“Behold, I am against you, O destroying mountain,
declares the Lord,
which destroys the whole earth;
I will stretch out my hand against you,
and roll you down from the crags,
and make you a burnt mountain…
‘When you finish reading this book, tie a stone to it and cast it into the midst of the Euphrates, and say, ‘Thus shall Babylon sink, to rise no more, because of the disaster that I am bringing upon her, and they shall become exhausted.’” (Jeremiah 51:25,63; ESV)
“And the merchants of the earth weep and mourn for her, since no one buys their cargo anymore, cargo of gold, silver, jewels, pearls, fine linen, purple cloth, silk, scarlet cloth, all kinds of scented wood, all kinds of articles of ivory, all kinds of articles of costly wood, bronze, iron and marble, cinnamon, spice, incense, myrrh, frankincense, wine, oil, fine flour, wheat, cattle and sheep, horses and chariots, and slaves, that is, human souls...
Then a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone and threw it into the sea, saying,
‘So will Babylon the great city be thrown down with violence,
and will be found no more…’” (Revelation 18:11-13,21; ESV)
“And they came to Jerusalem. And he entered the temple and began to drive out those who sold and those who bought in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons. And he would not allow anyone to carry anything through the temple. And he was teaching them and saying to them, ‘Is it not written, “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations”? But you have made it a den of robbers.’ And the chief priests and the scribes heard it and were seeking a way to destroy him...” (Mark 11:15-18; ESV)
“O destroying mountain, be rolled into the sea
O destroying mountain, be rolled into the sea
The mountains shall be levelled and the earth shall be set free.” (David Benjamin Blower, ‘Destroying Mountain’)
***
I spent my first day in Ireland thinking, reading, and praying about my upcoming pilgrimage. I had been tempted to start the day that I arrived, but my exceedingly wise (and generous) host Peter counseled that a pilgrimage should never be rushed. I’m glad that I took his advice. In our busy lives, we often seek to minimise times of idleness. Yet it is precisely during such times that we are often best placed to receive creative inspiration, to speak to and hear from God, and simply to ‘be’ - which I don’t think we do enough these days.
In this instance, it was during a day of idleness that God revealed to me the significance of the journey ahead. Wandering around the coastal town of Westport, I was treated to a fine view of my objective, the formidable Croagh Patrick (aka 'the Reek'), looming ominously across an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean.
As I surveyed the mountain, I recalled the lyrics of a song called ‘Destroying Mountain’ by David Benjamin Blower, a refreshingly unusual artist who creates laments, jeremiads, and other rare but much-needed forms of Christian music. The song, the lyrics of which are reproduced at the bottom of the page, had already been stuck in my head for about two weeks. But this time, in view of the scriptures above - and in view of the mountain itself - the song suddenly ‘clicked’.
One would assume that, in a pilgrimage with a mountain as its destination, the mountain would represent something sacred, or at least something positive. But what God emphasised to me as I scrutinised the mountain was that what my soul yearns and faints for - the House of God, i.e. the Kingdom of Heaven - is not the kingdom which reigns on the earth. This kingdom, in the Bible symbolised as Babylon, is the opposite of sacred. On the contrary, as the Apostle John describes in Revelation 18, it treats what is in fact sacred - namely human beings and the earth from which they are made - as mere inputs to be exploited, commodities to be traded, plunder to be seized. It is thus a system of violence, mammon, and oppression; of profanity, defilement, and desecration. It this system which is responsible for the countless forms of injustice, inequality, and insanity that plague our society, economy, and ecology.
It is this very system which provoked Jesus into a tirade of righteous anger when he encountered it in the House of God (Mark 11; cf. Matthew 12, Luke 19, John 2). The institution of the Temple was exploiting the poor, for example by allowing its money stores to be loaned out at interest, particularly to the most financially vulnerable who were already at risk of having their land requisitioned; by selling doves, which served as sacrificial animals for those, particularly women, who could not afford sheep or cattle; and by demanding tithes from destitute widows so that it could embellish its buildings and enlarge its coffers. This episode reminds us that, before we can reach Zion, before we can see Heaven come to Earth, we have to dethrone the system of the world which sits proudly atop the mountain - the “great city that has dominion over the kings of the earth” (Revelation 17:18), the cup of madness from which “all nations have drunk” (Revelation 18:2; cf. Zechariah 51:7).
