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Mystic
Congregational Church, UCC Mystic,
Connecticut Sermon
from February 6, 2005 “Follow the
Light” Rev.
Patricia L. Liberty
Scriptures: Exodus 24:12-18
Psalm 2 2 Peter 1:16-21
Matthew 17:1-9 I saw her approaching me from about thirty feet away. I knew right then, there was no place to go, no place to hide. My usual tactic to keep on walking and make no eye contact was not going to work. Sure enough, she walked right up and said, “Do you have any spare change?” I mumbled, kept my head low, and kept on walking. I hate moments like that. They make me so uncomfortable. So
we headed into the restaurant, ordered dinner, and I tried to put the whole
thing out of my mind. We enjoyed
more food than we could finish, asked for doggie bags, and headed out into a
Boston winter night. As we exited
the restaurant, she was still there, sitting on a steam grate with layers of
coats and blankets around her, settling in for the night.
I went over to her. For a
moment, our eyes met. She is
younger than I am with blond hair and quiet blue eyes that are indelibly seared
into my soul. I offered her the
contents of my bag to which she politely and genuinely replied, “No, thank
you. I’ve eaten for the evening.
I just wanted money for a cup of coffee.”
It
was one of those moments when the world kind of comes crashing down.
I was suddenly convicted of my own false generosity and my own arrogance.
My own fears melted away into shame.
I realized that my fears were not of her but of being like her, and
looking into her eyes realizing that, perhaps, I was more like her than I cared
to admit except that my bankruptcy was a whole lot less tangible than hers.
She became for me, in those moments, a prophet of truth about myself, a
picture that is still hard to see though more than a few years have passed since
that wintry Boston night. But that
20-second encounter made real the invitation of the Gospel that I had so
miserably missed. She was God’s
messenger and the message was very clear. There
are, throughout our lives, defining moments like that—moments when the truth
of the Gospel become so real, moments when we see with unmistakable clarity
something of what God is asking us to do in the world, something so profound
that we are all but speechless. It’s
difficult to describe such moments because they are about mystery and mystery is
often beyond words. But I would
venture a guess that most of you can, without much prompting, name similar
moments in your own lives. They are
moments of transfiguration. In
our text, the Transfiguration is the defining moment for Peter, James, and John.
It’s a story that we find in all the Synoptic Gospels which suggests
that it has a central place in the ministry of Jesus and his disciples.
Matthew attempts to name it by describing a change in Jesus’ clothing.
His clothes were shining, glistening white.
When Peter, James, and John are, at last, able to open their eyes, they
see Elijah and Moses standing beside Jesus.
It’s
not by accident that the two characters who show up are Moses and Elijah because
those two figures connect to Jesus to central times in Israel’s history.
Moses is connected with the Exodus and deliverance from slavery.
Elijah connected Jesus to the time immediately preceding the exile when
Israel’s spiritual life was in a shambles as they followed after other Gods in
the religious melting pot of the Promised Land. Now,
how it all happened, and whether or not it was real is of less importance than
what happens in Peter, James, and John as a result because while Jesus was
changed in the moment, Peter, James, and John were changed forever. The truth isn’t one that they understood right away, that
each of the Gospels records instances where the understanding that the disciples
had of Jesus’ mission is expanded. They
didn’t get it all at once, any more than we do.
Peter, James, and John were human folk who grew and were stretched into
their discipleship just like we are. This
is one of the lessons that came to them along the way, a moment of
transfiguration. It’s
not a time that’s confined to the past. They
happen to us all the time. Perhaps,
we don’t name them as such. But
it’s a moment that defines other moments, a mystical experience,
perhaps—like when the face of a homeless person meets our own; or a moment in
worship when the whole becomes more than the sum of its parts; a time when the
word comes alive in whole new way when we have new insight from a phrase or hymn
or word of prayer. Perhaps, it came
when you counted your newborn infant’s toes for the first time; or held your
grandchild; or, maybe, it was when you were reading to a child at the Family
Shelter; or serving at the Sunshine Kitchen and the nameless, faceless homeless
there became real people with stories and dreams and lives that matter. Perhaps, there has been a moment when you knew with a
knowledge beyond cognition what was the right decision, what you believed God
was asking you to do. Those are
moments of transfiguration and mystery—moments when the light of God stretches
out before us, and we are changed in ways that we never imagine. I like Peter’s response.
Peter, of all the disciples, is probably my favorite—mouthy, doubtful,
fragile, passionate, marginally faithful, at least most of the time.
