Move Mountains

Words of comfort from a childhood in the Bible Belt.

Growing up, some of y’all were at soccer practice or a swim meet on Sunday afternoons. Maybe you were riding bikes or climbing trees or learning to surf. I was at Bible Sword Drill practice.   

Can I get an Amen?

Friends, I can quote some scripture. And this has been “a very present help in trouble.” Psalms 46:1. A surprising help, actually, in this past year. See, I left the Church a long while ago. But facing some moments of true Despair, Bible verses I memorized as a child came to mind and offered comfort.

Whatever your Faith tradition. However you seek Guidance. Wherever you place your Trust. Perhaps in God. Or Spirit. Or Universe. Or Energy. Or Nature. Or Love. Or all (or none) of the above. In all things, words of Hope are sustaining. (Some words are so important, so central to our experience, I feel they need to be capitalized.) 

Here’s a story of how I learned The Word.

We attended Olive Baptist Church—a televised mega-church at the intersection of East Olive Road and North Davis Highway in Pensacola, Florida. Dr. Jerry Passmore was our preacher. Tall and stately, a great orator, he was a gentleman and a gentle man. 

And yet. He preached fire and brimstone so strong you could feel the heat rising up from the depths of Hell, flames licking your ankles. When the choir led us as we swayed and sang verse after verse from the Baptist Hymnal #307 “Just As I Am” at the sermon’s close, many responded to the altar’s magnetic pull and Brother Jerry’s promise of God’s forgiveness. 

I repented and he baptized me. Twice for good measure. 

Doris Passmore was Brother Jerry’s wife. Can you even imagine the force of will needed to be a preacher’s wife? Always on, beautifully groomed, a servant and a saint subject to relentless scrutiny. A preacher’s wife must be a strong leader in her own right, yet an exemplary submissive wife (that’s a big word in the Church, I’ll tell you that story another time). Submissive is defined as “ready to conform to the authority or will of others” and “meekly obedient.” 

How does a woman reconcile this inherent conflict without burying a part of herself? And what happens when that part of herself demands resurrection? Once, as a teen, I was kicked out of a Bible study for asking questions like these. 

Press pause. Did that make you angry? 

That sort of binary thinking is pervasive in society today, well beyond the Church walls. There are serious repercussions for expressing an opinion, for simply asking questions. Cancel culture. Labels. I’m right. You’re wrong. If we can’t agree, we can’t coexist. Discourse is dying. This is dangerous. Am I angry? Perhaps. And deeply concerned. But I digress.

Let’s go back to Sunday afternoons in a classroom on the second floor of a concrete-block building to the left of the main sanctuary. Recognized as Pastors Wife of the Year by the Florida Baptist Convention, Doris Passmore was a striking woman with a fine mind and a sharp wit. Ms. Passmore taught Bible Sword Drill. She expected excellence. Ever an aspiring student, I was her lead pupil. 

Forever seeking that gold star – any other recovering people pleasers here? Pray for us. 

What is Bible Sword Drill, you ask? We studied scripture. We learned our way around the Old and New Testaments the same way some of you learned every blade of grass on a football field or the choreography to every cheer. We were in the deep South, where football is religion. The comparison is apt, because Bible Drill was a sport, of sorts. 

In football practice, you were given a uniform and spiked cleats. In cheer, you got matching skirts and pom poms. In Bible Drill, we were given a standard-issue navy hardcover Bible with thin pages gilded along the edges. This was our “sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” Ephesians 6:17. “For the word of God is . . . sharper than any double-edged sword.” Hebrews 4:12. 

In fourth grade, you were training to do battle on the field with the opposing little league football team, or to support the team with spirit chants. In fourth grade, I was training to do battle against the forces of evil. Sounds extreme? Trust, the battle was waged. Eventually. 

Bible Sword Drill was executed with military-style precision. 

There was one drill in which the officiant would say, “Attention. Present Bibles.” At “attention,” we held our Bibles in our right hand straight down by our side. At “present Bibles,” we moved the Word to our left hand, held flat in front of us with the cover facing the floor, right hand poised on top ready for action. 

The officiant would name a Bible chapter and verse number, pause a moment, then say “Start!” We had 10 seconds—no more, no less—to locate that chapter and verse. 

As we threw the hardcovers back, you could hear the thin pages whisper like angels’ wings as we searched. Once located, we would put our right fingertips on the verse, stepping forward on the blood-red carpet. The quickest among us would be called upon to read the Word aloud.  

