All Downhill From Here
Matthew 17:1-9
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his
brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. 2And he
was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes
became dazzling white. 3Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and
Elijah, talking with him. 4Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is
good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for
you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” 5While he was still
speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice
said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”
6When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were
overcome by fear. 7But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up
and do not be afraid.” 8And when they looked up, they saw no one
except Jesus himself alone. 9As they were coming down the mountain,
Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man
has been raised from the dead.”
Once when David was
a baby, I decided to replace my very old, scratched up pair of glasses. On the day I came home after picking
the new glasses, David was just waking up from a nap so I went up to his room
to fetch him. He was just sort of
gurgling when I walked into his room, but when I lifted him up from his crib,
he burst into tears. I figured he
was wet and hungry, so I changed his diaper. The child was still pitifully sobbing. So I settled in to nurse him, but he
wouldn’t stop crying long enough to eat.
And the crying wasn’t like an ordinary “Feed me now!” kind of
crying. It was more like “Mommy,
can’t you see I’m having a nervous breakdown?” kind of crying.
My mother’s
intuition finally kicked in. I put
the screaming child back in his crib, went downstairs, got my purse and fished
out my old pair of glasses. I put
them on, went back upstairs, and when I picked him up – viola! – the crying stopped
as if by magic. Obviously, it was
my new glasses that upset poor Baby David. He didn’t recognize me as his mom. At least not at first, particularly just after waking up
from a nap. But over the next
couple of days, he was able to handle the transition from Mommy wearing beaten
up specs to Mommy in the fabulously stylish horn rims.
Getting used to
something unfamiliar or new is sometimes not so easy, right? Change can scare us silly. Even when are old enough to handle
something as innocuous as a change in parental eyewear, there are other changes
that can throw us for a loop. We
can freak out even when facing a change that seems like a good idea. A new job. A new baby. A
new house. Even good change brings
a certain level of anxiety and sleepless nights. And when changes happen that are beyond our control or cause
disruptions we did not anticipate, we become even more anxious and
sleepless. While we may not wail
like a baby, we are all, to a certain extent, creatures of habit. Change is hard. Change is scary. Even the most adventurous and
open-minded among us like a certain level of certainty and predictability in
our daily lives.
Well, if you were
looking for familiarity and reassurance, you really picked the wrong day to
come to church. You are in the
wrong place this morning if you’re looking for the same old, same old, at least
according to Matthew. Today is the
Sunday between Epiphany and Lent, a Sunday when we turn away from the twinkling
lights of Christmas and turn toward a different kind of light that will lead us
into the deep, dark spaces of Lent.
A light that will lead us into 40 days and nights in the wilderness and
we all know what that means. In
scripture, wilderness is a place of change and challenge. Nobody emerges from God’s wilderness
the same person they were when they went in. That’s a promise you may hear as good news or bad news, I
suppose, depending upon how ready you are to change.
I remember a having
a conversation with a friend who was thinking about whether or not his 13 year
old daughter should go on a mission trip to a place in Philadelphia I had
visited on different mission trip a few years earlier. I went on and on, telling him all about
the trip, how deeply meaningful it was for the kids and for me. I remember saying to my friend that the
trip would be transformative for his daughter and bring about amazing changes
in his daughter’s perspective and faith.
And I remember him saying something I never would have predicted. He said, “But what if I don’t want her
to change? What if I think she’s
perfect just as she is right now?” I didn’t know what to say.
Nobody can make you
go into the wilderness, you know.
It is entirely possible to stay right where you are. If that’s you, you can stop paying attention
right now. Transfiguration Sunday
is just not your day.
But if you’ve been
feeling the need to get serious about your life as a disciple and enter more
deeply into a life of faithfulness, this is your moment, right here on this
mountain. The Holy Spirit has
invited you on this journey to the top of Mt. Tabor with Jesus, Peter, James
and John.
The disciples have
already received a pretty significant hint about what they’re getting
into. Right before they go up the
mountain, Jesus gives the disciples fair warning that things are about to get
real. There is the sense that
there will a deepening intensity to this discipleship business they have
undertaken. Jesus tells the
disciples that they are turning toward Jerusalem and things are going to look
really awful for a time. Beyond
awful. The elders and chief
priests and scribes are going to make him suffer and then they are going to
kill him. But Jesus also tells the
disciples that three days after humanity has done its worst, he will be raised
from the dead and that most of them will live to see it.
