He
gathered his remaining strength, stood, and looked to the southwest, back
toward Israel’s encampment. In spite of his many years his eyes were still
clear, his vision sharp. But the rising heat from the valley floor rippled and
distorted the view. He thought he could just make out dust rising as the people
and their herds began to stir. They’d soon be on the move. Beyond the Plain of
Moab, sunlight glistened off the waters of the Dead Sea. And though he could
see no further in that direction Moses knew that far beyond those lifeless
waters lay the blistering Sinai—Israel’s prison for a bitter forty-year
sentence and Moses’ home for even longer, thanks to his years of sojourn among
the Midianites. Somewhere out there Zipporah was buried in the desert sand, as
was her father, Jethro. And Aaron… And Miriam… And so many others…
so much death. Not everything about a long life was a blessing.
Below
him to the west lay the great rift valley of the Jordan. He could just make out
a thin, twisting, green, line snaking its way along the desert floor. That
would be the Jordan River. Like the Nile of his youth, the Jordan’s muddy
waters offered vegetation along its banks a place to flourish in a land with
precious little rainfall. Moses briefly wondered how Israel would manage the
crossing. It was early spring; the river was in full flood from the winter
rains. Suddenly very tired, he set the question aside. It was no longer his
concern. Joshua would have to deal with that one.
Leveling
his gaze he looked to the western horizon where he saw another thin green line
rising above the barren slopes of what would come to be known as the Wilderness
of Judah. That would be the central hill country of Canaan, in full flower from
the rains. Due west of Nebo and just out of sight beyond the horizon was
another summit: Moriah, the place where Father Abraham was once ready to offer
up Isaac. And though Moses couldn’t have known it, almost 500 years later
another leader of Israel would build the temple on that very same spot.
His
eyes followed that line of green hills north until they disappeared in the hazy
distance. Finally, he looked due north. There, barely discernable on the very
edge of sight over 100 miles away, the land rose to a lofty 9,232’ above sea
level. This was a real mountain. In time it would be known as Mt. Hermon. Over
fourteen centuries after Moses climbed Mt. Nebo he would stand on that other
mountain. This time, appearing in his heavenly glory and accompanied by the
prophet Elijah, he would wait in attendance on the Son of God at the occasion
of Jesus’ transfiguration.
But
that was far in the future. For now, as his time on earth drew swiftly to a
close, he caught a glint of white on that distant peak. Moses was a man who had
spent his entire life in subtropical deserts. On the very day of his death,
just maybe, he got his first and only glimpse of snow.
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