Head for the Hills!

He went up to the mountain by Himself to pray; and when it was evening, He was there alone.”
(Matthew 14:23b)
Where are the mountains to which we run to find solitude with God? Perchance they’re difficult to unearth in the arid plains of ear-buds, iPods/iPhones, telephones, text messages, radios, televisions, computers, the internet, e-mails, Facebook, Blackberries, and Twittering. Perhaps they’re all but leveled from the dust storm aftermath of soccer games, business meetings, grocery buying, music lessons, doctor’s appointments, homework, commuting, paying bills, grooming, sleeping and even ministry. The technological and hectic pace of our culture and just life itself has not only flattened our divine landscape, but also compressed some of us into a crevasse where we’re sandwiched into a perceptible position of intercessory immobility.
But need we be paralyzed by our by our environs as if we were powerless to pursue intimacy with God? Maybe the first place to begin is whether we long to break free and solo the mountain ascent to commune with Him at all. Some of us have become desensitized to the high-tech and frenzied pace of American life to such a degree that we no longer sense the need for seclusion with Him. Jesus’ three years of persistent public ministry made Him one of the busiest to ever live, yet He saw the necessity and sought it out, even if it meant leaving others behind. Yearning for the Preeminent at the expense of the paramount has got to captivate our desires over our demands. This happens when we see the beauty of our Savior as more appealing than the immediacy of our tasks.  And just how beautiful is this Christ that overshadows everything placed within our eyes’ view? So breathtaking that we simply cannot help but remember the blindness of our former darkness against the radiance of His marvelous light (cf. I Peter 2:9). So captivating that we cannot wait for the next moment to dine alone at the feast of His banqueting table rather than eat among the throngs of aliens and from their corruptible crumbs that fall to the ground. So magnificent that we allow the lightning speed of our hyper-connective and loaded lives easily pass us by in exchange for a solemn roadside rest stop that’s coupled to endless supplies of living water (John 4:10).
While “… the Christian… belongs not in the seclusion of a cloistered life but in the thick of foes”, (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together), so too the Christian belongs not in the sociality of a margin-less life but in segregation with God. These are not mutually exclusive, but inclusive, meaning that we need not seek to always run away from the industriousness of our humanity, and yet at the same time we need to routinely run to, or head for the hills of insular and peaceful moments with God in the midst of our humanity. Why? Because man cannot “live on bread alone, but on every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God”. (Matthew 4:4b)
So just where might we find those hills of detachment?  They’re sought after in the boundless sea of busyness and, when discovered on the still horizon, they’re fought for just like the WWII American offensive “Battle of Iwo Jima” (ironically codified “Operation Detachment”). For some of us that will mean a disciplined early morning rise to contemplate the Lord while smelling and feeling the fresh, cool air as the early dawn of light peeks over the treetops. For others it will mean a regimented lunch hour away from the office or studies where a leisurely walk even among the masses clears the cluttered mind and ruminates upon God. And for even others it will mean an hour behind closed doors after the evening meal, sheltered from all distractions, to read and pray about and to the One who sustained us throughout the day. Whenever the time and whatever the occasion, a faithful walk in the Spirit all day long requires quiet communion with God lingering moments long. It’s a fool’s errand to merely attempt to squeeze Him into the cracks of our days as if He were simply another casual acquaintance, then off to the next thing.
Remember that it was unto the hills to which the Psalmist lifted his eyes from whence his help came (cf. Psalm 121:1).  And why would he look there for aid and not somewhere else?  Yes, Zion sits upon a hill and provides a vantage point that overlooks the surrounding countryside which freely permits the populace to see much further than what’s visible from the valley floor. But also when in danger it was there from the hills which the liberation forces would ride, come and arrive to release the captives. The hills were conspicuous from the encampment and supplied a sense of hope when no other escape seemed evident.  And it is there on those same hills that our hope also resides when we’re burdened by the heavy yoke of an impacted and compressed schedule.  It’s there that we once more find the gospel of Jesus and the liberating truth that looses the shackles and sets the prisoner free (cf. Nahum 1:13; Psalm 146:7).  And it was there that the Psalmist said his help came from the Lord (cf. Psalm 121:2).  Only let us not just look, but run to those hills and meet our Rescuer there that He might surround us with an armor of protection against the perilous pitfall of obligation and duty.  Then after basking in the safety of His embrace may we again delight in duty, rejuvenated by a transfusion of love that carries us in a peaceful estate even among the most pressing of demands.  Sometimes the comfort of the familiar and busy routine will hinder our gait, but let that be a bellwether that we need all the more to pick up our pace and press through the slumber.  As aptly stated by Charles Spurgeon with such eloquence as penned by none other, “Dwellers in valleys are subject to disorders for which there is no cure but a sojourn in the uplands, and it is well when they shake off their lethargy and resolve upon a climb.” (The Treasury of David, Volume 3)
So let us look up and when we survey the golden hills of our terrain, head for those hills unaccompanied and then rest with our Creator at the crest’s edge. After savoring at the summit, may we descend and venture through the flatlands with vigor and in victory.
-Tom Kruggel