How (not) to climb a mountain

I love climbing mountains.  For me there’s a sense of freedom, as I lose my oh-so-finite smallness in the near-infinite greatness of creation, and I’m drawn back to the actually-infinite greatness and beauty and solidity of God.  It makes my soul lighter.  There’s nothing quite like the sense of achievement when you finally make the summit, and see the countryside spread below you; nothing quite like the change in perspective, as you conquer what seemed so enormous and for a moment at least, look down on the everyday world, separated from the noise and busy and cooking dinner and notifications.

So it was natural for me to try to share that love with my kids.

With mixed results.

Kayleigh was such an all-round sportswoman, she was always going to beat me to the top and then laugh at me.  Well, I can take that.  So as we packed up the car and drove over to the Lakes, I was really looking forward to the trip.  The weather was perfect, it was clear on the tops, the roads were quiet.  We met our hiking buddy, and Kayleigh launched herself at Great Gable with gusto.  Lunch by the tarn was beautiful and she even allowed Geoff to teach her some map reading skills.

The gradient increased after lunch, and Kayleigh started to struggle.  And since struggling wasn’t an option, she started to find ways to cover it up.  An old injury was suddenly reactivated.  She didn’t like the official path and defiantly clambered over the boulders on her much harder alternative route.  She ran out of water, but wouldn’t accept the extra I was carrying for her.  The same went for snacks – if I was offering them, they were no good.  She tried going on strike, and wasn’t best pleased when we both just kept going.  She stopped speaking to either of us.  Finally she declared her boots were !?!ing *&! and yanked them off, completing the remaining miles in her socks.

She did love the view from the top, though.  She’d never seen anything like this before, and the magic worked on her just as it did on me.  At least briefly.

(The pizza and enormous bottle of lemonade she gulped down back in Keswick worked a longer-lasting miracle.  She must have been starving by then).

Climbing with Holly was altogether different.  Holly ‘did’ basketball and cheerleading; in theory she should have been up to the physical challenge too.  But Holly’s version of basketball involved standing and watching the game happen around her, shrieking if the ball accidentally came close.  And while she did actually move around at cheerleading, she still had no core strength, no muscle tone and no stamina.  This was going to be tough.  Great Gable was out.  Latrigg was in.

This time we were with the church youth group, and it was just as well; the level of Holly’s whinging was enough to exhaust most of the party by the time we had even made it out of the park and onto the slopes.  She was unrelenting.  I changed the plasters on her feet four times before we got to the top – she’d sworn these trainers were comfortable, and she’d been completely wrong.  She flopped onto the ground every time anyone paused for breath and had to be dragged back up again.  She cried and clung to me and tried to get piggy backs from all the boys (all of whom had more sense).  She was floppy and snotty and about to die.

She barely looked at the view from the top.  But she did pose for the photos, and afterwards – once she knew the ordeal was over – she loved showing them off to everyone who’d look.  Her pride in what she’d achieved was enormous.

(She also ate an incredible amount at dinner that evening).

Neither of them had ever seen anything remotely like this before.  Neither of them thought they could do it.  So Kayleigh fought herself, and Holly fought everyone else… and we wouldn’t let them win.  Despite their own best efforts at sabotage, they made it.  And it was worth it.

The Psalmist talks about the mountains too.  One of the best loved Psalms begins,

I lift my eyes up to the mountains…

There is so much in this Psalm I long for Kayleigh and Holly to know.

This Psalmist isn’t simply appreciating the beauty of creation around him.  He’s not out for a day’s hiking.  No, he’s on a journey – a long journey of many days, out in the open under sun and moon, in need of protection.  It’s an important journey because he is making his way to Jerusalem, to the Temple, to the place where he can worship and meet with God.  He’s still far off – but he lifts his eyes and sees Mount Zion, his destination, and his heart is glad.

The Psalmist realises something amazing.  He hasn’t reached the Temple yet.  But even here, many miles away on the road, God is present.  He’s journeying to meet with God – and yet God is right here and willing to meet with him.  This journey is arduous, perilous, dangerous – but his God is here.  So he lifts his eyes, sees the mountains he’s aiming for, but knows that way before he makes it, God is with him, God is guarding him, God is helping him, every step of the way.

