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August 06, 2006

Anne Jensen - Transfiguration Sunday-- FACING GOD

Exodus 34:29-35 ,Luke 9:28-37

Today is a special day! It’s not just the 9th Sunday after Pentecost. It’s the Feast of the Transfiguration, and it is always on August 6. This year it falls on a Sunday, so we are celebrating it. If a feast day of our Lord falls on a Sunday, it takes precedence over the usual readings.

The Transfiguration is important for many reasons; among them is that this event is one that is literally burned into the brains of Peter, James and John by the power of its brightness. After this there can be no doubt in their hearts about who this Jesus is, and it may well be the vision that keeps them going on their own journey carrying their cross as Jesus says the disciples must. It also is a story that demonstrates what it means to be human in the presence of God.

The context of this story is important. Jesus has sent out the disciples to tell them the good news. He taught the people and then fed thousands with five loaves and two fish. He has stilled the wind and the waters. He has healed people. Jesus asked the disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” Peter blurts out, “The Messiah.” Jesus tells them not to tell anyone and then predicts his death. He goes on to say that those who wish to follow must pick up their crosses daily.

Through the startling tale of the Transfiguration, the familiarity of the very human Jesus is transformed into the awesome power of the divine Lord. And the disciples—there on the mountaintop, and probably here in this church—don’t know what to make of it.

Now before we go any further, I have a confession to make. I find this story very difficult to preach on. Why?... because it is a story of mythic proportions. Madeleine L’Engle writes, “The story of the Transfiguration is…strong stuff, not to be understood in the language of provable fact. Jesus, like Elijah, stands ‘upon the mount before the Lord.’ He took with him Peter and James and John, and extraordinary, incomprehensible things happened. Jesus’ clothes became shining, and Elijah himself appeared to Jesus in the brilliance… Moses came, too, and they talked together, the three of them, breaking ordinary chronology into a million fragments. And then a cloud overshadowed them, as it overshadowed Moses on the mount, and the voice of God shouted out from the cloud.”


Strong stuff. Mythic stuff. That stuff which makes life worth living… lies on the other side of provable fact. How can we be Christians without understanding this? The incarnation itself bursts out of the bounds of reason. That the power which created all of the galaxies, all of the stars in all of their courses, should willingly limit that power in order to be one of us, and all for love of us, cannot be understood in terms of laboratory proof, but only of love. And it is that love which calls us to move beyond the limited world of fact and into the glorious world of love itself…Of Jesus standing with Moses and Elijah, both of whom had themselves stood on the mount and been illuminated by Gods’ glory. When Moses went down from the mountain his face was so brilliant that people could not bear to look on him, and he had to cover his face in order not to blind them. The brilliance of God is indeed blinding, and we need myth, story to help us bear the light.”

My brain, trained in world that values reason and the scientific method, trips and stumbles on this story. Which is why, of course, this story is so important. What actually happened on the mountain and what was the experience of the three disciples? The event and the experience are inseparable. Jesus is transfigured before them—that is, his form or appearance was dramatically changed. This metamorphosis is the harbinger of his glorified state. But there is not an event without its reception in faith, no revelation without an open heart to receive it. Their faith wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. This story reveals to us to a God who cannot be explained, a God who can only be experienced.

Whenever, I teach confirmation class, we always get into a discussion about whether the Bible is “true.” Then we get into a discussion about what is “truth.” It is clear to me that when we are talking about Holy Scripture, “truth” is not the same thing as “fact.” Indeed, for me, scripture is a mixture of history and myth—not myth in the sense of make believe, but myth in the sense of symbolic story—story that leads us beyond the world of rational knowing, into the world of spiritual knowing. As such the myths of scripture form a window which invites us to see the holy—a world we do not create or control, a world which, instead, creates and shapes us. If we now look at the Transfiguration story as—as holy symbol—maybe we will be transformed in some new way.

