Scaling the Mountain of God: A 50th Birthday Pilgrimage to the Summit of Sinai

I have made it. Standing here on the windswept summit of Mount Sinai, with the rugged, crimson peaks of the peninsula stretching out like a frozen sea behind me, I am struck by a profound sense of awe. It is an overwhelming thought to realise that on this very peak, the heavens once touched the earth. As I look out over the horizon, the words of Psalm 121—the ancient “Song of Ascents”—ring truer than they ever have before:

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip—he who watches over you will not slumber.”

I have to admit, catching my breath and smiling as the wind whips around me, that climbing those 750 steps—often called the “Steps of Penitence”—was a genuine struggle. My legs feel the weight of the ascent, but my spirit feels lighter than it has in years.

The physical toll of the climb has taught me something beautiful: the spiritual life is itself an ascent. It is rarely a flat, easy path. It requires effort, grit, and a deliberate choice to leave the comforts of the valley floor behind. We must intentionally rise above the relentless noise of the modern world to hear what truly matters. It was right here, in these very caves, that Elijah sought shelter and finally heard that “still, small voice” of God. On the summit, the distractions of life don’t just go quiet—they disappear.

Reaching this summit is particularly poignant for me today as I celebrate my 50th birthday. There is perhaps no better place to reflect on half a century of life than on the “Mountain of God.” Looking back at the path I’ve walked to get here, I see the “steps” of my own life—some steep, some stumbling, but all leading to this moment of clarity.

Standing here, on the spot where Moses received the ten commandments, we are lifting up my eyes and our prayers for all of you back home. We know that many of you are navigating your own wilderness or facing a daunting mountain that feels impossible to scale.

The God of the mountain is also the God of the valley. Whether you are currently walking through a low point or standing on a peak of your own, my prayer is that you feel the same steadying hand that kept my feet from slipping on the climb up.

May the God of this mountain watch over your coming and going, both now and forevermore. Amen.