This system is ultimately doomed, for it eventually destroys its own foundations, including mankind and landkind. In such an eventuality, the system falls, but only after it has inflicted irreparable destruction on people and planet. In his mercy, God will therefore intervene to destroy the destroying mountain: “Behold, I will stir up the spirit of a destroyer against Babylon….” (Jeremiah 51:1,26). It is only once this judgement has come to pass that the longings of our souls can ever be satisfied.
***
The Tochar begins at Ballintubber Abbey, a truly magnificent building which one would not expect to find in what seems like the middle of nowhere. I say ‘seems’, because it’s a fallacy of Babylon to define ‘somewhere’ as a place of trade, technology, industry, and wealth. Ever since Cain the brother-killer built the first city east of Eden (Genesis 4), we have designated such places ‘civilisation’. Yet when Abraham was looking for the City of God (Hebrews 11), he let his brother Lot have the first choice, settling in the land of Canaan - the middle of nowhere - rather than the more fertile Jordan valley (Genesis 13). When Jacob encountered the House of God, he was in the middle of nowhere, on his way from one city to another (Genesis 28). Though it may seem inauspicious and even invisible, it will be this City, this House, this Mountain, this Kingdom, which will stand when judgement comes, because is built on the only true foundation - Jesus Christ, whose blood speaks a better word than the blood of Abel (1 Corinthians 3:11; Hebrews 11:8-10,12:22-29).
Plenty of brotherly blood has been spilt in Ireland, and County Mayo is no exception. Through over 800 years of history, Ballintubber Abbey has endured a lot, including dissolutions, fires, and famines. At various times, it was illegal for Catholics to hold mass here, and priests were systematically hunted down by the authorities. The grave of a local priest-hunter, blackmailed into service after stealing a horse, is still marked in the graveyard. Whereas all the other graves face east, the locals buried this man facing north, where the sun never rises. An ash tree has since grown on top of his grave, splitting it in two - which I like to think is a symbol of death defeated, of reconciliation for the culprit as well as the victim.
Following the short drive from the house, Peter accompanied me into the Abbey and introduced me to Father Fahey, who led in restoring the Tochar and still acts as a sort of custodian. Father Fahey is a cheeky old man, a real Irish character, someone who always seems to be laughing inside as his last joke while he waits for an opportunity to crack another. After introductions, he leaves me alone for a minute to light a candle at the altar before I embark on my journey, representing a statement of faith. Only one other candle has already been lit in the dusty transept, which smells of ancientness. Perhaps a fellow pilgrim has set off ahead of me, or perhaps Father Fahey lights a candle for himself each day. Either way I felt blessed to join their company.
After providing me with a hand-drawn map and stamping my pilgrim’s passport - trusting, he says, that I will be honest enough to complete the journey - he leads me to the edge of the Abbey grounds where Patrick’s Causeway begins. He tells me that there six principles of the pilgrimage which I am to observe: Faith (light a candle before leaving and say a prayer after crossing each stile); Penance (no complaining; instead say ‘thanks be to God’); Community (include the stranger in your group); Mystery (observe periods of silence); Change of Heart (ask God what you need to change about yourself); and Celebration (share with each other).
He then gives me a smooth stone and instructs me to pick up a sharp stone from the ground. I pick up the first one I see and ask him whether it’s the right size. He tells me it should be larger, but points to an exceptionally large rock (which, incidentally, looks like a millstone) and tells me, “that one’s for real sinners”. When I reach the summit of the mountain, I am to throw away the sharp stone but keep the smooth one, an act which is meant to represent a change of heart. My hosts had told me about this practice; supposedly pilgrims used to put the sharp stone in their shoe as an act of penance, and some people still climb the mountain barefoot for this purpose. I ask Father Fahey about it; he tells me that, if I get the top of the mountain and God hasn’t shown me something about myself that needs to change, then I should put the stone in my shoe. That always seems to do the job, he says.
