It was a brilliant springtime on the island of Rhodes as we headed for Lindos and our third acropolis in five days. I was becoming fond of the challenges from those ancients who loved the heights of their rocky lands. As we passed the olive groves, watched the little roadside goats raise their inquisitive heads at our tour bus and then halted above the tiny seaside town, nothing prepared me for what was to follow.

Our path wound up from a small village up and up until we came to the beginning of the ascent to the mountain top. It was here that the psychology of the ancient builders some 25 centuries ago came into play. To reach the shrine at the top one had to ascend three staircases. The first was extremely narrow (parts of the original still exist, tortuously carved out of the rocky hillside.) It ended in a resting area with nothing to view except the sky above.

Taking a deeper breath we went for the second stairway. This one was wider and it too ended in a large flat resting area with no view. It was so different from both Athens and Patmos where the paths to the top offer stunning views of the world below as one climbs and climbs.

Finally, the third stairway opened before us, wide, smooth, tantalizing in that there was nothing to see except more stairs—some 300 in the total ascent—until one reached the top, and there was the Temple of Athena and an incredible vista across the sea, 5000 feet below.

It wasn't hard to imagine the panting pilgrims from the 4th century BC making this same climb. And did Paul ever do it centuries later in his quest to understand the people of this island where we know he stopped on his journeys? It wouldn't be hard to see him, sturdily clutching his traveling stick as he finally crossed the wide acropolis. Perhaps he had time for Psalm 148: "O praise the Lord! Praise him on the heights!"

It would be fitting. But it is also fitting to see my own journey or that of any seeker in those 300 steps. They are so narrow and so difficult at the beginning with the temptation to go back and forget the whole thing. Then, with renewed strength from taking a rest or two along the way, the further flights beckon one to keep on. And keeping on is a kind of blind traveling. There are no vistas to enliven the journey.

But the ultimate reward is the spectacular worldview that spreads our at one's feet. I think of the workers who hauled the original stones for the temple and my own building blocks that will somehow come together in a lifetime project with shape and form.

And I say to myself: welcome to today's journey. If it is an "Athens day" I might have a view to encourage me on the way. It it is more of a "Lindos day", there will only be more steps.

How about you? Shall we begin to climb toward the Lord of sea and sky?