"And the mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strain."
I have a different relationship with mountains, now that I've spent time in Thailand. More respect. More affection. Like for folks who grow up by the sea, or on the prairies, or in any distinctive geological place, the terrain and ruggedness and unique and often misty beauty of the rising hilltops holds its own sense of wonder and security for me. Even though I did not grow up there, my heart has found another home.
If you get the chance, like I have, to visit a mountain village, the vistas become fascinating, contrasted with the layers and shadows and depths of it all receding into the, unbelievable, far-as-the-eye-can-see distance.
Closer to the city, if you stand in the middle of the property that houses our family at Hot Springs, you'll still see sheer hills all around. We're nestled in. Surrounded.
It's an image of the protection and presence of God the psalmist uses in Psalm 125:1.
"Those who trust in the LORD are like Mount Zion, which cannot be shaken but endures forever. As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the LORD surrounds his people both now and forever more."
I needed that on Sunday. Even more today. Another COVID Christmas doesn't register well at all, and as I write, dire predictions are again the steady diet of our newscasts.
The mountains, however, echo back joy at the angels' announcement. Peace on earth! Yes, this pandemic-ravaged earth! Because this crazy, insidious disease is exactly why He had to come. Because sickness and dying and death and fear and confusion and despair and separation and disorientation and everything dark had to be dealt with. So He did. In the most astonishing of ways.
He came.
The LORD of the mountains came. And that's why they were singing with the angels, echoing that joy.
This is why we do what we do with our beautiful, precious mountain kids. This is their home. This is their hope. I miss their voices singing, so much.
Can almost hear them echoing with the angels and the mountains.