Which, of course,
sounds to us like awfully good news to us living on the other side of Easter
morning, but this news absolutely blows the disciples’ minds. They are so
rattled by this information that they can scarcely hear what Jesus is
saying. In fact, Peter and the
others absolutely recoil at this idea of taking up a cross and losing their
lives. Well, wouldn’t you? What kind of horrible vision is
that? All this time, the disciples
imagined Jesus as the One who had come to save them, to save Israel, to make
everything better. Peter finally
brings himself to blurt out what they’ve all been thinking – that Jesus is the
Messiah. And now their Messiah is
telling them that not only is he not going to make everything all better, he’s
also going to lead them to a place where all hell will break lose.
But they go. Six days later, Jesus takes Peter,
James and John on a hike to the top of the mountain. We always imagined that Peter, James and John get to go
because they are part of Jesus’ inner circle, his most trusted disciples. But the opposite could be true. Maybe Peter, James and John are the
least convinced by Jesus’ plan and need something more. It could be that they need the
experience of transfiguration the most to prepare them for what is ahead of
them. Maybe words alone won’t
suffice and they need to see for themselves. Maybe these disciples are the most in need of a holy space
to breathe in the presence of God before moving into the messiness of life down
below.
When they arrive on
the mountain, God does not hide from the disciples, but invites them to step
into this crazy unfathomable demonstration of Gods power. God demonstrates his glory not to
threaten or impress. The glory
reminds us of the relationship between God and God’s son, and invites us into
that relationship. It is a glory
that does not rebuke or condemn, but names Jesus and us as beloved. It is a glory that points us to a voice
we can hear and trust, even when the worst is happening. It is a glory that assures that we can
enter into those high places, those deep places, those difficult and fearsome
places and we will not consumed or destroyed. We do not have to be afraid.
The transfiguration
is a flashing light designed to get our attention, alerting us to what is going
to happen to the disciples – and to us -- if we’re serious about following
Jesus up the mountain, then down that mountain, and up another mountain called
Calvary. Because the
transfiguration story is not about how Jesus
is transformed up on the mountain.
Jesus in his glory, his face shining like the sun, is what he always is when not obscured by the
difficult business of human flesh.
Transfiguration is, however, OUR encounter with the holy so that WE may
be transformed.
After this time on
the mountain, there’s no turning back.
Not for Jesus. Not for
James, John or Peter. Not for you
and me. It’s all downhill from
here, from now until Easter. What
we see on the mountain is just the beginning of what God will reveal to
us. We’ve got to move from the
high places to the low places to see the fullness of God’s glory.
Barbara Brown Taylor
calls the cloud that envelops and frightens the disciples, “the bright cloud of
unknowing.” It is a cloud we enter not to become
more certain of everything or even more certain about what the light or the
cloud means, but to be so broken open that there can be room for “divine
movement” in our lives, particularly as we enter the season of Lent. Only when our own certainty is
shattered can God’s certainty seep into us.
I have become more
and more convinced over the past few years that the greatest challenge facing
all of us in Christ’s service is not knowing more, but to get better at not
knowing. To survive in the
wilderness without a map or a GPS and exist in the not yet knowing where God is
leading us. It is ironic that the
church finds itself in such position in an age where we have the ability not
only to figure out exactly where we are just by looking at a smart phone in the
palm of our hand, but also know exactly where everyone else is by tracking
their phone.
Human beings know so
much, and yet, when you come right down to it, we really don’t know very much
at all. And I think that Lent is
the perfect metaphor for where Christ’s church we find ourselves in 2014. We find ourselves needing to repent of
the ways we have, as an institution and as individuals, made it so hard for so
many to know the love of God through Jesus Christ. Like Peter, we have been busy thinking how to contain the
glory of God in a church-shaped box and have been blind to God’s glory that
shines in the world all around us.
We are fearful when confronted by change, sleepy when confronted by
injustice, and timid in our witness to Christ’s presence in our lives. We so often choose to shelter in place
instead of participating in the work of the Holy Spirit blowing through our
communities and our lives.
The transfiguration
is a story we need to hold on to as we move through the wilderness of Lent and
beyond. Because it tells us we do
not go up the mountain alone. It
tells us that things can be frightening before they become holy. But it also tells us that there is
someone who will touch us and raise us up when we are too frozen and frightened
to move on our own. He is the
Light that came into the world, the light we can follow down the mountain back
to wildness and wonder of our existence.
He meets us here
today. Not on a mountain, but at
this table in the bread and the cup.
He lifts us up
today. Into the very presence of
God.
He feeds us
today. So we may be strengthened
for whatever comes next.
He sends us
today. Into a world that will
frighten and delight.
He is God’s beloved
and we are his, so we can do this.
We can do this.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