The route is replete with interest. Every stile - and there are many - contains a plaque with information about the history, the geography, or the folklore of the area. St. Patrick features heavily in the landscape: along the way, I crossed such items as Patrick’s vat, Patrick’s seat, Patrick’s bed, Patrick’s stone, and Patrick’s church. These are particularly concentrated in the town of Aghagower (Field of the Spring), where Patrick lived during his local ministry.
Most pilgrims finish their first day of walking in Aghagower, which lies around half-way into the route. But I I wanted to keep walking. The spring sunshine had really blossomed, and, thanks to a hearty Irish breakfast, I still felt fresh. Thankfully, my host was a born-and-bred local who knows the countryside like the back of his hand - an expertise in which he took great pride - meaning that he could pick me up anywhere along the route, as long as I could reach a road.
I won’t bother recounting the walk in exhaustive detail - what I saw and what I thought; the bogs and the blisters; the hazel wood and electric fence; how I got lost and how I found my way. It wouldn’t mean very much to the reader, even though it means the world to me. That is the nature of pilgrimage.
There is however one part of the first day of my journey that I think is worth sharing.
***
Around 13 miles into the walk lies the Boheh Stone, also known as St. Patrick’s Chair. The Stone is an exceptionally well-preserved specimen of Neolithic rock-art whose concentric-circular engravings are thought to derive from pagan practices of sun worship. As was his way - more on that tomorrow - Patrick redeemed the site and turned it into a place of Christian worship.
Now for the trippy part. In the early ’90s, a local historian discovered a remarkable phenomenon known as the ‘rolling sun of Boheh’. On two specific days of the year - April 18th and August 24th, to be precise - the sunset, viewed from the Boheh Stone, appears to not only set on the summit of Croagh Patrick, but also to “roll down” the mountainside.
A lump formed in my throat the moment I read this. I thought immediately back to Jeremiah 51:25, which I quote again here (emphasis added):
“Behold, I am against you, O destroying mountain,
declares the Lord,
which destroys the whole earth;
I will stretch out my hand against you,
and roll you down from the crags,
and make you a burnt mountain...
‘When you finish reading this book, tie a stone to it and cast it into the midst of the Euphrates, and say, ‘Thus shall Babylon sink, to rise no more, because of the disaster that I am bringing upon her, and they shall become exhausted.’” (Jeremiah 51:25,63; ESV)
I thought, too of David Benjamin Blower’s jeremiad, which is based on this passage: “O destroying mountain, be rolled into the sea”. The Reek lies next to the sea, so the sun does indeed roll down the mountain and into the sea on the days when the phenomenon occurs - a vivid image not just of the fall of the false sun god, but also of the fall of Babylon.
What is equally remarkable is that April 18th and August 24th together divide the year into three equal parts - three, of course, holding a special status in the Celtic psyche. Even before reading this, I had an image in my mind of three periods of time: the fall of Babylon, an interregnum in which the mountain would lie under the sea, and the rise of Zion. In a happy if corny coincidence, these stages were neatly symbolised by the three objects I carried with me: the sharp stone, the seashell, and the smooth stone.
Since it was Easter, I was also aware that the three periods of time were broadly (but not perfectly) analogous to Jesus' death, three days in the ground, and resurrection - a sequence which Jesus Himself, having driven out the moneychangers and the merchants, associated with the destruction of the earthly temple and the appearance of the Heavenly one (John 2:19). In this regard, it's especially noteworthy that the Neolithic sun-worshippers likely associated the trinity of seasons marked out by the Boheh Stone with sowing, waiting, and reaping. Further down in Jeremiah 51 (verse 33), God declares:
“The daughter of Babylon is like a threshing floor
at the time when it is trodden;
yet a little while
and the time of her harvest will come.”
The Temple, of course, was also built on a threshing floor (2 Chronicles 3). At that very site, God had earlier relented from destroying Jerusalem, after He sent an angel of destruction to punish David for taking a census of the people (1 Chronicles 21; 2 Samuel 24). Importantly, this was a sin because it demonstrated David’s belief that he, rather than God, owned the people - and recall that the commodification of human beings is the hallmark of Babylon, the system which God vows to destroy (Revelation 18:13).[2]
Even earlier, it was on that same mountain where an Angel of the Lord had stayed Abraham’s hand from sacrificing his son, Isaac - a striking foretoken of the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus (Genesis 22).[2] Given that I was walking on Holy Saturday - the day after Jesus had died and the day before he had risen - the Boheh Stone thus seemed like a perfect place to ‘call it a day’.
