“I Can’t Breathe!”

“I can’t breathe!” We’ve heard it countless times in the past few months, and probably have become a bit weary of hearing it. Of course, the genesis of that lament comes from the back seat of a police car in Minneapolis. But that’s a discussion for another day. Maybe. Well, honestly, not likely.

When our Southwest plane departed Midway Airport in Chicago, I checked the altimeter on my watch. It read 620’. I was curious because we were headed to Colorado, and I wanted to know the elevation difference between home and destination.

A couple hours later, our plane landed in Denver—the mile high city. But that wasn’t our destination. Had to pick up a rental car and drive a couple hours west, and up. While driving, I periodically checked the altimeter and watched the numbers continuing to rise.

We were headed to Breckenridge, having yielded to the temptation to purchase a few nights at a luxury time-share resort for next to nothing in exchange for sitting through the 90-minute sales pitch. By late afternoon, we arrived at the Breckenridge Grand Resort on Peak 8, elevation just shy of 10,000 feet.

In Thin Air!

At first, I didn’t notice the altitude—at all. Frankly, I didn’t expect to. Beginning a week before our departure, we started taking some supplements with each meal that were supposed to help with adjusting to high altitude. The guy who recommended the supplements insisted he used them several times on trips to Colorado and never had a problem with the altitude. So it didn’t really occur to me that I would.

Until I took the stairs instead of the elevator.

Our room was on the fourth floor. Having scoped out amenities on the ground floor, we decided to hoof it up the four flights—get a little exercise and practice a bit for a planned hike, I figured. After one flight, I could feel my heart pounding pretty hard. After the second, the thumping grew more pronounced and I felt winded. Slowed the pace considerably the last two flights, but by the time we reached our floor, I was gasping for air!

So that’s what happens to flatlanders above 9,000 feet, I discovered!

“I can’t breathe!”

My phone has an app that can check blood oxygen. It tells me a healthy range is between 95-100%. Just checked it—mine’s 99%. But that night? Puffing and panting on the couch in our room I checked. It registered 85%. I was about to die, I was sure. It was either the elevation or COVID. Immediately ruling out COVID, I started drinking a bunch of water and went looking for food. Later that night, things calmed down a bit.

Now, I did have enough sense to know that the day after arriving at such an altitude would not be the time to attempt any real hiking. So I’d planned a day of driving. The original plan was to take the scenic road to the summit of Mt. Evans (elev. 14,265’!) to catch some of Colorado’s spectacular scenery. Checking the website, however, I discovered the road was closed due to COVID. Due to COVID?? Still scratching my head over that one, but what do you do?

Plan B was the Boreas Pass Road just south of Breckenridge. So off we went. Was supposed to be able to pick up the road off of Highway 9. Well, you can…but I missed it. It’s one of those roads that has one name if you turn left…a different name if you turn right. I saw only the “right turn” name and drove right on by.

Thinner Still

Which was OK, as it turns out because—unbeknownst to me—Highway 9 continues to climb a bit, up to the Continental Divide at Hoosier Pass (elev. 11, 539’). A large brown and gold sign marks the spot, which also offers a large parking lot. I assumed just so tourists like us could stop for a photo op in front of the sign. Pulling in, though, I discovered a wide, inviting trail leading up a slight incline. Who could resist, right?

Off we ventured, feeling slightly hopeful that the altitude wouldn’t bother us much. Wrong. The trail was neither long, steep, nor arduous. But it felt all of the above. Again, the thumping and deep breathing. We’d gone maybe a quarter mile and met a guy and his daughter coming down the trail.

“Is there a payoff?” I asked. If not, we were turning around, for sure!

“Yes!” he answered excitedly. “About 1/10 of a mile there’s a great vista overlooking the valley to the south. Go another ¼ mile and you’ll come to another vista looking north over Breckenridge!”

“Great! Thanks much!” I replied.

“Probably should’ve brought some water with you,” he added. “But I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Hmmm…easy for you to say,” I thought. I wasn’t so sure.

Slowly we plodded the next 1/10 of a mile. He was right. The view was spectacular! Good thing. Pausing to take a bunch of pictures allowed us to catch our breath. Nevertheless, as we turned to head on up the trail, we both concurred the view ahead wasn’t worth it. We were whipped.

“I can’t breathe!”

Blood oxygen level: 88%. I took no comfort in the 3% improvement.

By the next day, we had acclimated a bit. We were able to do a 4-mile or so hike with minimal elevation gain. The day after that brought even more improvement. We hiked about 4 hours, covering a little over 8 miles. Still not much elevation gain, but that was 7 miles more than we could’ve done a couple days earlier. And the blood oxygen level finally got above 90%—barely.

Taken for Granted…Until…

Breathing is one of those things we don’t think much about, right? It just happens. How many breaths have you taken since beginning this article? No clue, right? Of course not.

You don’t really concern yourself with breathing…until you can’t!

How many aspects of the Christian experience are like breathing. They have become such a natural part of the rhythm of life that you’ve thought little of them.

Until 2020.

The writer of Hebrews exhorts his readers,

“Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.”

The conscientious Christian faithfully attends a local church as a matter of course. Part of the rhythm of life. Get up Sunday morning, get ready, go to church. Like breathing.

Until 2020, and you can’t.

Many, many people expressed to me how much they missed gathering with their church family every week. Like the spiritual “blood oxygen” level dropped into the low 80s.

And then there’s this, from Paul in Ephesians 5:

“…be filled with the Spirit, addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with your heart….”

One of the crucial components of meeting together is breathing in the reviving truths expressed in song as the gathered church sings to one another the texts of the faith.

When our church didn’t meet for those weeks of COVID lockdown, I tried to compensate for the lack of group singing by reading hymn texts while the tune played in the background. There’s something to be said for that approach. Some mentioned a greater ability to pay attention to the lyrics and their meaning. But the novelty wore off. The vibrancy of a congregation robustly singing seems to revive the spirit of the oxygen-starved soul.

Fortunately, in our journey to Colorado we never were truly oxygen starved, threatening our very lives. The heart still pumped; the mechanics of breathing still functioned; the lungs still got enough oxygen for the blood cells to carry throughout the body. But the body definitely wasn’t operating optimally. It won’t when you can’t breathe.

And so the Christian life. The Holy Spirit—the breath of God—still dwells within, COVID lockdowns notwithstanding. The church is still the body of Christ, even if temporarily somewhat “dismembered.” But the body breathes so much easier, and oxygen fills the lungs so much more efficiently, when God’s people live in the divinely provided environment to which the soul is rightly acclimated.

And by the way, the professing Christian who thinks he can thrive without the divine means of providing spiritual oxygen to his soul—the Word of God rightly ministered through the gathered church—will eventually discover he can’t breathe. Oh, to be sure, he may not notice the oxygen deprivation for a while. All will seem fine on level ground. But when adversity comes—and come it will—the heart will race as he gasps for air.