When the Mountain Shook and the Tourists Knelt

On May 18, 1980, Mount St. Helens erupted with the force of five hundred atomic bombs. The north face of the mountain simply collapsed. In seconds, eight hundred degrees of volcanic fury flattened forests for seventeen miles. Ash darkened skies as far as Spokane, two hundred fifty miles away. Geologist David Johnston, stationed at an observation post, had just enough time to radio six words: "Vancouver! Vancouver! This is it!"

Survivors described something unexpected in those first moments — not just terror, but awe. Hardened loggers wept. Tourists on distant ridges fell to their knees. One farmer near Yakima watched the ash cloud roll toward him like a wall and said simply, "I felt very, very small."

That is the emotional landscape of Psalm 97. The psalmist writes that mountains melt like wax before the Lord of all the earth. The heavens proclaim His righteousness and all peoples see His glory. This is not comfortable religion. This is the Almighty revealing Himself in power so staggering that creation itself cannot hold its shape.

Yet notice where the psalm begins: "The Lord reigns, let the earth be glad." The same power that liquefies mountains is the power that guards His people. The Most High is exalted far above all gods — and that is not a threat. It is the deepest comfort a human heart can know. The One before whom mountains melt is the One who calls you beloved.