***
'Destroying Mountain' by David Benjamin Blower (https://benjaminblower.bandcamp.com/track/destroying-mountain)
O destroying mountain, be rolled into the sea
O destroying mountain, be rolled into the sea
The mountains shall be levelled and the earth shall be set free
Behold, destroying mountain, the blood beneath your feet
Behold, destroying mountain, the blood beneath your feet
You’ve crushed the poor into the floor, beneath your own conceit
Be gone, destroying mountain, go terrify no more
Be gone, destroying mountain, go terrify no more
Put your weapons on the fire, your crown upon the floor
You’ve heard, destroying mountain, that the first shall be last
You’ve heard, destroying mountain, that the first shall be last
Before the wounded crucified, we all shall be disarmed
O destroying mountain, you too shall bow the knee
O destroying mountain, you too shall bow the knee
In the twinkling of an eye we shall be changed, both you and me
***
Notes:
[1] There’s an interesting commonality between the story of David’s census and the story of Abraham’s sacrifice. In 2 Samuel 24, God actually incites David to take the census, just as in Genesis 22 God tells Abraham to sacrifice his son. I think it’s an open question as to whether God really did will these things, or whether what we are reading are interpretations of events by people who believed, along with everyone else at the time, in a violent, dictatorial god. On this reading, the text demonstrates an evolving revelation of what God is really like - a revelation which culminates in Jesus. In fact, in the version of David’s census found in 1 Chronicles 21, it is Satan, not God, who causes David to sin, perhaps exposing the authors' changing conceptions of God.
[2] It's interesting to remember here that Jesus was born during a census, the first of Emperor Augustus's reign (Luke 2). Symbolically, census is an implement of empire - it represents the reduction of human beings to sources of revenue, be it profit or tax.
Continue the journey to Part III
declares the Lord,
which destroys the whole earth;
I will stretch out my hand against you,
and roll you down from the crags,
and make you a burnt mountain…
‘When you finish reading this book, tie a stone to it and cast it into the midst of the Euphrates, and say, ‘Thus shall Babylon sink, to rise no more, because of the disaster that I am bringing upon her, and they shall become exhausted.’” (Jeremiah 51:25,63; ESV)
“And the merchants of the earth weep and mourn for her, since no one buys their cargo anymore, cargo of gold, silver, jewels, pearls, fine linen, purple cloth, silk, scarlet cloth, all kinds of scented wood, all kinds of articles of ivory, all kinds of articles of costly wood, bronze, iron and marble, cinnamon, spice, incense, myrrh, frankincense, wine, oil, fine flour, wheat, cattle and sheep, horses and chariots, and slaves, that is, human souls...
Then a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone and threw it into the sea, saying,
‘So will Babylon the great city be thrown down with violence,
and will be found no more…’” (Revelation 18:11-13,21; ESV)
“And they came to Jerusalem. And he entered the temple and began to drive out those who sold and those who bought in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons. And he would not allow anyone to carry anything through the temple. And he was teaching them and saying to them, ‘Is it not written, “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations”? But you have made it a den of robbers.’ And the chief priests and the scribes heard it and were seeking a way to destroy him...” (Mark 11:15-18; ESV)
“O destroying mountain, be rolled into the sea
O destroying mountain, be rolled into the sea
The mountains shall be levelled and the earth shall be set free.” (David Benjamin Blower, ‘Destroying Mountain’)
***
I spent my first day in Ireland thinking, reading, and praying about my upcoming pilgrimage. I had been tempted to start the day that I arrived, but my exceedingly wise (and generous) host Peter counseled that a pilgrimage should never be rushed. I’m glad that I took his advice. In our busy lives, we often seek to minimise times of idleness. Yet it is precisely during such times that we are often best placed to receive creative inspiration, to speak to and hear from God, and simply to ‘be’ - which I don’t think we do enough these days.
In this instance, it was during a day of idleness that God revealed to me the significance of the journey ahead. Wandering around the coastal town of Westport, I was treated to a fine view of my objective, the formidable Croagh Patrick (aka 'the Reek'), looming ominously across an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean.
