K, WHAT DO rattlesnakes and waterfalls have to do with a revelation of grace?

Behind my home in southern California is a range of steep brushy mountains called the Santa Anas. A trail guidebook describes one feature of these mountains: “With five tiers and a total drop of 150 feet, Tenaja Falls is the most interesting geographical feature in the San Mateo Canyon Wilderness. In late winter and spring, water coursing down the polished rock produces a kind of soothing music not widely heard in this somewhat dry corner of the Santa Ana Mountains.”¹

Rock and water in combination are irresistible to me. I wanted to see this waterfall in a remote wilderness area about 40 miles from my home.

The Journey Begins
I first traversed a rough wilderness track eroded by heavy winter rains. This was no problem for my trusty Toyota Land-cruiser.

After reaching the trailhead I crossed a rain-swollen creek and made my way up a rocky, brush-choked canyon toward where I thought the falls would be. It was 11:00 a.m. when I started. The temperature was about 80 degrees. It was there that I gave serious thought to rattlesnakes.

Rattlesnakes are a fact of life on all the trails in southern California. Early Native Americans drew pictures of them on the rocks. Spanish and early American explorers wrote of their dangers in expedition journals. I have encountered rattlesnakes on mountain ridges 7,700 feet high, as well as on city streets.

Each year approximately 300 rattlesnake bites occur in southern California.

The snakes are most active in temperatures of 75-90 degrees between early spring and midfall. According to the same guidebook in which I found the directions to Tenaja Falls, I found this reference: “Rattlesnakes are fairly common in brushy, rocky and stream side habitats from coast to mountains.

. . . Watch carefully where you put your feet, and especially your hands, during rattlesnake season. In brushy or rocky areas where sight distance is short, try to make your presence known from afar. Tread with heavy footfalls, or use a stick to bang against rocks or bushes. Rattlesnakes will pick up the vibrations and buzz (unmistakably) before you get too close for comfort.”²

I carry a long English yew thumb stick (with a fork at the top that I slip my thumb over) when I hike. I’ve carried it for 17 years, and my spouse and friends know that I want to be buried with it when I die. In the canyon brush I proceeded carefully, probing ahead with my stick. It was late March, the time when rattlesnakes come out of hibernation, hungry and irritated. My desire to see the falls in season struggled against my concern about snakes.

Off Track
The willows, lilac, bunch grass, coastal sage, coyote brush, nettles, mule tails, manzanita, scrub oak, and poison oak (yikes!) were so thick that I could barely see my boot tops. My eyes were glued to the ground ahead.

Looking down so much, I lost my bearings and ended up in a side ravine in thick wild lilac higher than my head. I plunged on in the direction where I thought I would find the falls, but I could not see or even hear them.

After two hours of bushwhacking, I came to a big sycamore log on a sand bar. I checked around the log for snakes and sat down to eat my lunch. Sitting down in the stillness, I realized how tense I was. The anxious watching took the joy away from what was supposed to be a recreational experience and led me off the path.

From my vantage point I spotted a faint but true trail on the opposite side of the ravine. My breathing relaxed, and the breeze was cool against my sweaty back. I prayed in thanks to God for the journey so far and for guidance on the trail ahead.

When I repacked my stuff I stood and slung the day pack over my shoulders. I picked up my walking stick and looked up the canyon. There in a breathtaking cascade of sunlit silver spray was Tenaja Falls. It had been clearly in my view for some time. Standing still, I could even hear its steady rush in the distance.

My worry and care washed from me in the gracious sight. I forgot my fear-filled fantasies.

Lessons Learned
In that instant a life truth was revealed to me.

If I’m intently focused on the possibility of the snakes, I will miss the wonderful shining waterfall. If my effort is directed toward avoiding the sting of death, I will miss the healing water of life.

Jesus spoke to His disciples about snakes with such names as wars and rebellions, earthquakes, famines, diseases, persecution, betrayal and hatred by loved ones, displacement, distress, wrath, paralyzing fear, and anxiety about the future. When Jesus told them about these dangers in answering their deepest concerns He also said: “Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near” (Luke 21:28).*

Two of Jesus’ followers didn’t get the message. On a lonely journey home after their hopes were crushed at Golgotha their eyes were downcast, searching the road for the vipers of grief, disappointment, confusion, injustice, and the death of hope. Jesus Him-self came along and walked with them. But they couldn’t bring themselves to look up and recognize the grace of His resurrected presence. He began to explain the truth that would save them from the serpents of their fears. They were moved to invite Him to dinner with one of my favorite prayers: “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over” (Luke 24:29).

In the grace of the meal those two discouraged disciples sat and rested. Jesus blessed and broke the bread of their sustenance and gave it to them from His own nail-pierced hands. At that moment their eyes were opened wide to the recognition of Jesus, and their hearts burned with the revelation of His shining presence (Luke 24:13-35).

Faithful Guide
On your journey you may be losing your bearings to the paralyzing fear of the snakes in the brush. Maybe the snakes represent the relationship that won’t hold together; the budget that won’t balance; the job that bleeds you rather than feeds you; the child or spouse whose only contact with you is the coil and strike of angry words; the depression that masks the fear of inadequacy and failure; the shame of sin unconfessed, forgiveness withheld, or community betrayed.

I pray for you and me the words of Psalm 80:19: “Restore us, O Lord God of hosts; let your face shine that we may be saved.”

If you look up with the eyes of your heart you will see a waterfall before you—a torrent of grace—the water of life flowing down into the brush-choked, snake-infested box canyon of your life.

I don’t make this up. Jesus cries out, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said, ‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water’” (John 7:37, 38).

This is the call of grace and a guaranteed snake-bite remedy: “Now when these things begin to take place”—the things you dread most and that threaten to rob you of eternity and hope—“stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption”—the Son of man coming in a cloud with power and great glory—“is drawing near” (Luke 21:28).

Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on us. May my brothers and sisters who read this look up to see the sunlit glory of Your cascading grace. May we all bathe and play in its cleansing, healing pools. We praise You, Jesus, for You have crushed beneath Your heel the serpent that would destroy us. You are our peace. Move, from our heads into our hearts, the certain knowledge that we are now safe to look up and enjoy You. We say our eternal “Thank You” and “Yes” to Your truth.

*Scripture references are from the New Revised Standard Version.

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¹ Jerry Schad, Afoot and Afield in Orange County (Wilderness Press, 1988), p. 104.
² Ibid., p. 9.

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Kent A. Hansen is an attorney who lives in Corona, California.