Mountains Melt Away – by the Rev. Fred Jessett
On Sunday, May 18, 1952 my brother, Art, climbed Mount St. Helens with three other University of Washington students. On the way down, Art was carrying the group’s only rope when he fell into a crevasse on the north side of the mountain. Rescue efforts by those in his party and others in the area failed. By the time word was finally relayed to the Mountain Rescue Council and they got to the mountain, it was too late; they couldn’t go up until the next morning. They brought Art’s body down to the lodge at Spirit Lake where my parents met them.
The funeral service was first set for Christ Church in Seattle, but because heavy press coverage of the accident created so much interest, it was moved to St. Mark’s Cathedral.
My father planned the service. He chose one hymn, but that night another tune kept running through his mind. He checked the hymnal. Two hymns were set to that tune (*) and he found the less familiar one, words from a poem by Alexander Pope. When Dad read the last verse he knew that was the right hymn.
The seas shall waste, the skies to smoke decay,The cathedral was packed for the service. The clergy of the diocese volunteered to be the choir. A priest later told Dad they were surprised at the hymn he had chosen until they read the last verse, and then some were too moved to sing. The hymn was my father’s cry of faith in the face of this tragedy. He felt the way he was guided to the hymn after he had originally chosen something else meant the hymn was a gift from God.
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fixed his word, his saving power remains;
Thy realm shall last, thine own Messiah reigns.
Fast forward 28 years to another Sunday, May 18 in 1980. At about the same time my brother had fallen into that crevasse in 1952, the north side of Mount St. Helens blew out in the eruption that killed 58 people and stunned the world. The glacier in which Art died melted in an instant and a huge pyroclastic flow poured down the mountain. Rocks were pulverized into dust that rose in a cloud that would circle the earth.
My family was living in Cheney just outside Spokane and ash from the cloud fell on us that day. Amid the concern and uncertainty about how to deal with the ash, I realized the eruption had done just what the hymn had described. The part of the mountain where Art died had melted away and its rock had turned to dust exactly 28 years later.
The grief and suffering caused by this new tragedy at the mountain gave increased importance to Alexander Pope’s words: "Thy realm shall last, thine own Messiah reigns." No matter what devastation occurs in this world, the final word will always belong to God.
(*) I learned in an e-mail from Rev. Jessett that the hymn tune chosen was National Hymn.
Song For Ele
Chorus:
She leads a choir of soul and spirit,
she leads a choir of prayer and song,
she leads sopranos soaring skyward,
altos, basses, and Walter John.
She leads with piano, organ, head nods,
she leads with kind hands smart and good.
Those muscled hands are small and shapely,
and she lives her life in the hands of God.
Stanza:
Like the Rose that blooms in winter,
like her garden all year long,
she gives us strength to grow our spirits
as she fills our hearts with song.
We thank her for her hands that serve us,
and the grace her music brings.
May she always live with laughter.
May she always bloom and sing.
Chorus
Melody: Come Build A Church
Ele Nash, Music Director