As I surveyed the mountain, I recalled the lyrics of a song called ‘Destroying Mountain’ by David Benjamin Blower, a refreshingly unusual artist who creates laments, jeremiads, and other rare but much-needed forms of Christian music. The song, the lyrics of which are reproduced at the bottom of the page, had already been stuck in my head for about two weeks. But this time, in view of the scriptures above - and in view of the mountain itself - the song suddenly ‘clicked’.
One would assume that, in a pilgrimage with a mountain as its destination, the mountain would represent something sacred, or at least something positive. But what God emphasised to me as I scrutinised the mountain was that what my soul yearns and faints for - the House of God, i.e. the Kingdom of Heaven - is not the kingdom which reigns on the earth. This kingdom, in the Bible symbolised as Babylon, is the opposite of sacred. On the contrary, as the Apostle John describes in Revelation 18, it treats what is in fact sacred - namely human beings and the earth from which they are made - as mere inputs to be exploited, commodities to be traded, plunder to be seized. It is thus a system of violence, mammon, and oppression; of profanity, defilement, and desecration. It this system which is responsible for the countless forms of injustice, inequality, and insanity that plague our society, economy, and ecology.
It is this very system which provoked Jesus into a tirade of righteous anger when he encountered it in the House of God (Mark 11; cf. Matthew 12, Luke 19, John 2). The institution of the Temple was exploiting the poor, for example by allowing its money stores to be loaned out at interest, particularly to the most financially vulnerable who were already at risk of having their land requisitioned; by selling doves, which served as sacrificial animals for those, particularly women, who could not afford sheep or cattle; and by demanding tithes from destitute widows so that it could embellish its buildings and enlarge its coffers. This episode reminds us that, before we can reach Zion, before we can see Heaven come to Earth, we have to dethrone the system of the world which sits proudly atop the mountain - the “great city that has dominion over the kings of the earth” (Revelation 17:18), the cup of madness from which “all nations have drunk” (Revelation 18:2; cf. Zechariah 51:7).
This system is ultimately doomed, for it eventually destroys its own foundations, including mankind and landkind. In such an eventuality, the system falls, but only after it has inflicted irreparable destruction on people and planet. In his mercy, God will therefore intervene to destroy the destroying mountain: “Behold, I will stir up the spirit of a destroyer against Babylon….” (Jeremiah 51:1,26). It is only once this judgement has come to pass that the longings of our souls can ever be satisfied.
***
The Tochar begins at Ballintubber Abbey, a truly magnificent building which one would not expect to find in what seems like the middle of nowhere. I say ‘seems’, because it’s a fallacy of Babylon to define ‘somewhere’ as a place of trade, technology, industry, and wealth. Ever since Cain the brother-killer built the first city east of Eden (Genesis 4), we have designated such places ‘civilisation’. Yet when Abraham was looking for the City of God (Hebrews 11), he let his brother Lot have the first choice, settling in the land of Canaan - the middle of nowhere - rather than the more fertile Jordan valley (Genesis 13). When Jacob encountered the House of God, he was in the middle of nowhere, on his way from one city to another (Genesis 28). Though it may seem inauspicious and even invisible, it will be this City, this House, this Mountain, this Kingdom, which will stand when judgement comes, because is built on the only true foundation - Jesus Christ, whose blood speaks a better word than the blood of Abel (1 Corinthians 3:11; Hebrews 11:8-10,12:22-29).
Plenty of brotherly blood has been spilt in Ireland, and County Mayo is no exception. Through over 800 years of history, Ballintubber Abbey has endured a lot, including dissolutions, fires, and famines. At various times, it was illegal for Catholics to hold mass here, and priests were systematically hunted down by the authorities. The grave of a local priest-hunter, blackmailed into service after stealing a horse, is still marked in the graveyard. Whereas all the other graves face east, the locals buried this man facing north, where the sun never rises. An ash tree has since grown on top of his grave, splitting it in two - which I like to think is a symbol of death defeated, of reconciliation for the culprit as well as the victim.
