|
“God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea…” –– Psalm 46:1-2
At the age of ten, I stood high on the slope of the tallest mountain on the earth, as measured from base to peak, and I was wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and knock-off Keds. On the big island of Hawaii, Mauna Kea draws tourists to its slopes, not because of some Himalayan spirit of adventure, but because of the opportunity to see an active volcano. Yet, when measured from its base, some twenty thousand feet below the Pacific surface, to its peak 13,000 ft. above the Pacific, it leaves Everest in the dust by about a mile.
We marvel at a mountain’s glory, but most of the time we are oblivious to the majestic mountains below the surface of the sea. Out of sight, out of mind. Mauna Kea is a vivid reminder that some things are bigger than they seem. My tropical mountain ascent via climate-controlled bus helps me to comprehend the psalmist’s image of a mountain shaking in the heart of the sea (though I’m curious to know how the psalmist pictured that image since he preceded Jacques Cousteau by well over 2,500 years).
However, as a flatland-reared midwesterner, I could not conceive of the sea trembling in the heart of the mountains. In 1989, Hugo awakened me to that possibility, and if I hadn’t assimilated it yet, Helene offered overwhelming evidence with the Gulf of Mexico trembling in the heart of the Appalachians. Lifelong mountaineers for whom flash flood alerts are as common as kudzu could not begin to conceptualize the raging torrents that would tear through their communities. You won’t find rain gauges that could gauge that amount of rainfall in the garden section of your favored hardware store. Charlotte’s average annual rainfall amounts to a smidge over 41”. Helene dumped 30” on Mt. Mitchell!
Our hearts are pierced as we –– think about the loss of life; the wiping out of whole communities; the rippled, broken, and rent asunder asphalt that was no match for the blast of river-sized firehoses of angry water demanding an outlet; the homes floating downstream like plastic toys in a draining bathtub; the mountains of debris dwarfing burly dump trucks, thus making cleanup crews feel like their emptying an Olympic pool with a tablespoon. Yet, good people will step forward with rolled up sleeves; the generous will give; the retired accountant will resurrect her drywall skills; survivors will cope, supported by the love of their neighbors.
Yes, there will be venomous voices spinning their conspiracies, and there will be times when feelings of neglect and the urge to blame will threaten cooperation and goodwill. Yet, there will always remain the unsung and unflagging coterie of the compassionate loving Christ by serving others. The road is long and fraught, but our Lord is forever faithful. As always, we are charged to look for the helpers and join them, for “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear…”
| 
