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.
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