Following the short drive from the house, Peter accompanied me into the Abbey and introduced me to Father Fahey, who led in restoring the Tochar and still acts as a sort of custodian. Father Fahey is a cheeky old man, a real Irish character, someone who always seems to be laughing inside as his last joke while he waits for an opportunity to crack another. After introductions, he leaves me alone for a minute to light a candle at the altar before I embark on my journey, representing a statement of faith. Only one other candle has already been lit in the dusty transept, which smells of ancientness. Perhaps a fellow pilgrim has set off ahead of me, or perhaps Father Fahey lights a candle for himself each day. Either way I felt blessed to join their company.
After providing me with a hand-drawn map and stamping my pilgrim’s passport - trusting, he says, that I will be honest enough to complete the journey - he leads me to the edge of the Abbey grounds where Patrick’s Causeway begins. He tells me that there six principles of the pilgrimage which I am to observe: Faith (light a candle before leaving and say a prayer after crossing each stile); Penance (no complaining; instead say ‘thanks be to God’); Community (include the stranger in your group); Mystery (observe periods of silence); Change of Heart (ask God what you need to change about yourself); and Celebration (share with each other).
He then gives me a smooth stone and instructs me to pick up a sharp stone from the ground. I pick up the first one I see and ask him whether it’s the right size. He tells me it should be larger, but points to an exceptionally large rock (which, incidentally, looks like a millstone) and tells me, “that one’s for real sinners”. When I reach the summit of the mountain, I am to throw away the sharp stone but keep the smooth one, an act which is meant to represent a change of heart. My hosts had told me about this practice; supposedly pilgrims used to put the sharp stone in their shoe as an act of penance, and some people still climb the mountain barefoot for this purpose. I ask Father Fahey about it; he tells me that, if I get the top of the mountain and God hasn’t shown me something about myself that needs to change, then I should put the stone in my shoe. That always seems to do the job, he says.
With stones in hand - along with a shell that I selected from the shore by home in Edinburgh, the symbol of those who walk the Camino de Santiago - I set off bright-eyed over the first stile, full of curiosity and expectation. Within minutes, my shoes are soaked in the morning dew, which still lingers in the long grass. And it isn’t much longer before my feet are completely submerged in a slimy bog. It looks like I will be paying penance after all.
The route is replete with interest. Every stile - and there are many - contains a plaque with information about the history, the geography, or the folklore of the area. St. Patrick features heavily in the landscape: along the way, I crossed such items as Patrick’s vat, Patrick’s seat, Patrick’s bed, Patrick’s stone, and Patrick’s church. These are particularly concentrated in the town of Aghagower (Field of the Spring), where Patrick lived during his local ministry.
Most pilgrims finish their first day of walking in Aghagower, which lies around half-way into the route. But I I wanted to keep walking. The spring sunshine had really blossomed, and, thanks to a hearty Irish breakfast, I still felt fresh. Thankfully, my host was a born-and-bred local who knows the countryside like the back of his hand - an expertise in which he took great pride - meaning that he could pick me up anywhere along the route, as long as I could reach a road.
I won’t bother recounting the walk in exhaustive detail - what I saw and what I thought; the bogs and the blisters; the hazel wood and electric fence; how I got lost and how I found my way. It wouldn’t mean very much to the reader, even though it means the world to me. That is the nature of pilgrimage.
There is however one part of the first day of my journey that I think is worth sharing.
***
Around 13 miles into the walk lies the Boheh Stone, also known as St. Patrick’s Chair. The Stone is an exceptionally well-preserved specimen of Neolithic rock-art whose concentric-circular engravings are thought to derive from pagan practices of sun worship. As was his way - more on that tomorrow - Patrick redeemed the site and turned it into a place of Christian worship.
Now for the trippy part. In the early ’90s, a local historian discovered a remarkable phenomenon known as the ‘rolling sun of Boheh’. On two specific days of the year - April 18th and August 24th, to be precise - the sunset, viewed from the Boheh Stone, appears to not only set on the summit of Croagh Patrick, but also to “roll down” the mountainside.
Credit: Ken Williams
A lump formed in my throat the moment I read this. I thought immediately back to Jeremiah 51:25, which I quote again here (emphasis added):
“Behold, I am against you, O destroying mountain,
declares the Lord,
which destroys the whole earth;
I will stretch out my hand against you,
and roll you down from the crags,
and make you a burnt mountain...
