"Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living one. I was dead, and see, I am alive forever and ever; and I have the keys of Death and of Hades. Now write what you have seen, what is, and what is to take place after this." Rev. 1:17-19.

Saturday, February 10, 2018

That Glimpse that Sends Us Flying



       

 Last Epiphany, Year B

The Transfiguration

Mark 9:2-9


O God, who before the passion of your only-begotten Son revealed his glory upon the holy mountain: Grant to us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen

           How many of you young people like to go down a good slide on the playground? I've seen most of you on the big, tall water slide that we set up at summer parish picnics, and I'm impressed. Even our three-year-olds climb up those steep steps and go zooming down the long slope into that cold water. And even though it's against the rules, I've seen some of you taking the slide head first, or twisting and turning with legs and arms sticking out all over as you descend. I just stand and shake my head in wonder.

You see, I have an embarrassing secret: when I was a little girl, I was afraid to go down any slides, even little ones. My parents would tempt me with an ice cream cone or extra allowance, but I still wouldn't do it. I didn't like that fast, slipping feeling, and I was afraid of falling hard onto my bottom or shooting up into the air like a cannonball. Even today, I don't like going down steep hills when I'm out hiking. I call out in a panicky voice, “Somebody’s going to have to hold my hand!” as soon as the gravel starts to slide around under my feet. I grasp for trees, even for thorn bushes, as soon as I feel like I might start slipping. I’ve even been known to sit down, bottom in the dirt, dignity abandoned, and scoot my way down a steep slope like a baby.
You might be braver than I am about sliding for fun, but what about the times when life becomes as wild and out of control as going down a water slide? What about the times when the grownups we love and depend on seem out of control, and we're afraid? What about when our own bodies and hormones change on us, and we can't even figure out our very own selves? What about all the times when the world around us gets so slippery and full of change that there's nowhere to hold on? Most of us don't like that at all, do we?
At times like that, we might even ask God to step in and get things under control for us. We often long for a God who will hold us upright when life gets topsy-turvy. We pray for God to keep us from falling on our metaphorical bottoms. But sometimes it's God who challenges us to change. Sometimes it's a glimpse of God that turns us upside down and sends us careening into unfamiliar places.
That's what happens in today's Gospel lesson. Take a look at the image on the first page of your bulletin. This is a traditional icon, or stylized image, of Jesus' Transfiguration that we read about today. You can see Jesus standing glorious and powerful in his bright robes, encased in white light. So far, so good.  You can see Moses, the mighty lawgiver, and Elijah, the brave prophet, standing proudly on either side of him. That's great! But where are Jesus' friends, James, Peter, and John? They aren't standing with Jesus on the heights. They didn't get to build a nice church up there, where they could shut themselves up with Jesus, like Peter wanted to do. Look at them lying sprawled out on the ground quite a ways back down the mountain. They look as if they have been physically thrown down from the higher slopes. Talk about scary slides! Look at Peter, covering his face. John is crouching on his knees, holding up a hand as if to shield himself from something. And James is sliding down the slope on his back, with his feet in the air. ([1]) They look like Jesus just pushed them down the big waterslide at St. Andrew's! And they don't look like they enjoyed it!
What is it about seeing Jesus filled with light that sends the disciples sliding down the mountain, dignity and control clearly abandoned? If the light surrounding Jesus is just a sign that Jesus is the Son of God, what's the big surprise? They've already seen him cure the sick and drive out demons. Why would that have pushed them over the edge?
What Jesus' early Jewish followers knew that we don't, is that this scene on the mountain is revolutionary. According to the Hebrew Scriptures, Moses and Elijah never died. Instead, they were both taken straight up to heaven by God. If Moses and Elijah are standing with Jesus on this mountain, then that means that the disciples must be witnessing a vision of heaven itself. For a brief moment, heaven and earth are one. That's enough of a sight to rock anyone's world!
But that's not all. The white clothes that appear on Jesus are a symbol for the Glory of God. God's Glory is the tremendous, powerful, awe-inspiring manifestation of God’s presence that goes before God into the world. In the Bible story, the great Moses isn't worthy even to look at God's Glory—All he's allowed to see is God's backside. But now, on this mountain, Jesus is radiating God's Glory for all to see. Here, we see the Glory of Almighty God shining in all of its fullness through a human body. Eternity enters human flesh. Divine love and grace pour forth into the world through Jesus.
What does that mean for us today? I like the way our Eastern Orthodox brothers and sisters put it. They believe that the light that poured through Jesus at the Transfiguration still pours into us today. They describe God’s Glory as a kind of Energy, a kind of Light that constantly streams forth from God’s hidden Essence. This Light is a gift of the Spirit. It's found everywhere but can only be seen through matter, the "stuff" of this world.
Orthodox Christians call the process of being filled with God's light “deification,” becoming God. Such language might make us uncomfortable. “Becoming God” is just for Jesus, we think. This deification isn't something that we get from being perfect, though. It's not even something that we can earn for ourselves by our good deeds. It's merely something that we open ourselves up to in prayer.
Rowan Williams describes God’s Energy entering into us like the music that pours into musicians while they are performing. In making music, musicians are carried on the tide of an energy, by a great current of music that is becoming present and immediate in their actions.([2]) When God’s energy fills us, it doesn’t change who we are, but it fills us with an energy that allows who we truly are to shine forth—beloved children of a loving God.
Listen to the way in which poet Malcolm Guite describes it:
"The Love that dances at the heart of things / Shone out upon us from a human face / And to that light the light in us leaped up,/ We felt it quicken somewhere deep within,/ A sudden blaze of long-extinguished hope/ Trembled and tingled through the tender skin. Nor can this blackened sky, this darkened scar/ Eclipse that glimpse of how things really are."([3])
For me, it's when I get those little glimpses of how things really are that I get blown away. It happened to me in ninth grade, back when I was a budding scientist, born and bred. I thought church was stupid, and Christians were hypocrites. One day, in the middle of a boring history class, a teacher unveiled God for me in the simple beauty of words, and suddenly I caught a glimpse of a Light that I'd ever seen before. The ground shook, and my microscope fell from my hands. I began chasing after God, and I've never been the same.
It happened again when I was in college, buried in grades and ambition and papers to write. I wandered into a grimy, pitiful Appalachian Headstart center. And there the innocent blue eyes of a three-year-old pierced my heart. Those eyes were so clear, so imploring, so wise, that I saw all the suffering of the world in them. I saw God's Light in them. I saw the truth in them. And I saw that children matter. All children. And my world shook, and I slid down the mountain, never again free from the responsibility that that truth laid upon my heart.
My prayers for our Rite 13 celebrities today—and for us all—are lives filled with such glimpses of God's Light. Light that changes us, that fills us with love, and that throws us down the mountain, arms open in surrender, feet following Jesus on the Way.
           


[1] See Rowan Williams, The Dwelling of the Light, 3

[2] Ibid, 6.
[3] Malcom Guite, "Transfiguration," https://www.churchtimes.co.uk/articles/2017/4-august/comment/columnists/poet-s-corner