H is for HILL

From our front garden, we can see the Mourne Mountains, the spired cathedral in Armagh, roof tops in Richhill, the lights of Moy and Dungannon beyond, the hills of south Armagh and of course, the houses that make up Loughgall village. On a clear night, in an easterly direction and close to the four or five red lights that front the TV mast on the Belfast hills, a couple of bright white beams in the sky, that grow as they descend are the only indication that another plane has commenced its final descent into the international airport, a good forty miles away from our home. Everyone who comes to our door marvels at the view and it's then that we are reminded what we have every day as we step outside.

There is always something to see on our hill. During the day it may be farmers ploughing, spraying or making silage, horses cantering in a low lying meadow, the river Callan flowing swiftly after a heavy or prolonged downpour, a cow grazing effortlessly as it walks, indifferent to the surrounding world. It could be a plane leaving its furry trail in the overhead sky, a column of smoke from a distant chimney, a child playing in a front garden, a crowd gathering at the local pub for a drumming match or simply a car, bicycle or walker going up or down our hill. At night, lights dominate the scenery everywhere from the illuminated chapel and church, the village street lights, the white welding glow from a neighbour's garage as he works at a broken car, the moving lights where we know roads to be, to the all-revealing brightness of the floodlights at the local football club.


I have lived on this hill all my life, walked its short length in both directions many times but it's just as difficult now as it was when I was in short trousers. From this hill I've seen so many changes in the surrounding countryside, watched events unfold during the troubles that I would rather have missed and even witnessed President Clinton's helicopter pass by on its way to Armagh a few years ago. And while we call it 'our hill', that's a pretty tenuous claim of ownership based on being the only human dwellers along its length, but I presume the numerous small animals and birds that have lived here for long periods might dispute our boasts. In truth, neither the hill nor the view from its top belongs to anyone but there is a certain pride in living on it and at least claiming to have first rights to the scenery and unless a Noah style flood happens, I don't reckon we'll ever be troubled by rising rivers.


For years I worked in a town on a hill. You knew it for miles around because its water tower rose above all the other buildings, like a huge funnel. I think that was the first time it really sunk in that while people who live on a hill have a wonderful view of all around, everything they can see has an equally splendid view of the hilltop dweller. In truth, we are more exposed to viewing eyes than those we view for a house on a hill is more a focal point for those living below. And it's not possible to hide.As Christians, Jesus expects us to be like a city on a hill, not hiding our faith, but exposed for the world to see not only what we believe but also that we reflect the God that we serve so that they might be attracted to what He offers. And we only reflect our God when His face shines upon us and His Spirit breathes within us. When Jesus died, they crucified him on a hill, where everyone could see Him and as He looked around all He could see, He forgave them. And He still does today, but you need to look upwards to see Him.