On mountain climbing, and swords to plowshares

There’s a day coming
When the mountain of GOD’s House
Will be The Mountain-
Solid, towering over all mountains.
All nations will river toward it,
People from all over set out for it.
They’ll say “Come,
Let’s climb God’s Mountain . . . .
He’ll settle things fairly between nations.
He’ll make things right between many peoples.  
They’ll turn their swords into shovels,
Their spears into hoes.
No more will nation fight nation;
They won’t play war any more.
Come, family of Jacob,
Let’s live in the light of GOD.
Isaiah 2 (from The Message translation)

Michael arranged a hike for the interns yesterday, and since my kids were tagging along and I had been away for three days, I went with them too.  We started in Kakuka, at 4,000 feet, what had always seemed to me to be a high and distant town, the last habitable spot before Uganda blends into Congo on the slopes of the Rwenzoris.  Three interns, Kim, Michael and Acacia, and four Myhres (Scott stayed back with Jack who is still trying to recover from his heel injury), two park rangers (required) and six soldiers from two different camps.  The mountain trails are rarely traveled from this side, and the park was, many years ago, the territory of elusive rebel bands, so tourists are required to inform the proper authorities and accept security escorts.  We wended our way along the Lamia river as it flowed from a fold of the hills, the seemingly random border that divides Uganda from the chaotic Eastern Congo.  Our trail ascended past scattered mud homes, gardens of cabbages and beans, the occasional goat or stand of coffee trees.  Compared to the densely populated valley around the mission, these slopes felt peacefully spread out.  At 6,000 feet we entered the forest, and the Rwenzori National Park, leaving all signs of human habitation far behind.  Our goal was a junction called Kakole, at almost 8,000 feet in the bamboo, where the path meets another trail from the Kasese side.  We walked single file on the narrow muddy trail, our arms in front of our faces often to protect us from the damp bushy overgrowth.  Sometimes the trail was so steep and slick we fell, or grabbed roots to almost crawl upward.  It was a strenuous, muscle-taxing, gasping sort of walk, 5 hours up and 3 hours back down.

But well worth it.  The forest shimmers with a thousand greens, from giant wlid banana leaf fronds to spiky prehistoric ferns to feathery bamboo.  Thunder rumbled, echoing, reminding us of the mystery the Rwenzoris held for the people who have lived for generations at their feet, the place where the gods create rain and send it down. As we went higher we passed into the mist of clouds, and then later the drenching of rain.  Ridges overlook deep and unexplored valleys.  Birds call from hidden roosts.  There were hooved prints in the mud, a forest duiker, and probably monkeys watching, but we never saw any animals.  The terrain is vast and dense, nearly impenetrable, thick with the buzz of life and the richness of regeneration, sprinkled with the delicate colors of wild flowers, hiding untold beauties.  

This morning as I read Isaiah, I thought more about why God uses mountains to describe His dwelling.  I think He had something like the Rwenzoris in mind.  Not bald hills, not tame rises one climbs in a car on a paved highway.  No, real mountains, mountains that wrinkle and rise in confusing patterns, with hidden valleys and sheer drop-offs, with rewarding vistas and abundant life.  Mountains that would take a lifetime, or more, to really know.  Mountains where danger and beauty, risk and reward, mingle moment to moment.  

Perhaps it was the presence of the heavily armed guards that made the risk palpable, even though we were quite safe.  (A parentheses:  unlike any popular media portrayal that comes to mind, the UPDF we usually encounter are serious and professional, competent and alert.  The battalion has the nickname “Mountain Sweepers”.  These men carry ropes of bullets and heavy guns but they are the good guys, the ones that ensure that the unrest in DRC does not spill into Uganda, the ones that ensure that rebels who would terrorize civilians can not move with impunity through the anonymity of the forests.)  And here the image fragments a bit.  As we move through our literal mountains, there is danger of exhaustion or illness, of injury or disorientation, or theoretically of attack.

No so on the mountain of God.  There risk remains, but the risk is that of losing self and finding Goodness.  When we finally climb that mountain, the 30 caliber bullets will be melted into ornaments, the AK-47’s will be flattened into hoes.  In God’s presence there will be no evil, no need for armed escorts, no playing war.  Just climbing, further up and further in, to explore His presence.  And again I am reminded of the main theme God seems to be impressing upon me this month:  we only experience as much grace as we risk needing.  Setting off on the trail which is almost too steep and long for my strength puts me in the place where He can reveal His vastness.  The reality of the mountains does not change, but only by risking can I encounter that emerald beauty.