Throughout recorded history, mountains have always engendered a sense of awe, honor, and even mystery in humankind. For believers from every religion (and for the most ardent atheist, too) mountains are places of revelation—whether from God, the gods, Mother Earth, or one’s inner self. The power of these formations jutting from the face of earth is so universal that we reserve a special phrase for moments that are particularly full of import and impact: the “mountaintop experience.”
“The power of these formations jutting from the face of earth is so universal that we reserve a specialphrase for moments that are particularly full of import and impact: the ‘mountaintop experience.’”This sort of experience isn’t limited to modern-day life, of course. In fact, many of the most significant events in Israel’s history happened on the heights of literal mountains: Think of Mount Ararat, where Noah’s ark landed; or Moriah, where Abraham offered Isaac; or Sinai, where God revealed Himself to Moses. Or consider the life of Jesus—the Son of God and many times the creator of powerful, ecstatic, even mystical experiences. It’s no accident that at the beginning, middle, and end of His ministry, mountains play a crucial role. And every time, they reveal more about who He is.
The first great teaching of the New Testament takes place on one and is appropriately called the Sermon on the Mount (see Matt. 5-7), where Jesus shows Himself to be the truest and fullest revelation of God. As His enemies’ opposition increases and He heads toward Jerusalem to die, we read the story about the Mount of Transfiguration (Matt. 17:1-8). Jesus takes His closest friends to a high place, and there they see Him in radiant glory, talking with none other than Moses and Elijah. And finally, Jesus’ last teaching before His arrest and crucifixion—an explanation of the future of the world—happens on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem (Matt. 24-25).
My family spent several summers in Colorado, and we’d often drive from Fort Collins, following the snaking path of the Big Thompson River until we reached Estes Park. Ears popped as we arrived in this little town 7,522 feet above sea level. But that was only the beginning, as Estes Park is the entry point into the glorious Rocky Mountain National Park. We drove our van, filled with two adults and six kids, far up into the Rockies, winding along near the edge of narrow mountain roads, pulling off to play in the snow still there in June. No matter how many times we made this drive, we were all in absolute awe of the vistas on every side.
“God gives us these mountaintop experiences in the Bible and in life so we have direction, a lodestarby which to navigate and shape our course.”Whether in Palestine or in Colorado, in the ancient world or today, mountain views take our breath away, wake us up, and give us something unique. Vistas give us vision. From physical heights, we can see farther and clearer. The same is true of spiritual heights. God gives us these mountaintop experiences in the Bible and in life so we have direction, a lodestar by which to navigate and shape our course. We need a panoramic view in order to know how to direct the desires and decisions of our lives toward God and His goodness. But we also need valleys.
Valleys, not just vistas, are places where we see God. Herein lies a paradox at the heart of Christianity. Mountaintop experiences help us chart our course, but deep valley experiences help us know God and ourselves most profoundly. When we are broken, helpless, in dark and low places, we come to see in a different way. The Puritans called this startling experience “the valley of vision.” The Scriptures are filled with examples of this puzzling truth.
In the Old Testament, we can point to many people who knew this valley of vision. One example comes from the prayer that Jonah uttered when he was in the belly of the great fish—a place far lower even than an earthly valley (Jonah 2:1-9). Topside, Jonah was rebellious and running his own way. When he found himself at “the roots of the mountains” (Jonah 2:6), with seaweed wrapped about his head, he saw God and His kindness clearly. Or consider Job, a man who knew God well but, after his deep valley of physical and emotional pain, came to see God unlike ever before. Referring to the time before his valley, Job told God, “I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear,” but afterwards he said, “My eye sees You” (Job 42:5).
Throughout recorded history, mountains have always engendered a sense of awe, honor, and even mystery in humankind. For believers from every religion (and for the most ardent atheist, too) mountains are places of revelation—whether from God, the gods, Mother Earth, or one’s inner self. The power of these formations jutting from the face of earth is so universal that we reserve a special phrase for moments that are particularly full of import and impact: the “mountaintop experience.”
This sort of experience isn’t limited to modern-day life, of course. In fact, many of the most significant events in Israel’s history happened on the heights of literal mountains: Think of Mount Ararat, where Noah’s ark landed; or Moriah, where Abraham offered Isaac; or Sinai, where God revealed Himself to Moses. Or consider the life of Jesus—the Son of God and many times the creator of powerful, ecstatic, even mystical experiences. It’s no accident that at the beginning, middle, and end of His ministry, mountains play a crucial role. And every time, they reveal more about who He is.
The first great teaching of the New Testament takes place on one and is appropriately called the Sermon on the Mount (see Matt. 5-7), where Jesus shows Himself to be the truest and fullest revelation of God. As His enemies’ opposition increases and He heads toward Jerusalem to die, we read the story about the Mount of Transfiguration (Matt. 17:1-8). Jesus takes His closest friends to a high place, and there they see Him in radiant glory, talking with none other than Moses and Elijah. And finally, Jesus’ last teaching before His arrest and crucifixion—an explanation of the future of the world—happens on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem (Matt. 24-25).
My family spent several summers in Colorado, and we’d often drive from Fort Collins, following the snaking path of the Big Thompson River until we reached Estes Park. Ears popped as we arrived in this little town 7,522 feet above sea level. But that was only the beginning, as Estes Park is the entry point into the glorious Rocky Mountain National Park. We drove our van, filled with two adults and six kids, far up into the Rockies, winding along near the edge of narrow mountain roads, pulling off to play in the snow still there in June. No matter how many times we made this drive, we were all in absolute awe of the vistas on every side.
Whether in Palestine or in Colorado, in the ancient world or today, mountain views take our breath away, wake us up, and give us something unique. Vistas give us vision. From physical heights, we can see farther and clearer. The same is true of spiritual heights. God gives us these mountaintop experiences in the Bible and in life so we have direction, a lodestar by which to navigate and shape our course. We need a panoramic view in order to know how to direct the desires and decisions of our lives toward God and His goodness. But we also need valleys.
Valleys, not just vistas, are places where we see God. Herein lies a paradox at the heart of Christianity. Mountaintop experiences help us chart our course, but deep valley experiences help us know God and ourselves most profoundly. When we are broken, helpless, in dark and low places, we come to see in a different way. The Puritans called this startling experience “the valley of vision.” The Scriptures are filled with examples of this puzzling truth.
In the Old Testament, we can point to many people who knew this valley of vision. One example comes from the prayer that Jonah uttered when he was in the belly of the great fish—a place far lower even than an earthly valley (Jonah 2:1-9). Topside, Jonah was rebellious and running his own way. When he found himself at “the roots of the mountains” (Jonah 2:6), with seaweed wrapped about his head, he saw God and His kindness clearly. Or consider Job, a man who knew God well but, after his deep valley of physical and emotional pain, came to see God unlike ever before. Referring to the time before his valley, Job told God, “I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear,” but afterwards he said, “My eye sees You” (Job 42:5).
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