“Savior! He can move the mountain. Our God is mighty to save. He is mighty to save. Forever! Author of salvation. He rose and conquered the grave. Jesus conquered the grave.”
That’s the chorus of one of the songs we sang tonight in church. I love those words! I’m set spinning by the first part: “He can move the mountain. Our God is mighty to save.”
I like a really big God. Like I always say, “My God is bigger than your God!” I don’t really know if I believe that all of the time, and I guess it could be way off if I’m talking to a mega-saint, but even on the days I’m not so sure about God, I want him to be big – big enough to move mountains, big enough to save.
I want God to be big enough to save us from ourselves, from the garbage, from the self-imposed calamities and the pervasive darkness and the filth created by the messes of our own making. I want a God that can move a mountain – the real mountains, the really big ones with snow on top – and I want him to be able to move them without the help of earthquakes or dynamite or bulldozers or anything else that I already know about and know that it obviously has the power to move a mountain. I want him to move mountains with flair, originality, creativity, and uncreated power!
I want that because it’s the way God is described in the Bible – the verses of the Old Testament in which God brags about himself because he’s the only one who knows himself well enough to say such things. Those scriptures describe the God in whom I believe but wonder if I’ve ever truly seen. At least, if I’ve seen a mountain-moving God, I’ve mistaken him for an earthquake, or a bulldozer. I want God to be so uniquely powerful that I can’t possibly mistake him for anything else.
“See that? See that mountain moving across the horizon? That’s God; my God! He can move mountains. He’s bigger than your God.”
So, I sing loud, and I dance a little when we sing that. In my mind, I’m thinking, “I hope he moves this mountain, and maybe that mountain, and I hope he saves us from this junk.” And I’m singing loud and I’m jumping, and hoping and praying and . . . wanting to believe.
I know it’s true, though. If there is a God – and I believe there is – and if he’s as big a God as the Bible describes – which is really the only God big enough to really get excited about – then it has to be true. He has to be true, and he has to be able to do these things.
What bothers me, then, is that the mountains that are being moved are either too small, or my perception is too limited to see it. Why can’t I see it? “Things that are seen are temporal. Things that are unseen are eternal,” Paul’s letter responds to my questions. If that’s the case, then thank God I don’t see it . . . maybe . . . but maybe that means I’m not so keenly aware of the eternal. Paul precedes those lines with, “We look at the unseen.” Am I? Really?
Ahhhh! There’s the rub: deeper, truer, stronger. Eternal! Different mountains! Bigger mountains! Salvation through dying; winning through surrender . . . He is a big God!