More ancient than memory are the giants whose sleeping forms are the softly rolling hills and tall jagged mountains that could tell tall tales if anyone bothered to ask them. So deep is their hibernation that no one has seen the giants breathe in years, although the trees prickle with the life they cover and the stars count the days until the mountains awake. Beware the mountains’ dawn, that time when the sleeping giants arise together and protest with disgruntled envy: Who is this LORD who has built a mount taller than our revered heights? And who are these walking together toward that mount with praise? For as long as we have been sleeping, the people have turned to us for inspiration — they climbed our sides and painted our portraits and consumed our resources with gratitude. For as long as we have been sleeping, we have been gods, but now we wake to find that the LORD from a higher mount is calling the people to harmony and humility. Then the earth will quake to feel their jealousy. Rocks will cascade like waterfall from their shoulders. Trees will stand on end like hair raised in astonishment. But those ascending the mount will extend their joy to the giants, singing in invitation, Come, mountains of Bashan! Come, giants of the Himalayas! Wipe the sleep from your eyes, shake the stones from between your toes. Climb with us and be not an enemy of the LORD. Join the procession and be a blessing to the One whose mount is our destination.

on Psalm 68:15-18


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