When the Mountain Spoke

On May 18, 1980, Mount St. Helens erupted with the force of five hundred atomic bombs. The blast flattened 230 square miles of old-growth forest in under ten minutes. Trees that had stood for centuries lay down like matchsticks. Elk, bear, and deer vanished. Spirit Lake, once a mirror of blue calm, became a boiling gray stew of ash and debris. Residents sixty miles away felt the ground shake beneath their feet and watched the sky turn black at noon.

Geologist David Johnston, stationed at an observation post six miles from the summit, had just enough time to radio one final transmission: "Vancouver! Vancouver! This is it!" Seconds later, the lateral blast swept over him.

The psalmist wrote, "The mountains melt like wax before the Lord of all the earth." He was not reaching for poetry. He was reaching for accuracy. The Most High reigns, and creation itself trembles in response. Lightning splits the darkness. The foundations of the earth shake. Every false thing we have propped up — our small idols of security, status, success — cannot stand in the presence of that kind of power.

But here is the grace woven through Psalm 97: this same God whose presence melts mountains also "preserves the lives of His faithful ones." The One before whom the earth quakes is the One who guards your soul. His righteousness is not just awesome — it is refuge.