The Mountain of Love

On a mountain, storms don’t give you much notice. They don’t politely ask if now is a good time. They don’t wait until you’ve finished your coffee, packed your gear, and had a good night’s sleep.

They roll in fast.

One minute you’re surrounded by bright blue skies and crisp air. The next, the clouds drop low and heavy. The wind picks up, whistling over the ridge line. Snow begins to swirl. And before you know it, you can’t see more than a few feet in front of you.

When you’re thousands of feet up on rock and ice, there’s no pretending the storm isn’t there. You make a choice: you get out of its way… or you go straight into it.

That’s the choice a team of rescuers faced on Mount Hood in January 2007.

A group of climbers had been caught in one of the worst winter storms in recent memory. Temperatures plunged below zero. Winds blasted at 60 miles an hour. Snow pelted their faces so hard it stung like needles.

Helicopters couldn’t get close — the wind would flip them like toys. There was no safe way to drop supplies. No chance of just “waiting it out.”

The only way to reach those stranded climbers… was on foot. Up the mountain. Through the storm.

The rescuers knew the risks. Ice would coat every rope. Frostbite could set in within minutes. A wrong step could send them sliding down a slope into a hidden crevasse.

And yet, they tied themselves together — rope to rope, heart to heart — and started climbing straight into the teeth of the storm.

They didn’t make that climb because it was safe. They made it because someone needed them.

Friends — that’s the kind of love we see on another mountain in our Scripture today, where we continue our series “Summer in the Mountains.” So let’s dive in.

We are at the part in the Story of God in which Jesus has entered into Jerusalem on a donkey, held the last supper, been betrayed, tried, sentenced, mocked, and beaten. Jesus has carried the Roman Cross to the place of his crucifixion, and this is Luke’s account of what comes next.

Luke 23:33–49 NRSV

When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.” One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Having said this, he breathed his last. When the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God and said, “Certainly this man was innocent.” And when all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle saw what had taken place, they returned home, beating their breasts. But all his acquaintances, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things.

Luke names the place The Skull — Golgotha. A hill outside Jerusalem. It’s not a large notable mountain in size — but politically it was a daunting mountain indeed.

This was Rome’s billboard of fear. Their public service announcement to the whole empire: “This is what happens to anyone who challenges us.”

Crucifixion wasn’t just execution. It was theater. The hill was high so everyone could see. People passed by on the road and shook their heads, telling themselves never to cross the empire.

And yet — here is Jesus. Climbing this hill. Not pushed here by accident. Not caught up in circumstances beyond his control. He came to this mountain on purpose.

Why? Because the rescue had to happen here. Because we were stranded in our own storm. Because love doesn’t stop at the safe point — it goes all the way in.

On Mount Hood, rescuers left warmth and safety to climb into the cold. On Golgotha, Jesus left glory to climb into our suffering.

Let’s watch him love from this mountain.

1. Love Forgives First (v. 34)

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

The rescuers on Mount Hood didn’t stand at the bottom shouting, “Say you’re sorry for getting into this mess, and then we’ll come up.” They didn’t wait for the stranded climbers to send a message promising never to take that route again. They didn’t require an apology before the rescue.

They went — first.

On Golgotha, Jesus does the same. Before we repent. Before we recognize him. Before we even ask.

From the cross — while nails are still fresh in his hands, while soldiers gamble for his clothes, while the crowd mocks — he forgives.

This isn’t sentimental love. This is preemptive love. Cross-shaped love. The kind that moves toward you while you’re still holding the hammer.

And I think that’s the first thing that trips us up about Jesus’ love — it’s not earned. It’s not negotiated. It’s just given.

2. Love Cares for Others in Its Own Pain (v. 43)

"Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."

Jesus is in agony. Every breath is a battle. Yet, when the criminal beside him cries out, Jesus’ response is not about himself. It’s about the man: “You’re not alone. I’m with you. And I’m bringing you home.”

On Mount Hood, rescuers were freezing. Their muscles screamed. They could barely see in the whiteout. But when they reached a stranded climber, they didn’t talk about their own discomfort. They didn’t say, “Hang on, I just need to rest for a while.” They focused on one thing: get them down alive.

On Golgotha, Jesus’ focus is just as singular — not his own relief, but our rescue.

This is love that refuses to be self-absorbed, even in the middle of suffering. It’s love that notices the pain of others, even when our own pain feels overwhelming.

3. Love Trusts the Father to the End (v. 46)

"Father, into your hands I commend my spirit."

The rescuers didn’t control the weather. They didn’t know if they’d make it back. But they tied in to the rope, trusted their training, and stepped forward into the unknown.

Jesus trusted his Father — not because the pain was over, but because love required surrender. He put himself entirely in the Father’s hands.

And that trust was part of the rescue. Because love doesn’t just give; it also entrusts the outcome to God.

We live in a culture that defines love by what we get in return — how it makes us feel, what it gives us back.

But Golgotha defines love by what it gives away.

If the mountain of love is shaped like the cross, here’s what that means for us:

Forgive first. Not because the other person deserves it, but because Jesus forgave us while we were still far from him.

Care for others in your own pain. Your suffering doesn’t have to shrink your vision. In Christ, it can expand your compassion.

Trust God with the outcome. You may not know if your love will be reciprocated. You may not know how the story ends. But you can tie in to God’s faithfulness and climb anyway.

This isn’t the easy kind of love. It’s the mountain-of-love kind. The kind that costs something.

Some of us have been standing at the base of our own Mount Hood. We can see the storm swirling on the ridge line. We can feel the cold wind in our face.

And we’ve been hoping it will just… pass. Hoping someone else will climb it instead.

But love — real, cross-shaped love — doesn’t stay in the valley. It ties in, leans forward, and steps into the storm.

So let me ask you:

Who’s stranded on your mountain?

Who needs you to climb into the storm for them, not because it’s easy, but because they need you?

Maybe it’s a broken relationship you’ve been avoiding. Maybe it’s someone you’ve been unwilling to forgive. Maybe it’s stepping into a messy situation when you’d rather keep your distance.

Whatever it is — love climbs.

When the Mount Hood rescue teams finally returned — frostbitten, exhausted, some with tears frozen on their cheeks — people asked them: Why did you go?

And the answer was simple: "Because they were up there, and we couldn’t leave them there."

That’s the heart of Golgotha. That’s the heart of our Savior.

We were up there — stranded, cold, dying — and he couldn’t leave us there.

So he climbed. All the way to the cross. All the way to the mountain of love.

And when you see it like that… the only thing left is to tie yourself to his rope, and follow him up.