As the mountains surround Jerusalem,
so the LORD surrounds his people,
from this time on and forevermore. (Ps. 125:2)

Who doesn’t love a mountain? The ancient heights of Appalachia, rounded by time and covered with forests, are resplendent in summer green or in the colors of fall finery. The brutal faces of the Rockies or Tetons have a different kind of majesty. The Andes mountains of South America, the Alps of Europe, and the Himalayas of Asia take mountains to another level, massive and mind-boggling. 

Biblical writers were also impressed with mountains. The snow-capped Hermon range near the junction of Israel, Syria, and Lebanon gives rise to life-giving springs and rivers, including the Jordan. The desert peaks of Judea are more challenging.

But mountains didn’t need to be tall to be impressive. The temple mount in Jerusalem rises only 2,500 feet above sea level, about 150 feet lower than the nearby Mount of Olives. Yet, for Israel’s priests, prophets, and poets, no mountain was more highly regarded than the beloved Mount Zion. 

A mountainous affirmation (vv. 1-3)

Psalm 125 is sixth in a collection of psalms known as the “Songs of Ascents” (120-134). They are traditionally thought of as pilgrim songs, sung by worshipers who journeyed to Jerusalem for any of the major religious festivals. [DD]

The city is located near the midpoint of a ridge of low mountains running from south to north, beginning near Arad in the south and extending to Mount Ebal and Mount Gerizim in the north, which surrounded ancient Shechem – now the Palestinian city of Nablus.

Bible scholars refer to the region as the “hill country,” for the rolling mountains rarely reach more than 3,000 feet in altitude. For people who lived in the Galilee to the north, on the coastal plain and Shephelah (low hills) to the west, however, the central ridge country was markedly higher. Travelers on the popular road from Jericho started at nearly 1,300 feet below sea level, so the climb to Jerusalem was even more impressive. 

Jerusalem/Mount Zion stood out because it was largely surrounded by valleys: the Hinnom Valley on the western and northern side, and the steep Kidron Valley on the east, between Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives. 

Pilgrims traveling into the city may have come from a similar altitude or even higher ground, but inevitably they had to descend into a valley and then climb up into the city. The sense of “going up” was metaphorical as well as physical, however. Jerusalem held such a special and sacred place in the Hebrew imagination that, no matter what direction people traveled from, they always “went up” to Jerusalem (Ezra 1:3, 5; Isa. 2:3; Mic. 4:2; Zech. 14:16; John 2:13, 5:1, 11:55; Acts 11:2, 18:22, 24:11, Gal. 2:1). 

Once in the city, steps led up to the Temple Mount, and within the temple courts, steps led into the sanctuary. Some have suggested that priests sang the Songs of Ascent as they climbed the stairs. 

We cannot be certain how the psalms first functioned, but we can be certain that they served to celebrate both God and the belief that Jerusalem was God’s sacred city, atop God’s holy mountain. In some mystical sense, God was thought to dwell on Mount Zion, which became a primary metaphor for the surety of God’s presence.

“Those who trust in the LORD are like Mount Zion, which cannot be moved, but abides forever,” wrote the psalmist (v.  1). Only Jesus would dare think about moving a mountain, and even then in hyperbolic fashion (Mark 11:23, Matt. 17:20, 21:21). 

Mountains don’t move. Outside my hometown of Lincolnton, GA is a large uprising in the earth, rich in minerals and visible for miles. It’s less than 900 feet in elevation, but still known as Graves Mountain. After decades of large-scale earth moving while mining for kyanite, the mountain is pockmarked in places, but still there. Today it is a favored pilgrimage spot for rockhounds seeking rutile, lazulite, hematite, and other crystals. 

Those who put their trust in God, the poet believed, possessed an inner stability that enabled them to stand firm through any of life’s circumstances, fully confident in God’s care: “As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the LORD surrounds his people, from this time on and forevermore” (v. 2). 

Threats may arise and evil may come near, but the righteous – like mountains – remain strong. “For the scepter of wickedness shall not rest on the land allotted to the righteous, so that the righteous might not stretch out their hands to do wrong” (v. 3). 

