‘Look to the mountains, listen and remember’

Hee Won Chang
Mountain Sunday, Season of Creation B
Psalm 121; Mark 9:2-9

I look to the mountains, the psalmist sings … and as a Korean it is the mountains, those beautiful bosoms of my country that greet me and embrace me when I return home. Korea is full of bumps and hills and mountains. From the very north to the very south, even though we are still a divided nation, there is a mountain range that connects the whole Korean peninsula, often regarded as the backbone of the country. 

In Korea, it is easy to find a Buddhist temple or a shrine for the mountain gods/spirits or a prayer retreat for Christians in the mountains. And while the prophet Amos informs us that God formed the mountains and the winds, Koreans have a different story of how the mountains were formed. The stories that have been passed on to us say that it was Grandma Mago, a giant goddess, who formed the mountains as the dirt carried in her skirt dropped here and there.

Whatever your religion or whatever you believe, mountains are treated as a sacred place, a dwelling space of the holies and we see that expressed in the holy scriptures.

Ancient people looked to the mountains, because it reminded them of God. 

For Koreans, mountains were the place gods and goddess came down to play. Mountains come with stories, and in the Jewish-Christian traditions ancient people would look at the mountains and remember the stories of how Noah’s ark rested on a mountain top as the flood waters eased … and they would have remembered the covenant made with not only Noah but with every living creature, the birds and every living animal of the earth. They would have recalled that God hung God’s bow in the sky as a promise to never send down floods again.

When they looked to the mountains, they would have remembered the covenant and the commandment, pillars of cloud and fire and bread from heaven, and how God heard their cry in oppression and how God journeyed with them in the wilderness.

When they looked to the mountains, they remembered the prophets who met God in the mountains and in the still silence.

Their stories become our stories, but some of our native stories do not become stories worth remembering, and I wonder what you remember as you look at the mountains. I wonder what stories we prioritise and what stories we have forgotten from our own traditions and cultures. I wonder how these stories inform each other and provoke a deeper understanding of the Divine Creator.

Look to the mountains and the gospels remind us that it was at a mountain when God’s voice breaks through the clouds announcing, “This is my Beloved, my Own; listen to this One.”

A voice directed not at Jesus but at us. God’s plea to humanity: Listen to this One. The One crucified and Risen. Listen. 

Listen to Christ who breaks the cycle of violence.

Listen to Christ who shows that love is the only way.

Listen to Christ who disarms violence with non-violence.

And as we listen we remember the words of Jesus just six days before the disciples and Jesus went up to the mountain: Take up the cross and follow.

The words of Jesus a day before the crucifixion: Love one another. 

The words of Jesus preached on the mount: Blessed are the poor. 

The words of Jesus preached on the streets: The least will be the first.

God urges us to listen. Listen to this One. 

And as they listen, the disciples no longer see anyone except Jesus. Their eyes are fixed on Jesus as they come down the mountain together. And from time to time, I do wonder, as a church, if our eyes are fixed on Jesus? I wonder what that even means and where we need to be to see Jesus …

The psalmist sings, look to the mountains, but we conquer and claim her with a flag, we penetrate her deeply with mining, we erase her existence and memory as we mutate and amputate … and as the psalmist sings look to the mountains, we meet you – Jesus Christ – hanging on the Cross. Blood spilled. Scars and all. And your weak voice, “This is your mother”.

As the earth absorbs your blood and tears, you are in solidarity with the world and the earth is in solidarity with your suffering. And as we look to the mount of Calvary, Golgotha, down you come, entering the tomb, the womb of the earth. There you are kindled, healed, and breathe again. The mountains becoming a witness to your resurrection. The earth giving birth to you again. 

The psalmist sings to us, look to the mountains and remember …

And this week, as I found myself in and out of the emergency room with my daughter … as we waited in between the test results and further tests … in between crying children and pained faces of parents … in between waiting and not knowing … I realised that in the moment of pain and suffering, even the act of lifting my eyes to look to the mountains seems too much … but the psalmist continues to sing this assurance that the creator of the mountains and plains, creator of you and me, will be our guide and help in times of trial.

Most of the time we find ourselves not on top of the mountain, but in between the mountains … of joy and lament … Transfiguration and Golgotha … in between hearing God’s voice and hearing only our own.

As we witness the ongoing genocide in Palestine, and the growing tensions in the Middle East, as we grapple with surging domestic violence, especially violence against women, as we are confronted with a refugee taking his own life a few weeks ago, as bushfires spin out of control, as the creation continues to groan in suffering … how do we listen and what do we remember?

And the psalmist continues to sing that God does not sleep and is ever watchful over us, like a parent, a mother and a father who cannot sleep when their children are suffering and in pain. 

This God does not sleep but is attentive.

This God, this Creator of the universe, cannot sleep but watches over us.

Like a mother hen, watching over her chicks, like a shepherd watching over her flocks, God watches over us and remembers who we are and whose we are. 

Even at the moment when we have no faith to look or hear God …

Even at the moment when we have forgotten who we are and whose we are …

Even at the moment when it seems pointless to look for God …

God continues to watch over us.

God keeps us and holds onto us, singing the gentle melodies of peace and justice.

God sings to us a song of love.

God sings again and again till we remember our song.

God sings again and again till we join in that song. 

So, listen and hear the mountains remembering our story …

Listen and hear the mountains testifying to crucifixion and resurrection.

Listen and hear the mountains and the earth in solidarity with Christ. 

Listen and remember.

To the Holy Trinity of Love, be all honour, glory and praise, now and forever. Amen.