The Mountaintop Movement: Act 1

Play the video above as a musical backdrop to this blog post.

When the Story Looks Like It Stops Too Soon

The air is thinner up here.

Moses feels it in his chest as he climbs, one careful step after another, the stones loose under his sandals. The mountain of Abarim rises out of the Moabite plains, about 2,600 feet above the valley floor—a long way up for an old man who has spent forty years on his feet in the desert.

Below him, Israel’s camp stretches like a sea of tents at the edge of the Jordan. Ahead of him, just beyond his line of sight, lies the land he has been walking toward for a third of his life.

And he knows—this is as close as he will ever get.

“Go up into this mountain of the Abarim and see the land that I have given to the people of Israel.” (Numbers 27:12)

The Lord Himself has called him up here. This is not a casual climb; it’s a summoning.

And God has already told him why.

“…when you have seen it, you also shall be gathered to your people… because you rebelled against my word in the wilderness of Zin…”(Numbers 27:13–14, paraphrased)

From a distance, this scene can feel cold. Moses has given everything. One act of disobedience at Meribah, and now he will see the land but not step into it. If we freeze the frame right here, it’s easy to hear the question rising in our own hearts:

Is this what happens if I mess up?

Does one failure undo a lifetime of walking with God?

Many believers live right here emotionally—on this mountainside, with a Bible open and a knot in the stomach. We read of Moses being told he will not enter, and something in us whispers, If it could happen to him, what about me?

Before we answer that, we need to slow the camera down and remember whose story we’re watching.

Flashback: Who Is This Man on the Mountain?

The camera pulls back from the weathered man climbing Abarim and the scene blurs into water—Nile water—lapping around a tiny basket hidden among reeds.

This is where Moses’ story began.

A Hebrew baby, sentenced to death by Pharaoh’s decree, hidden by desperate parents (Exodus 2:1–3).

Drawn out of the water by Pharaoh’s daughter, raised as a prince in Egypt (Exodus 2:5–10).

A man caught between two worlds—Hebrew by birth, Egyptian by upbringing—who runs into the wilderness after killing an Egyptian and being rejected by his own people (Exodus 2:11–15).

Then the scene shifts again.

We are on another mountain, Horeb, the mountain of God. The desert is quiet—until a bush bursts into flame and does not burn up (Exodus 3:1–3). Moses turns aside to look, and the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob calls to him by name.

“I have surely seen the affliction of my people… and I have come down to deliver them.” (Exodus 3:7–8)

Moses protests. He is not eloquent, not strong enough, not the right choice (Exodus 3–4). But God is determined. The One who speaks from the midst of the fire will go with him.

We cut to Pharaoh’s court, to ten plagues, to a midnight cry in Egypt. We see Moses standing with staff in hand at the edge of the Red Sea, people panicking behind him, chariots closing in.

“Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the LORD…” (Exodus 14:13)

The waters split. Israel walks through on dry ground, and upon reaching the other side, Egypt’s army are devoured by the sea.

Moses sings.

Flashback: The Mountain of Fire and the Friend of God

Another mountain rises into view: Sinai.

Thunder, lightning, a thick cloud. The voice of God shakes the ground (Exodus 19). Israel trembles at the foot of the mountain, but Moses walks up into the fire at God’s call.

Here he receives the Ten Commandments—the Law written on stone (Exodus 20; 24:12). He remains in the presence of God forty days and forty nights without bread or water (Exodus 34:28). He comes down with his face shining so brightly that the people are afraid to look at him (Exodus 34:29–30).

Later, in one of the most tender statements in Scripture, we’re told:

“The LORD used to speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend.” (Exodus 33:11)

This is the man we’re watching on Abarim.

The man who heard God’s Name declared: “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious…” (Exodus 34:6–7).

The man who stood in the gap when Israel made the golden calf, pleading for God to forgive them rather than wipe them out (Exodus 32:9–14).

The man who said, “If your presence will not go with me, do not bring us up from here” (Exodus 33:15).

He is not a disposable servant. He is the friend of God, the mediator of the covenant, the shepherd of a stubborn people. Hebrews will later say, “Moses was faithful in all God’s house as a servant” (Hebrews 3:5)—language of honor, not of failure.

And yet—even he is told, “You shall see the land, but you shall not go there” (paraphrasing Deuteronomy 32:50–52; 34:4).

So, Now we return to Numbers 27.

Back on the Mountain: Numbers 27 and the Ache of Discipline

The wilderness years are almost over. A new generation now stands on the threshold of Canaan. In Numbers 26, a second census has been taken. In early Numbers 27, the daughters of Zelophehad come to Moses about their inheritance—already pointing forward to the land being divided (Numbers 27:1–11).

Then the Lord speaks directly to Moses:

“Go up into this mountain of the Abarim and see the land that I have given to the people of Israel.” (Numbers 27:12)

He reminds Moses of Meribah, that painful day at the waters of Zin when Moses, provoked by the people, struck the rock instead of speaking to it and spoke rashly as though he and Aaron were the source (Numbers 20:7–12; Psalm 106:32–33).

“…because you rebelled against my word in the wilderness of Zin… you shall see the land before you, but you shall not go there…” (Numbers 27:14, paraphrased)

Here is where many of us instinctively flinch.

