I Look to the Hills - Mid Week Lenten Worship
Author: Pastor Scott Schul
March 04, 2026
I’ve been at
Grace now for over eleven years. So much
has happened in all those years that it’s sometimes hard for me to remember a
time when I wasn’t here, blessed to be among you, serving you, teaching you,
and being taught by you. But before I
came to Grace it was my privilege to minister an hour’s drive south of here in
Martinsburg, PA. Martinsburg is a
wonderful town nestled in a verdant little valley, filled with dairy farms and
cows, called Morrison’s Cove.
The Cove is
surrounded by hills, including Tussey Mountain, and entry is limited to three
gaps: one in the south, one in the west, and one in the north. So no matter where you stand in Martinsburg,
and whatever direction you look, you see hills. Now I’ll be the first to admit that they aren’t huge like the
mountains you’d see in Colorado, but these were our hills, our mini mountains, so we held them in great affection. Though I only lived there a few years, I
always took great comfort at seeing them. They offered me and many others a sense of protection, peace, and
security.
My warm
feelings for our hills were particularly strong when I took walks through the
local cemetery, which wasn’t far from my house. There, on that especially holy ground, it felt like the hills
surrounding the Cove were standing vigil over those graves, sort of like sentinels
or guardians. “I lift up my eyes to the
hills— from where will my help come?” Those words rang with faith that God and God’s angels were up there,
looking down, and so all would be well for the one who had died and for those
of us who would continue to live and grieve and persevere.
Maybe you’ve
had a similar feeling as you’ve looked at Mount Nittany, which always seems to
be out there, somewhere in the distance, as you look out on the horizon. Or maybe there’s another hill or mountain, at
another time in your life, which has been that source of safety and security,
and a granite reminder of God’s protection, provision, and love. If so, I encourage you to take time today to find
a quiet place, close your eyes, and imagine yourself at the foot of your mountain
of hope. Set aside everything else
that’s tugging at you and clamoring for your attention and just rest in that
peace. We can all use more peace, can’t
we?
But hills and mountains
haven’t always represented peace, safety, and security. Thousands of years ago, when Psalm 121 was
first composed, the writer had in mind the mountains east of Jerusalem, which
bordered the pathway pilgrims would take as they made their trek to the Jerusalem
Temple, and then retraced their steps through the valley back home. This was dangerous ground. These mountains weren’t kindly, protective
sentinels. They harbored raiders and
thieves who’d swoop down the hillside and rob, plunder, and harass the
defenseless pilgrims. This is the very
setting Jesus had in mind when in Luke 10 he told the famous parable of the
Good Samaritan and the man who “fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped
him, beat him, and took off, leaving him half dead.”
And so in the
face of this constant danger, Psalm 121 became a prayer people going to and
from the Jerusalem Temple would pray. Most
scholars think it was originally composed as a dialogue between a pilgrim and a
priest. As it begins, the pilgrim expresses
heartfelt fear at having to walk through those dangerous mountain passes while
traveling to and from the Temple. “Rabbi,
these perilous hills are thick with thieves and robbers who are waiting to
attack me. Where will my help come
from?”
Let’s walk
alongside those pilgrims. Imagine that
you’ve sacrificed and set aside time and money to make that long trek to the
Temple, the very home of God. But
despite the joy and anticipation you expected as you planned and then began
your journey, it quickly fell to pieces as fear- maybe even terror- began growing
inside you because you realized you’d have to travel through those mountain
passes filled with danger. And even
after you finally safely reached your goal, the Temple, was it really possible to
meaningfully pray? Because you knew you’d
have to run the gauntlet of those mountains yet again when you left for
home. And so all that peace you
anticipated experiencing as you prayed and worshipped at the Temple was instead
interrupted by a gnawing in your gut, an ache of anxiety you couldn’t shake,
because you knew what awaited you.
When you did
depart for home, how much of your Temple worship experience would you be able
to carry back with you? How many of the priests’
words of wisdom and counsel would you be able to remember? Or would every good thing you gained from
your pilgrimage to the Temple be lost because you couldn’t shake the dread of
the danger that inevitably lurked high atop those mountains that bordered your
every step home?
You don’t have
to use your imagination to walk in those footsteps of the Jerusalem pilgrims. It’s likely you’ve already experienced this
same range of emotions yourself, as you’ve driven or walked here to church on a
Sunday morning. Maybe today you’ve felt these very same worries and distractions, and that same gnawing in
your stomach, because even as you came to worship, you couldn’t help but be
aware of the danger in the metaphorical mountains and hills that surround your
life.
You’re worried
about your health or the health of a loved one. Maybe your job is making you miserable, your relationships are frayed at
the office or at home, or a loved one is making some really bad life
choices. Perhaps you’re struggling to
make ends meet at a time when the electric bill is climbing and you’re questioning
how you can possibly stretch your dollars any further at the grocery
store. Or you’re lonely, wondering if
you’ll ever meet the right person, or feeling adrift as you grieve the loss of a
beloved.
Perhaps you’re
struggling at school, or whether age 20 or 50, still trying to figure out what
you want to be when you grow up. And
maybe the divisions in our country, the daily drumbeat of bad news, and yet
another war in the Middle East fills you with a sense of dread. To some extent we’re all surrounded by mountains
and hills that seem to be teeming with danger. On our way to worship, while here, when we leave church, and for that
matter all day long, they nag at us, pull at us, preoccupy us, and hold us captive. Like the psalmist, we look around us and cry
out, “I lift up my eyes to the hills- from where will my help come?”
The answer the
pilgrim in Psalm 121 received is the same one I offer you now. Our help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. Our Lord Jesus will steady you when you waver and never fall asleep on the job. He is your keeper and protector, who on the
cross poured himself out so that evil will not possess you or rob you of
eternal life. Our Lord Jesus doesn’t limit his love to
heaven; he walks with you here, every day, in your going out and your
coming in, from this time on and forevermore.
This Lent, the
psalms are reminding us that we can trust in Jesus. He always keeps his promises. I know the hills and mountains in your life can
be scary. Everyone’s at least a little
scared. But don’t let those fears imprison
you. Jesus is bigger, stronger, and more
powerful than any hill or mountain we face. Some, he will level with love, and with the rest he will guide us
through the gaps and passes to freedom. Let’s
recapture that feeling I had in Martinsburg of the hills and mountains as
living symbols of God’s protection, not the world’s torment. This Lent, whenever you see a mountain, offer
a tiny arrow prayer: “Thank you Jesus. I
trust in you.” And then press forward
confidently, as the beloved child of God you are. Amen.
© 2026 Scott E. Schul, all rights reserved
Psalm 121
1 I lift up my eyes to the hills—
from where will my help come?
2 My help comes from the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.
3 He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
4 He who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
5 The LORD is your keeper;
the LORD is your shade at your right hand.
6 The sun shall not strike you by day
nor the moon by night.
7 The LORD will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
8 The LORD will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time on and
forevermore.
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