Had we indeed located the correct passage? Trust but verify. 

In another drill, the officiant would name a chapter and verse. The first to step forward would recite the text from memory. Shoulders back. Eyes on the drill caller. Speak with confidence. This was intense competition. 

With the correct number of responses, one could advance to the Associational Drill, then the State Drill. For us, State Drill included a trip to Disney World. That trip to Disney World is why most of us signed up in the first place. Motivation moves masses.

In the end, Bible Drill served me well. No doubt, this prepared me for my legal career: learn the rules, think fast on your feet, stay focused, be precise, get the win. Striving. Striving. Striving. Always striving.

That striving can only last so long. We know this by now, right? 

Because it will come, the Reckoning.

We were taught that Judgement Day happens upon our death. That our fate would be decided according to the good and evil we displayed on Earth. And when Brother Jerry tells you this while pacing the red carpet and pounding his fist on the white wooden pulpit, wiping his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief, you’d best believe it.

I’ve come to think that there is indeed a Judgment Day but it doesn’t wait for Death. Perhaps instead, this pivotal day occurs in the midst of Life. This is the day that arises in our own lived experience, when everything as we know it crashes down around us. Have you had that moment yet? 

In that moment, the question was no longer how well could I find a page or recite rote learnings. On that Judgment Day, the question was not good or evil, right or wrong, saint or sinner.

The question became one of Faith. 

I’ve spent decades grappling with disillusion and anger directed toward the Church—toward the Business of Church, toward a spirit of righteousness and judgment, toward the not-so-subtle oppression of women. Yet, I have eternal love for the dear, kind people of the Church family who raised me. I still haven’t reconciled this; likely, I never will. 

Yet, Faith remains. Faith in what? That’s up to you. And when our Faith is tested, we return to core memories. 

I have wrestled with Despair. The complete loss or absence of Hope. 

I know you have felt it, too. It is a deeply human experience. I wish I could keep you from it. But it is our path in every lifetime to experience Despair.

And when Despair came for me, it brought me to my knees. Not so much in an act of prayer but as a physical response to Fear. Fear feeds Despair, one cannot exist without the other. 

In these moments, the verses I memorized in Bible Drill returned. I feel an urge to share them here, words that have provided me comfort in the trials of Life. These words transcend all Faith traditions. 

Words are comfort. Words are sustaining. Words are powerful. Words can bring Peace. 

Confession: I have some trepidation about publishing this. I feel this strong resistance to doing so. I feel this need to assure you that I am no zealot and most certainly I am no saint. But these days, when my Heart pulls at me to share, I do my best to trust it. 

So, taking a deep breath, calling on my courage, here we go. These are some of the beautiful words, the core memories that returned in moments when I needed them most:

“For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord [or Spirit, or Energy, or Universe, or Love, whatever resonates and brings you Peace], plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you Hope and a future.”  Jeremiah 29:11. 

For I know the plans I have for you, says my Soul. Listen, please. Breathe. And know that “all things work together for good.” Romans 8:28. 

“For God has not given us a spirit of Fear, but of Power and of Love and of a sound Mind.” 2 Timothy 1:7. 

There have been many days I’ve questioned my own mental soundness. You, too? Still, I have come to believe in my own Power and a deep capacity for Love. You, too? Love dispels Fear, and without Fear, Despair cannot exist.

“I say unto you, whosoever shall say unto this mountain, be thou taken up and cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in her heart, but shall believe that what she says will come to pass; she shall have it.” Mark 11:23.  (Well, I changed that a bit. I never did handle submission well.) 

Again, when facing mountains: “Truly I tell you, if you have Faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘move from here to there’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.” Matthew 17:20. 

You have the power to move mountains, my Soul whispers. Look back on your life, you will see that you’ve done so time and again. You can and will do so once again. 

“So now Faith, Hope, and Love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is Love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13. 

Read all of 1 Corinthians 13, I urge you. It is hauntingly beautiful. It, too, speaks of a “Faith that can move mountains.”

The only antidote to Despair that I’ve found is to focus on these three words: Faith. Hope. Love.

May these words bless and sustain you. May core memories return to support and comfort you. May you move mountains.

I don’t have any photos from those Bible Drill days. This is us in high school, in the old sanctuary. Some of these folks are my dearest friends, and I am thankful we are still doing Life together. That’s me, second row, second from the right, with the spectacular hair!

If by some chance you, too, were in Bible Drill, won’t you drop me a note? I would love to know … did you get a trip to Disney World? XO, Ash