In Song of Solomon the sin of the bride is like great mountains or hills that separates her from her beloved Groom.  Sin separates us from God.  Here is One Altogether Lovely.  And yet we cannot come near Him.   We have no right of access, no privilege of communion.  We are by nature condemned and separated from the only One who is good.  But our Groom, the Lord Jesus, came for us. 

When I began this series I wrote: “God has not only furnished us with a world that speaks of His power and majesty, but a world also which is full of what Jonathan Edwards called “divine images”.   Because of the Bible, these things which God has created bear witness of Him.  With a Bible in our hands the world is – in a sense – transformed, so that everywhere we go we cannot help but think of Him who loved us and gave Himself for us.” 
When you look at the mountains, what are you meant to think of?  They are beautiful of course, and they are a testament to the creative might of God.  But they are more than evidence of a great Creator.  We know that because God has said more than that.
When you see the mountains or perhaps large hills remember the following:
First, remember that God’s righteousness is like great mountains.  In other words, as Spurgeon explains, His righteousness is “firm and unmoved, lofty and sublime.”  God is immovable, and as He is immovable so is His righteousness.  He cannot be anything but righteous.  He cannot act in unrighteousness because He is righteous.  Even as the great mountains cannot be moved, nothing can ever move Him to be otherwise.  Like the great mountains His righteousness is high and awesome.  It is a righteousness that is beyond our comprehension.  It is also a righteousness that – to the eye of His believing children – is glorious to behold.  His is a righteousness that is very great.  Unlike our shallow weak and shakeable righteousness, His is a towering, wonderful and unshakeable righteousness.  The psalmist says, “Thy righteousness is like the great mountains; thy judgments are a great deep (Psalm 36:6).”  
Second, remember His great power.  Though the mountains are very great, the Bible says that God moves them.  He overturns them as if grabbing them by their roots.  Think for a moment of the power needed to grab a medium sized tree and pull it up by the roots.  How great and mighty is God?  As if pulling weeds from a garden He overturns the mountains by the roots (Job 28:9).  Job 9:5 says, He “removeth the mountains, and they know not: which overturneth them in his anger.”  Psalm 65:6 says, Why by his strength setteth fast the mountains; being girdeth with power.”  It is by their strength that the great mountains rest where they do.  He created them out of nothing, He holds them fast, and He removes them at His pleasure.
Third, remember God’s wonderful protection of His people.  Psalm 125 says, “As the mountains are round about Jerusalem so the LORD is round about his people from henceforth even for ever.”  Ponder those glorious words for a moment.  There is nothing like the strategic advantage that mountains provide.  In olden days cities surrounded by mountains were close to impenetrable.
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We are not the rightful arbiter of our circumstances. Under every good and happy thing and every bitter and sour thing is the smiling face of God, whose providence allows for nothing but our good (Romans 8:28). “Oh, give thanks!” That is why we do not direct our thankfulness toward people, places, and particular situations because they are too cheap and far too flimsy to stand under the weight of praise. People will let you down. Your body will decay. Life will sucker punch you in the teeth when you are not looking. So, dear friends, do not give your thanks to those things! Instead, give it to Almighty God, as the psalmist proclaims.

As the meat sweats, socially acceptable gluttony, and mild diabetic comas begin to subside, the question believers must continue to wrestle with, throughout the entire year is, “what is a life of thankfulness”? Who is responsible for the good in our life? And what is the telos of our thankfulness?
For the pagan man, the words “I am thankful for ____” must end at his own self. He is thankful for the things he likes. He is grateful for whatever pleases him and aligns with his value structure. But, what that man cannot be is thankful in any holistic way because innumerable things exist that are still displeasing to him.
An ounce of lucidity and self-reflection confirms it. Life is served up hot and ready with more examples of pain than there are pleasures. A man’s work is filled with futility; his family is struggling or even falling apart; inflation feels like a noose around his neck, and the holiday called Thanksgiving is just another opportunity to spread a little faux gratitude over the black hole of his existence. Without God, the love of Christ, and the ministry of the Holy Ghost, that annual November food fest reduces down to a “chasing after the wind” with a side of honey-baked ham and yams. All the world can do is participate in the farce of fatalism; they may eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow, they surely will die. That is their lot.
Yet, for the Christian, thanksgiving is much more than a day of excess eating and football. Thanksgiving takes over all of life. It invades every darkened corner of the mind, heart, will, and soul and becomes the ongoing ritual of our earthly existence.
The reason for this is simple. Giving thanks is not limited to a day or conditioned by our preferences, opinions, or circumstances. It did not originate with pilgrims and Indians. The Christian approach to Thanksgiving can and must be different. We may give thanks in all of life, in both the good times and bad, because our gratitude is rooted in the very nature and character of God, and He is the one who will fill our mouths with laughter (Psalm 126:1-3).
Notice how the psalmist describes Thanksgiving in Psalm 107:

“Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever!” – Psalm 107:1

Let us examine this more closely so that we may understand Thanksgiving.
Holistic Thanksgiving
The psalmist begins with an unconditional statement, “Oh, give thanks,” which invites neither limitation, duration, nor qualification to our thankfulness. Instead, he welcomes us into the ongoing warmth and beauty of ubiquitous gratitude that pervades every facet of our lives. He summons us into the kind of joy that sings in a storm, dances in the rain, diligently inventories, and blankets myriad aspects of reality with hearty hopeful praises. The entire plane of existence for the believer becomes the playground of current and future joy.
Think about it from the positive side of things. We have souls filled by the Spirit of God, redeemed by the King of kings, cleansed of iniquity and stain, and commissioned both temporally and eternally by our God. “Oh, give thanks!” We have eyes to see the beauty of God’s world. We have ears to hear perfect pitch and infant giggles. We possess mouths to taste a panoply of exquisite flavors, hands to touch, and arms to wrap up the ones we love in a long embrace.
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The churches that seem to be the strongest often have many members who have worked through earlier deceptions about their conversion to arrive at a solid assurance with God. The probing was occasioned by learning that spiritual life in the individual produces noticeable change. The exploration into whether or not they actually have spiritual life altered everything.

In the early 1700s, between 75 and 80 percent of American people attended church meetings regularly. Yet huge numbers among them were unconverted. It was among these people that Awakening doctrines had their greatest effects. In other words, wherever people gathered, within or outside the colonial church buildings, the principle leaders were addressing church members who needed Christ.
What truth, among the many emphasized, had the greatest influence on unconverted church members in The Great Awakening? And who are the unconverted church members in our context who may also need this truth?
The Great Awakening’s Emphasis on Regeneration
When George Whitefield was asked why he so often preached, “Ye must be born again,” he replied, “Because ye must be born again!”
Regeneration, or the new birth, was the prevalent issue of the Great Awakening of the 1740s. As Joseph Tracey said:
This doctrine of the “new birth,” as an ascertainable change, was not generally prevalent in any communion when the revival commenced; it was urged as of fundamental importance, by the leading promoters of the revival; it took strong hold of those whom the revival affected; it naturally led to such questions as the revival brought up and caused to be discussed; its perversions naturally grew into, or associated with, such errors as the revival promoted; it was adapted to provoke such opposition, and in such quarters, as the revival provoked; and its caricatures would furnish such pictures of the revival, as oppressors drew. This was evidently the right key; for it fitted all the wards of the complicated lock.[1]
This doctrine has repeatedly been at the heart of awakenings.
By “regeneration,” we mean the giving of life to dead souls as a sovereign work of the Holy Spirit. Berkhof says it is “that act of God by which the principle of the new life is implanted in man, and the governing disposition of the soul is made holy…and the first holy exercise of this new disposition is secured.”[2] The Lord lived and died for his own, and as King, gifts our dead souls with new life resulting in sight, belief, repentance, and holiness.
J.C. Ryle said in so many words that the awakening preachers of that time believed in an indivisible union between authentic faith and holiness. He writes, “They never allowed for a moment that any church membership or religious profession was the least proof of a man being a Christian if he lived an ungodly life.”[3]
The attention to this truth, fed by their earlier Puritan theology, brought great conviction and massive numbers of conversions when preached and taught with the unction of the Spirit in times of revival. Where it did not bring conviction, it brought anger. Whitefield, who himself was written against in over 240 tracts of various types,[4] said that when you heard middle colonies’ preacher Gilbert Tennent (and his brothers) you were either converted or enraged. According to Gillies’ quoting of Prince in Historical Collections of Accounts of Revival, Tennent is said to have preached in this way:
Such were the convictions wrought in many hundreds in this town by Mr. Tennent’s searching ministry; and such was the case of those many scores of several other congregations as well as mine, who came to me and others for direction under them. And indeed, by all their converse I found, it was not so much the terror as the searching nature of his ministry that was the principal means of their conviction. It was not merely, nor so much, his laying open the terrors of the law and wrath of God, or damnation of hell (for this they could pretty well bear, as long as they hoped these belonged not to them, or they could easily avoid them), as his laying open their many vain and secret shifts and refuges, counterfeit resemblance’s of grace, delusive and damning hopes, their utter impotence, and impending danger of destruction; whereby they found all their hopes and refuges of lies to fail them, and themselves exposed to eternal ruin, unable to help themselves, and in a lost condition. This searching preaching was both the suitable and principal means of their conviction.[5]
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