When we journey towards God, he comes right alongside us and helps to bring us home.  He doesn’t stand, arms folded, safe in his temple, inspecting our progress as we clean up our act for him.  As soon as we lift our eyes – however far we still have to travel – he is there. 

A bit like we were for Kayleigh, though she wouldn’t accept any help.  And like we were for Holly, though she didn’t believe our help was enough.  In fact, a lot like that; for God is also there for us when we are asserting our defiant independence or cowering in fearful unbelief.  We can choose our stance, and in so doing we choose how we experience the journey.  Whatever we choose, he is there.  He is here.

Some people have read these opening verses differently.  Some suggest that when the Psalmist refers to the mountains, he’s talking about the shrines and high places that were used for idol worship – in which case this opening verse is a warning, and a declaration that he won’t put his trust in the wrong places.  Other say that he may be looking for the dangers that the mountains hide – accidents, predators or bandits – in which case this opening verse is a statement of faith in the God who is bigger than all his fears.  Either way, his response is the same.  Whatever dangers there may be, and whatever other offers of help may try to lure me aside, I know that my help comes from the Lord.  And this help will always be enough, for he is the Lord who made heaven and earth.

We need to know that we need help.  And we need to know that help is there.

Kayleigh wouldn’t ask anyone for help.  And Holly wouldn’t accept that the help was there.

Kayleigh had to pretend she was fine.  And Holly had to keep telling us she wasn’t. 

Kayleigh had to fix a proxy problem herself.  And Holly wouldn’t accept that the problem could be solved.

Kayleigh climbed in self-denial, bullying herself, shutting off her fears.  And Holly climbed in terror, refusing to allow hope in, surrendered to her fears.

What about us?

What problems are we facing right now?

Where are we looking for help?

What are we doing with our fears?

Our help can come from God, if we choose.  From the maker of heaven and earth.

But who is this God?  And what help does he give?

He is a keeper.  He guards and protects, shields and watches over.  He is like a watchman standing guard over a city (Psalm 130:8), like a mother hen protecting her chicks under her wings (Psalm 91:4), like a strong tower that keeps those sheltering inside safe (Psalm 61:3), like the shadow of a mighty rock providing life-saving shade for a weary traveler (Isaiah 32:2).

He establishes us on a strong foundation, so that our feet will not slip.  The Psalmist didn’t know it, but these words find fulfilment in Jesus.  We are invited to stand on Christ, to stand in Christ.  When our identity is fully found in him, we’re immovable because he is immovable.  He becomes sin on our behalf, and we become the righteousness of God.  We stand in grace, in courage and strength, in faith, in freedom.  We know who we are: in Christ, we are the beloved of God.

He watches over our life.  He watches over us through the day and the night, through the highs and lows, the triumphs and tragedies.  He protects us from real dangers, like the burning heat of the Middle Eastern sun, and from anxious fears that hide in the shadows of moonlight.  This watch is life-long, with no naps.  Whatever comes in the present or the future, he will still be there, watching to bring us through.

He preserves us from evil.  When things that are intended to harm us come into our life, God turns them to good (Genesis 50:20).  He preserves our soul.  The bit of us that makes us ourselves; the bit we can’t insure or medicate or wrap in cotton wool.  How does he preserve it?  Spurgeon said, “Our soul is kept from the dominion of sin, the infection of error, the crush of despondency, the puffing up of pride; kept from the world, the flesh and the devil; kept for holier and greater things; kept in the love of God; kept unto the eternal kingdom and glory.” He preserves our coming and going, now and forever.  He repeats the promise to preserve three times; perhaps he knew we’d find it hard to trust?

Hard things will come.  Problems will come.  The steep slopes, the ill fitting shoes, the running out of snacks – they will all come.  And we can battle them ourselves, refusing any help.  Or we can live in terror, not believing the help will be effective.  Or we can choose otherwise.

We need the help of God as we journey through this broken world.  We need to lift our eyes to the hills, and know where our help comes from.

Our help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.