even after you enter the gate of salvation, the path forks again?  This time, the choice that faces you is one between two types of life—a sleepy existence on the easy road, or a sometimes painful, usually exhausting, but utterly glorious climb to the heart of the mountains?

I’m reminded of this quote from C. S. Lewis:  “It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with [worldly pleasures] when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

Far too easily pleased. 

I don’t know about you, but that’s convicting to me.  Am I too easily pleased?  Am I content to stop at Grotto Falls—to know that the higher way exists, but to be too distracted by what’s in front of me to consider it?  Would I truly dare to look at the endless glories of God and shrug and say, “This is enough, thanks”?

We’re not meant to be content with God.  Instead, we’re designed to desire Him more and more and more—always wanting a fresh outpouring of His Spirit, a new awareness of His work in our world.  We’re designed to have homing hearts that refuse to find their satisfaction in anything but the depths of the Spirit.  As pastor and theologian David Mathis writes, reflecting on Lewis’s words:  “Indeed, we are far too easily pleased when we pine finally for anything less than God — and when we ache only for seeing his splendor from afar, rather than going further up and further in, to being “accepted, welcomed, or taken into the dance” (40).”

This, then, is the secret.  We don’t climb higher out of a grudging sense of duty or a grasping notion of ambition.  We climb higher for the love of the God Who compels us onward. 

Because some people try Grotto Falls and find that it leaves them cold.  The waterfall is nice, the trail is smooth, but it just doesn’t light their fire.  They feel a little empty, a little hollow, a little restless.  They realize that this path will entertain and amuse, but it won’t captivate or satisfy.  And then they turn their gaze to the only place from which a person ever finds deliverance—upward.  

They know God is uncontrollable.  They’ve heard He is unsafe.  They’re well aware that He is unpredictable.  But at the same time, they want the life He promises—not an existence, but a life, a rich, vibrant, joyful life that beckons upward to the very gate of glory.  

These are the people who find the abundant life Jesus promised.  These are the people who receive the peace that passes understanding, the joy that can’t be contained, the passion that won’t be corralled.  These are the people who shine with the glory of God, the people to whom God was speaking when He tenderly said, “Draw near to [Me], and [I] will draw near to you” (James 4:8 ESV).  These aren’t plastic people with a blissful life and no problems; these are simply people who have decided that the joy of knowing God deeply, intimately, is worth the struggle of the climb.  

So, is He worth it?  Is He worth the inconvenience, the distress, the sore legs and pounding heart and aching muscles?  Yes.  And here’s why—you can catch a glimpse of God when you stop at Grotto Falls.  But when you go higher, deeper, farther, you reach His heart.  

That, my friends, is your choice today.  If you’re still trudging the painless path, I invite you to leave it.  Say goodbye to the crowds and leave the comfort of the routine.  Wander into the woods and start looking up.  No matter how thorny the way or how intense the climb, keep going.  Don’t give up.  Because God didn’t design us for a ground-level faith; instead, He intended us to be always climbing higher—above the allure of the easy route and into the heart of His glory. 

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