We know God is holy. We know leaders are held to a higher account. But we also know our own hearts—all the moments we’ve spoken in anger, doubted, disobeyed. We read these verses and a thought rises we don’t always say out loud:

Is God being harsh?

If this is how He treats Moses, what hope is there for me?

That fear can sit deep: that one failure, one season of drifting, one Meribah in our own story might mean we are forever standing on the wrong side of the Jordan, seeing God’s goodness from afar but never entering.

If that’s you, you are standing emotionally on this mountain with Moses.

But watch what he does next.

The Heart of a Shepherd That Will Not Let Go

God has just told Moses the shape of his discipline: he will see, but not enter. The Lord does not sugarcoat it. Moses knows this is the consequence of his own rebellion. This is not a misunderstanding or a random tragedy. It is discipline, from the hand of the God he loves. That is exactly how Hebrews later describes the Father’s dealings with His children: “he disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness” (Hebrews 12:10).

How does he respond?

“Moses spoke to the LORD, saying, ‘Let the LORD, the God of the spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the congregation… that the congregation of the LORD may not be as sheep that have no shepherd.’” (Numbers 27:15–17)

Notice what he does not say.

• He does not argue: “Haven’t I done enough? Let me in anyway.”

• He does not withdraw with bitterness.

• He does not center the conversation on his own loss.

Instead, his heart goes immediately to the people.

“Lord, don’t leave them without a shepherd.”

He calls God “the God of the spirits of all flesh”—the One who truly knows every heart—and asks Him to appoint a leader who will “go out before them and come in before them” (v. 17), someone who will lead them in battle and in daily life, someone who will embody God’s care.

Even as he accepts the consequence of his own sin, Moses is still doing what he has always done: interceding for the flock.

This is the mature fruit of a lifetime of walking with God. Discipline has not cooled his love; it has not broken his trust. He entrusts his calling back into the hands of the One who gave it.

And God answers.

“Take Joshua the son of Nun, a man in whom is the Spirit, and lay your hand on him.” (Numbers 27:18)

Joshua, who had walked with Moses from Sinai onward, who had stood in the tent of meeting, who had spied out the land and believed God when others didn’t—this Joshua will now be publicly commissioned.

Moses obeys.

“He laid his hands on him and commissioned him as the LORD directed…” (Numbers 27:23)

Picture the scene:

• The congregation gathered.

• Israel watching the only earthly leader they have ever really known.

• Moses placing his hands on Joshua, not grudgingly but willingly.

• Grace giving way to grace, one chapter of leadership closing so another can open.

Even here—especially here—Moses loves the Lord more than he loves his own role. He loves God’s people more than he loves crossing the finish line in his own name.

Discipline has not destroyed his intimacy with God. It has revealed it.

And tucked inside his prayer is language that points straight toward the heart of God in Christ. Moses asks that Israel not be “as sheep that have no shepherd” (Numbers 27:17); centuries later, Jesus will look on the crowds and “have compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36). The intercessor on Abarim is already echoing the compassion of the greater Shepherd to come (John 10:11).

Living on This Mountain: Our Fear and God’s Character

This is where Numbers 27 meets us.

Many believers fear exactly what you articulated:

If I keep messing up, will God tell me I can’t come in? Am I going to be disqualified from heaven—from seeing Jesus—because of my failures?

Numbers 27 does not say that someone who belongs to God can lose salvation like Moses lost Canaan. But it does force us to take God’s holiness seriously:

• Sin has real consequences.

• Leadership carries real weight.

• God will not be reduced to a sentimental grandfather who shrugs at disobedience.

At the same time, this chapter shows us something just as important: God’s discipline is not the same as His rejection.

• Moses is still God’s servant.

• Moses still hears God’s voice.

• Moses is entrusted with the sacred act of commissioning his successor.

• Moses still climbs the mountain at God’s command, not as someone pushed away, but as someone called near to see what God is doing.

The ache is real. The boundary is real. But the relationship is intact.

God has not stopped loving Moses. God has not withdrawn His presence. God has not erased Moses’ decades of friendship and faithfulness. If anything, the way God finishes Moses’ earthly race shows that “the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable” (Romans 11:29). He may limit what a servant does; He does not undo whom He has made that servant to be.

And yet, if we stop the story here—on this mountain, with Moses seeing but not entering—the ache remains. It feels like a story that ends in almost.

A man who walked so closely with God, dying with his toes just shy of the border.

Is that really where God leaves him?

Is that really the last word on Moses’ life?

Hold that question. Let it sit with you, because that’s the tension you may be feeling. The woman who fears she’s ruined everything. The man who cannot forget his Meribah. The believer who keeps wondering, “Am I going to miss God?”

Numbers 27 is the mountain where those fears come into focus.

But it is not the last mountain in Moses’ story.

In the next part, we’ll follow him up one more slope—this time in Deuteronomy, on Mount Nebo, where he will see the land with clear eyes and be gathered to his people. And beyond that, far beyond his own lifetime, there is another mountain waiting—a scene in the Gospels that will make the top of Abarim look like an unfinished sketch.

For now, stay here with him on the ridge in Moab, with the wind in his hair and the land spread out before him. Feel the ache. See the faithfulness. Listen to the shepherd still asking God to care for the flock.

Because when the “mic drop” finally comes, it will only land with full force if we have stood here long enough to feel how much it seemed like the story ended just short.