I look at Peter as this klutzy, doofus type who never hesitates to speak
up and say what’s on his heart, even if his brain hasn’t quite yet been
fully engaged. Later on, when his
head catches up, he sometimes changes the story a little bit.
I think on the Meyers-Briggs he must have been an off-the-chart “F”. He just led with his heart and hoped that his brain would
catch up. He says, “It’s good
that we’re here. Let’s build
three huts, and we’ll just hang out forever, and it will be really neat.” It’s the tendency that we have—we want to domesticate the
holy, to take those moments of mystery, and make them into something that makes
sense. He barely gets the words out
of his mouth when this voice thunders from heaven and says the equivalent of
“I don’t think so.” It
becomes pretty clear pretty quick that God has a different plan. They had better stick with Jesus to watch it unfold.
At that moment, it’s just a little too much for all of them.
They fall to the ground in utter fear. Now,
I’m glad that Matthew puts that in the text because it normalizes the
experience. Mystical experiences
are not easy to understand. They’re
intimate, deeply personal, and often deeply troubling, and it’s tough to put
into words because one always runs the risk of sounding a little wacky. Morgan
Kelsey did a survey of lay people from a bunch of churches a few years back.
He discovered that most of the people, with whom he had conversation,
reported having a mystical life-changing experience like the kind described in
the Transfiguration. However, most of the people never said a word to anybody
about it. The most common reason
they gave was, “People would think I was faking it” or “People would think
I was, for one of a more accurate term, crazy”.
So, when Jesus told them not to say anything about what happened, my
guess is that it wasn’t going to be all that difficult for them. The
function of Jesus’ word to his disciples was as much about timing as anything
else. It was something to share
later on—something that they would understand more as time went on. But there is something that happened after that.
If we would continue reading a few verses on, we would see that a second
thing happened that may be just as important, if not more so, than the first.
They came down the mountain. After
they came down the mountain, they got back to the business of doing what it is
that they were supposed to be doing. Jesus
continued to do what Jesus did: changing
the lives of people with his radical, holy, and self-giving love.
Peter, James, and John glimpsed in a very real way that Jesus had stood
before them transfigured on the mountain. They
go stumbling after him trying to be faithful, and trying to make sense of what
they had seen. It’s
an image that’s encouraging to me: stumbling
after Jesus, trying to live in the truth even when it doesn’t make sense.
On the heels of Peter’s desire to define it, nail it down, and hold on
to it, they come to a different place which is back where they belong doing the
work of mission and ministry. While
it may not make sense, they continued to follow the light they’ve seen in
Jesus. As they did, it ignited
their own lives. Maybe,
in the long run, as we stumble after him, sometimes seeing for sure, and
sometimes not having much of a clue about what’s going on—the point is not
to have all the answers but to have those moments of mystery that are
life-changing and life-giving. I
think it’s better than answers. The
Transfiguration is an event that asks as many moments as there are answers. It poses as many problems as it solves. Historians and theologians for generations have speculated,
written, and haggled about the significance, how it happened, and what really
happened. To tell you the truth, I
think they miss the point. It’s
supposed to be a mystery. It’s
not supposed to make sense. It’s
intended to feed the part of us that’s beyond words; to encourage the mystery
in us by showing us the mystery around us.
It’s as simple and inspiring as the light that stretches before us, and
shows us the way in the moments when we most need it.
Such moments are indispensable to our faith.
Sunday after Sunday, we gather here and hear the lessons of the Gospel
and follow Jesus through the events of his life.
So often, it seems strange and hard to explain.
Like the disciples, we wonder where our place is.
Then,
in some stunning moment of worship, some delicious insight of prayer, some
precious moment spent with the sole friend, a chance encounter with one who is
an unwilling prophet like Peter, James, and John, we see, if only for a moment,
who Jesus is. He is putting context
to people like Elijah and Moses. We
hear in the deepest recesses of our being a voice that calls us to listen to
God’s voice and to follow the light, and listen as we learn and sing. Follow the Light (Words and Music by John McCutcheon) Seven and eight, my sister and I Lost in the words as storm clouds filled the skies We ran through the rain, and there up ahead, Was the light on the porch, come home like Mama said. CHORUS: Follow the light; when you’re lonely and lost When out on the ocean you are tumbled and tossed Follow your heart, wherever you may be Follow the light on home to me. Out on the sea, the waves heave and rise, Far from the shoreline, storm clouds mount the skies We look for a sign, a welcoming sight A beacon that shines to guide us home tonight. CHORUS When the world seems so big, and we seem so small We wonder if life has any meaning left at all When you’re losing your heart When you’re losing the fight Just hold out your hand and we will follow the light. CHORUS |