When the story begins, it has been eight days since Jesus announced that he must suffer and die—a totally confusing and unsettling reality for the disciples. Though Jesus has said the words, even for him they are still sinking in. And so, as a way of sorting it all out, Jesus decides that his daily discipline of prayer needs to be more intentional and more focused. So, Jesus invites three of the disciples to go with him to the mountaintop—up away from the daily distractions—up away to the mountain top—always a place in the history of human yearning where God can be found. Jesus wipes out his calendar for an entire day, sends a memo that he’s out of the office, dismisses the pressure and people who need him, and then takes off to the mountain top. My friends, maybe this is the first way that this story can recreate us. Maybe we too need to go to the mountaintop. Do we—do you and I take the time to get away, to intentionally find God? I know I need that time. I am looking forward to being on retreat this week.

On the mountaintop Jesus prays with intense need and energy—but the disciples are in the edge of sleeping. Then, all of a sudden, something happens. Jesus begins to glow—a light bathes his body and his face and his clothing. Out of the mystery of nothingness, Moses and Elijah appear—the archetypal figures of Israel’s story—Moses who represents the Law and Elijah who represents the Prophecy. These two historical giants appear, talking with Jesus affirming that Jesus is also God’s person.

Jesus must suffer and die for the holy work of God to be complete. All of this mysterious activity finally rouses the sleepy disciples. Indeed we must wonder if God didn’t and doesn’t do such spectacular things just to make us wake up. And what do the disciples do? What do we do when something mysterious happens? We immediately try to make sense of the experience, to categorize it, to nail it down—to make it fit—to make it permanent, tangible, and rational.

Peter suggests that they build three booths—to ritualize and capture the moment. But God will have none of it. Immediately a cloud overshadows the whole mountaintop. The cloud represents the uncontrollable mystery of God—and out of the cloud, God speaks. “You blockheads—you are missing the point. Jesus, the one who has loved you and nurtured you and who has told you that he must suffer and die is different. He is more than human. He is my son. He is my Beloved, my Chosen. Jesus is me,” God says, “Listen to him. Love him. Cling to him. Follow him.”

For a little while Jesus turned away from his work of ministry and the world, seeking God on the mountaintop—and he was not disappointed. The holy breaks into the human—and the ordinary becomes the extraordinary.

When we see with eyes of faith, the ordinary can be the source of transforming experience. We can meet Jesus in a million different places and as a result be changed; because such encounters shape and change us. The truth of the Transfiguration becomes clear: Jesus speaks with the depth, the power, the love and the authority of God.

Here’s an example of what I mean. Susan Andrews, a Presbyterian minister, writes of her summer of Clinical Pastoral Education. “We spent several hours each day relating to patients on the floor. One of the wards I covered was a surgical/medical ward—where the patients were not only mentally ill, but also were recovering from major surgery or life threatening illnesses. Add to this the fact that most of these patients were poor, black, and victims of addictive behavior—and I found myself in a wilderness that terrified me.

One day, after I used my ring of keys to unlock the door to this ward, there was a new patient—a man in isolation—all alone in a room—hanging between life and death—both legs amputated, but with gangrene still creeping through his body. You could smell the stench of his decay even before you entered the room, and he moaned and sweated in a miserable delirium. For an hour I wandered up and down the hall resisting going in to see him—nauseated by his disease and at a total loss as to what to do. What could I—a naive, twenty-five year old white woman—possibly do or say to ease this man’s suffering? For that matter what could God do? And where was God, anyway, in the midst of all this misery. Finally, I walked into the room, took his hand, and found myself repeating the words of the Lord’s Prayer. And that’s when it happened. That’s when the holy broke into the human—when God took over and grace flowed through me. This man stopped moaning, his eyes stopped rolling, his body stopped shaking. He turned to look at me and then started repeating the words of the Lord’s Prayer with me. And for a moment, time stood still. There was, in that room a peace that passes all understanding. A few minutes later, after I left the room, that man’s suffering ended. He died, finding his own peace at last.”

She continues, “I can’t explain that moment to you any more than I can explain the transfiguration, any more than I can explain to you why Moses’ face shone every time he talked to God. But it was for me and for that nameless, miserable man, a holy moment, a transforming moment, and I have rarely doubted the existence of God or the power of prayer since."

To be transfigured and transformed by the power of God is not something we can understand or explain or make happen. Instead it is something that happens to us—if we open up and pay attention—if we condition ourselves to climb the mountain—if we take the irrational step of offering ourselves as a channel of God’s grace.