One of the Hebrew Scriptures’ oldest titles of the Lord is El Shaddai, found most frequently in the Book of Genesis. The term is often translated into English as God Almighty, but many scholars prefer to render it as God of the Mountains. Having recently spent a week with my family in the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia, I was reminded once again of the close association of mountains with the divine and of the appropriateness of this title.
There is something about the sheer majesty of a mountain that almost forces its viewer to contemplate eternal truths and higher realities. The lesser things of economics and politics are left at the base as the terrain points ever upward towards the summit, towards the heavens. These grand sculptures carved out by the forces of nature confront their viewers with at least three core characteristics: antiquity, immensity, and serenity.
Mountains are ancient. One of the youngest mountain ranges in the world, the Hymalayas in Asia, are 50 million years old, while the Barberton Mountains of South Africa are an estimated 3.5 billion years old. Every mountain on Earth is older than humanity and witnesses to a world before our creation. Many of the mountains still viewable today were also viewable by the dinosaurs. As their ancient peaks cause us to consider a world before us and one that may well long survive us, they also push our minds to consider the one Being that predates even them and will surely outlast them: El Shaddai, the Ancient of Days.
Mountains are immensely huge. Whether the towering heights of Mount Everest more than 29,000 feet above sea level to the sprawling Andes Mountains of South America spanning 4,300 miles, they make you feel your smallness. Even the tiniest mountain on Earth, Mount Wycheproof in Australia standing 138 feet above sea level, makes a six-foot tall human seem small. They remind us of the immensely vast cosmos created by a God who cannot be contained by anything in creation, not even a gigantic mountain. As the Prophet Isaiah reminds us, God is “the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth” (Isaiah 40:28).
Mountains are places of serenity. Whether the older ranges with their weatherworn and rounded peaks, or the jagged and jarring peaks of younger mountains with their landslides and quick changes in weather, the mountain itself stands peaceful in the center of even the worst storm. Trees may fall and hillsides may erode, but the mountains stand. Starring at the rolling peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains has an almost mesmerizing effect as hill after hill rolls on to the horizon. They point towards the “Father of lights, with whom there is no alteration or shadow caused by change” (James 1:17).
It’s little wonder that mountains have been the scene of so many major events in salvation history from covenant rituals and renewals to sermons and prophetic discourses. During my time in the mountains, two incidents in particular came to mind. In the first, Peter and the sons of Zebedee climbed Mount Tabor with Jesus, and at the summit they saw him in a completely new way, dazzling in glorious light while speaking with Moses and Elijah (see Luke 9:28-36). Mountains can help us to experience the Lord and to see him in a new way. In the second event, the Prophet Elijah fled to Mt. Horeb, also known as Mt. Sinai, and experienced God, not in the strong wind or the earthquake or the fire, but in the still small voice (see 1 Kings 19:9-13). This passage tells us the the voice asked Elijah, “What are you doing here” (19:13), but perhaps the still small voice in the silence of the mountains could also be the mountains themselves blessing the Lord, singing praise to him and highly exalting him forever (see Daniel 3:53). Mountains can help us to hear God and to join creation in praising him.
Mountains also are metaphors. The house where my family stayed in Virginia had a plaque on the wall that read, “When life gives you mountains, put on your boots and start hiking.” While it is good advice, I would modify it a bit. Instead of simply exploring life’s difficulties, we should set out on the adventure expecting to encounter El Shaddai, the God of the Mountains. He speaks in the stillness that we may find there even amidst the storms. He is more timeless than even our ancient struggles that are common to our race. He is infinitely more stable than the mountainside that is only locally affected by landslides and downed trees. And he brings a deeper and more lasting peace than even the most serene mountainscape can provide. The mountains we encounter are real, but the God of the Mountains is even more so.