Some commentators assume the “scepter of wickedness” refers to foreign rule over land that had been “allotted to the righteous,” using the same term for “allotted” that described Joshua’s division of the land after Israel’s arrival in Canaan. At various times before the exile, the people of Judah and Jerusalem lived as vassals to Assyria or Babylon. In the postexilic period, Hebrew exiles had returned to Jerusalem, but still lived under Persian rule. 

It is also possible that “scepter of wickedness” could describe the overbearing influence of Israelites who had abandoned God’s way for a crooked life of selfish gain. It is a reminder that the “righteous” have a responsibility to remain firm in their commitment to doing right, even as they trust in God to establish their presence in Jerusalem. [DD]

Whether the temptation comes from foreign powers or iniquitous neighbors, those who put their trust wholly in God could stand firm, as unshakable as Mount Zion. The text does not guarantee that the righteous could never be harmed or suffer loss. Indeed, the psalm suggests hope that the people might emerge from a precarious time. Still the author believed the faithful could persevere, trusting that God was with them and would ultimately vindicate them. 

A trustful prayer (vv. 4-5)

The poet’s bold expression of trust led into a prayer for God to recognize the righteous and bless them, while giving to the wicked what they deserve. 

“Do good, O LORD, to those who are good, and to those who are upright in their hearts” (v. 4). As in English, “do good” and “the good” are from the same root. The prevailing theology through most of the Old Testament period held that Israel and Yahweh lived in a covenant relationship, one in which God had promised to bless the faithful but curse those who departed from Yahweh’s teaching and went after other gods. 

The psalmist’s prayer, then, is for God to do what the Hebrews believed God had already promised to do. Promises of divine beneficence to the righteous had a flip side, though: “But those who turn aside to their own crooked ways the LORD will lead away with evildoers” (v. 5a). 

Note how the overriding metaphor continues, but in reverse. Those who trust in Yahweh, like Mount Zion, cannot be moved, but the wicked will move: their loose morals and ethics render them unstable, and God will lead them away with others who do evil. 

With this in mind, pilgrimage for the Hebrews became an exercise in trust. As faithful folk journeyed toward the holy city, they remembered their calling to be holy people, and renewed their commitment to live rightly, that they should not be moved. 

Even today, many people, both Christians and Jews, find it meaningful to “go up to Jerusalem” through a pilgrimage to Israel and certain parts of the West Bank. Travelers find inspiration in standing atop the Mount of Olives and looking over the Old City, perhaps imagining a resplendent temple standing where the Dome of the Rock now sits. 

Neither Jerusalem nor Israel is entirely conducive to meeting God, however. Today the term “Zion” has become a code word for Zionist settlers who believe they are justified in persecuting Palestinians, illegally forcing them from their homes in violation of past agreements as they seek to possess the entire land, claiming the ancient promise to Abraham.

Those who lead modern Jerusalem grow their power at the expense of others. They pretend that their actions are the fulfillment of God’s promises, but their actions are more in keeping with the rule of a “wicked scepter” than a righteous one. 

Even so, modern pilgrims with eyes to see can still wonder at the same rugged mountains of Judea and hills of Galilee that Jesus knew. They can still stand by the shore of the Sea of Galilee and sense the nearness of the divine. 

But pilgrim hearts can also seek God’s encouraging presence much closer to home. Travel to Jerusalem is not required. We may sense God’s presence when driving or hiking through mountains, standing by the ocean, or admiring well-tended farmland that speaks of God’s bounty. With open hearts, we find strength in God’s presence. 

And, like ancient Hebrews traveling in small bands to the annual festivals, we can join together in places of worship, singing hymns and offering praise to God. There we find the promise of stability and build foundations of faith that allow us to sing with gusto the old spiritual that has encouraged African American believers since the dark days of slavery:

I shall not be, I shall not be moved,
I shall not be, I shall not be moved,
Like a tree planted by the water,
I shall not be moved.