When Mountains Explode...

            On May 18, 1980, Mt. St. Helens erupted. Located in South-Western Washington State, St. Helens had been seen as one of the most beautiful and peaceful sights in the Pacific Northwest. The mountain is one of several large volcanic peaks that make up the Cascade Range. Other prominent peaks include Mt. Rainier near Seattle, Mt. Hood near Portland, Oregon, and Mt. Shasta in Northern California. At its base was a picturesque lake where visitors camped and fished. The mountain was taken for granted, a landmark for people seeking escape from the constant buzz of city-life. It took but a moment for this vision of splendor to erupt in ash and magma.             

            For two months, geologists had known something was coming. Small earthquakes, a visible bulge on the surface of the mountain, and other anomalies hinted at the power stirring beneath the earth. Yet the fury of the final eruption astonished everyone.

The picture of Mt. St. Helens Eruption I remember
from my parents coffee table book.

            Throughout the spring as the mountain had been rumbling, the snow that clung to its sides had been slowly melting, continuing a cycle as old as Creation. The melting snow seeped into the earth. On May 18, as the pressure of the white-hot magma bulged upward an earthquake suddenly occurred and the spring-soft face of the mountain gave way. One of history’s largest landslides released two hundred years’ worth of volcanic pressure and sent a molten cloud of steam, ash, and magma rocketing across the countryside at nearly the speed of sound. It leveled everything in its path and radically changed the landscape. What had once been a peaceful recreational area at the base of a beautiful peak became a post-apocalyptic wasteland in minutes. Trees were leveled for miles, then stripped of all foliage even further away. Pieces of heavy machinery were tossed into the air like children’s toys. The beauty, stability, and majesty of the mountain was destroyed.

            Growing up, my parents had a coffee table book that detailed the eruption. I remember being fascinated by it. It had amazing pictures of the eruption and the resulting devastation. One set in particular showed the mountain as it had been, then the landslide beginning, then the landslide continuing as the first evidence of the eruption begins, and finally the eruption overtaking the peak itself.

            Today the peak that was once visible over 200 miles away is now a shadow of its former glory. And though plant and animal life has returned, the mountain will always be a testament to the ultimate fragility of all things.

Even now I find myself feeling a certain discomfort at the thought of a force powerful enough to detonate a mountain! Of all the features on this earth, mountains seem the most stable and indestructible. They seem to remain despite the onslaught of time and nature. Yet they are not impervious to all attacks as Mt. St. Helens clearly shows.

Years later and 1700 miles away, I remember standing at the summit of Jackknife Mt. on the shore of Lake Aleknagik not far from Dillingham, Alaska. I was a staff member for the Alaska Camps program. This particular week we were at a camp called Polaris. It was the evening after the kids were gone and one of the counselors and myself decided we would climb Jackknife to see the sunset. In Alaska, the sun sets very late during the summer season and even after it has set it does not get dark. Because of this, my counselor friend and I reached the top near midnight, just as the sun was setting, all orange and pink.

As I stood there I felt utterly fragile. I was at the top of a mountain, surrounded by other mountains, looking at mountain peaks as far as the eye could see. Turning around, I saw massive storm cloud gliding silently toward us, towering above the majesty around us, dwarfing the tallest peaks, yet even it was subordinate for it glowed brilliant pink as it reflected the setting sun. Never in my life have I seen such majesty. I honestly doubt I ever will again this side of heaven.

The fact is, everything on Earth is at the mercy of something else. No matter how stable or how dependable it seems it must always bow before another. In that bowing, there is fear. Not the condition of being afraid, as one would feel about a violent criminal, but the all-consuming knowledge that what you bow to is what determines the fate of your existence. Just as the storm must bow before the sun and just as the St. Helens was powerless in the face of geological forces, so you and I must bow.

Where will you bow? Will you bow before your career, believing that your income will make or break your existence and living in fear of its wrath? Will you bow before the opinion of others, jumping through hoops to make them happy with you? Will you bow before your family, sacrificing freedom and individuality in the name of loyalty and “not rocking the boat”? Or will you bow before your Creator? Will you say with the inhabitants of Heaven,

“Worthy are you, our Lord and God,

to receive glory and honor and power,

for you created all things,

and by your will they existed and were created.”—Rev. 4:11

Everything on this Earth must bow before something. But He who created all bows before no one! He is the self-existent and self-sustaining Sovereign over all and only He is worthy of your devotion and only He is worth your devotion. You see He has the power to remove you from existence but the love to protect you from it at all costs. In a world where mountains can explode and lives fall apart, He remains the same “yesterday, today, and forever.”(Heb. 13:8)

Photo credit:

Gary Rosenquist accessed goo.gl/tdJ8h6