‘When you finish reading this book, tie a stone to it and cast it into the midst of the Euphrates, and say, ‘Thus shall Babylon sink, to rise no more, because of the disaster that I am bringing upon her, and they shall become exhausted.’” (Jeremiah 51:25,63; ESV)
I thought, too of David Benjamin Blower’s jeremiad, which is based on this passage: “O destroying mountain, be rolled into the sea”. The Reek lies next to the sea, so the sun does indeed roll down the mountain and into the sea on the days when the phenomenon occurs - a vivid image not just of the fall of the false sun god, but also of the fall of Babylon.
What is equally remarkable is that April 18th and August 24th together divide the year into three equal parts - three, of course, holding a special status in the Celtic psyche. Even before reading this, I had an image in my mind of three periods of time: the fall of Babylon, an interregnum in which the mountain would lie under the sea, and the rise of Zion. In a happy if corny coincidence, these stages were neatly symbolised by the three objects I carried with me: the sharp stone, the seashell, and the smooth stone.
Since it was Easter, I was also aware that the three periods of time were broadly (but not perfectly) analogous to Jesus' death, three days in the ground, and resurrection - a sequence which Jesus Himself, having driven out the moneychangers and the merchants, associated with the destruction of the earthly temple and the appearance of the Heavenly one (John 2:19). In this regard, it's especially noteworthy that the Neolithic sun-worshippers likely associated the trinity of seasons marked out by the Boheh Stone with sowing, waiting, and reaping. Further down in Jeremiah 51 (verse 33), God declares:
“The daughter of Babylon is like a threshing floor
at the time when it is trodden;
yet a little while
and the time of her harvest will come.”
The Temple, of course, was also built on a threshing floor (2 Chronicles 3). At that very site, God had earlier relented from destroying Jerusalem, after He sent an angel of destruction to punish David for taking a census of the people (1 Chronicles 21; 2 Samuel 24). Importantly, this was a sin because it demonstrated David’s belief that he, rather than God, owned the people - and recall that the commodification of human beings is the hallmark of Babylon, the system which God vows to destroy (Revelation 18:13).[2]
Even earlier, it was on that same mountain where an Angel of the Lord had stayed Abraham’s hand from sacrificing his son, Isaac - a striking foretoken of the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus (Genesis 22).[2] Given that I was walking on Holy Saturday - the day after Jesus had died and the day before he had risen - the Boheh Stone thus seemed like a perfect place to ‘call it a day’.
***
'Destroying Mountain' by David Benjamin Blower (https://benjaminblower.bandcamp.com/track/destroying-mountain)
O destroying mountain, be rolled into the sea
O destroying mountain, be rolled into the sea
The mountains shall be levelled and the earth shall be set free
Behold, destroying mountain, the blood beneath your feet
Behold, destroying mountain, the blood beneath your feet
You’ve crushed the poor into the floor, beneath your own conceit
Be gone, destroying mountain, go terrify no more
Be gone, destroying mountain, go terrify no more
Put your weapons on the fire, your crown upon the floor
You’ve heard, destroying mountain, that the first shall be last
You’ve heard, destroying mountain, that the first shall be last
Before the wounded crucified, we all shall be disarmed
O destroying mountain, you too shall bow the knee
O destroying mountain, you too shall bow the knee
In the twinkling of an eye we shall be changed, both you and me
***
Notes:
[1] There’s an interesting commonality between the story of David’s census and the story of Abraham’s sacrifice. In 2 Samuel 24, God actually incites David to take the census, just as in Genesis 22 God tells Abraham to sacrifice his son. I think it’s an open question as to whether God really did will these things, or whether what we are reading are interpretations of events by people who believed, along with everyone else at the time, in a violent, dictatorial god. On this reading, the text demonstrates an evolving revelation of what God is really like - a revelation which culminates in Jesus. In fact, in the version of David’s census found in 1 Chronicles 21, it is Satan, not God, who causes David to sin, perhaps exposing the authors' changing conceptions of God.
[2] It's interesting to remember here that Jesus was born during a census, the first of Emperor Augustus's reign (Luke 2). Symbolically, census is an implement of empire - it represents the reduction of human beings to sources of revenue, be it profit or tax.
Continue the journey to Part III
No comments:
Post a Comment