Catching glimmers of what blinds saints
Commentary
So much of what we see in the world is determined by how we are conditioned to see things.
Annie Dillard, in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, says this about seeing: "I see what I expect. I once spent a full three minutes looking at a bullfrog that was so unexpectedly large I couldn't see it even though a dozen enthusiastic campers were shouting directions. Finally I asked, 'What color am I looking for?' and a fellow said, 'Green.' When at last I picked out the frog, I saw what painters are up against: the thing wasn't green at all, but the color of wet hickory bark." That's true of everything in human experience: we see the things that our minds tell us to see; our expectations edit the sights received by our eyes.
We can see the ordinary things of nature, of the world, of creation, even though it may sometimes take us a little while. We can see physical objects around us, and we have a pretty good idea that what we are seeing is real, that it somehow reflects a deeper reality.
Likewise with people, we see a person and we know enough biology for us to understand how the person came to be, and we can make pretty accurate guesses about the rest of that person: that he has a family and a history, that there are relationships and desires, that he was born and that he will die. In all of it, we see reality.
But how about God? The ground of our being. What do we do with a God who is invisible, but one who, we claim, is active in the world and who relates to human beings? And not only is God invisible, but the very tablets of the law that God gave Moses make it a dire crime to try to portray God. Can we see God?
No, all we can see is glimmers and glimpses, on occasion, and even then what we are seeing is sideways evidence. Projections. Emanations. The side effects of God in the world. Maybe it's a bush that burns without being consumed. Maybe it's a glow. Maybe it's a cloud. Maybe it's another human being who bears the marks of God's hand in her life.
What we see in the world is the evidence of our eyes; our faith takes that evidence, reconfigures it and reshapes it, and shows us the works of God, and maybe even the person of God. And perhaps we, made in the image of God, are one of the works of God through which people see the Creator.
Exodus 24:12-18
After being led out of slavery in Egypt, the people of Israel finally came to the foot of Mount Sinai, to worship as God had commanded them (Exodus 3:12). So far, so good. It was then time for Moses to pay a call on God at the summit, where God laid upon him and the Israelites the requirements of the covenant that God was making with Israel, beginning with the 10 laws, and continuing with more covenant requirements. Again, so far so good.
With that we come to chapter 24 of Exodus, in which the people of Israel ratify -- officially sign on to -- the covenant. Unfortunately, the chapter is a strange mishmash of multiple traditions and sources. Yet the very fact that such different accounts and sources come together in this one spot speaks to the importance of the events at Sinai.
The chapter begins with an initial summons by God to Moses and the elders. Moses writes down the words of the law God had spoken, and then embarks on the covenant ceremony. Only then does Moses ascend the mountain, with Aaron, Nadab, Abihu, and 70 elders, where they all behold God.
Now, in the lectionary reading, verses 12-18, we come to the second account of Moses' ascent of the mountain, in response to God's summons. And why is Moses to go up? To receive from God the stone tablets of the law, written by nothing other than the very hand of God. In this version of the ascent, Moses takes only Joshua, leaving the elders below.
It is on top of the mountain that we find the real meat of the reading and the reason it is appointed for the Sunday of the Transfiguration. Because there, Moses encounters God. But again the reading displays the redundancies that are so characteristic of much of the Hebrew scriptures. It's hard to figure out precisely what happened. The six days before God spoke are a clear reference back to the creation account in Genesis; but to the writer of the Priestly document of which this is part, the events at Sinai are tantamount to a new creation. Likewise, the 40 days and 40 nights -- in fact, simply indicating a long time -- take us back to the period of rain that caused the Flood. Again, by connecting it with the events of prehistory in Genesis, it lifts up the importance of Moses' time on Mount Sinai.
But how are we to understand what happened up there? Was God in the cloud, or did the cloud simply presage God's arrival? And the fire, was that God or simply "the appearance of God's glory"? And when precisely did Moses go up the mountain? In some ways, it is oddly reassuring that it is so unclear; it would be strange indeed for God's appearance to be too carefully detailed and too understandable.
So what can we say about this, given such a strange narrative? Well, first of all, this is a theophany, a divine appearance or manifestation. And what that means is that in some way, through some strange agency, Moses had a profound, and singular, experience of God's presence. Moses stood uniquely in the presence of God. But at no point can Moses be said to actually have seen God. Quite the contrary, all Moses saw was the emanations from God, what God produced, the outward signs. A mountain, a cloud, a devouring fire. And the latter was labeled "glory."
Are emanations the most we can ever hope to see of God? Perhaps it doesn't seem so minimal if we speak of seeing the things God has wrought. And those are manifold, needing only an open and clear eye to see.
2 Peter 1:16-21
The book of Second Peter is in the Revised Common Lectionary precisely twice, so let's take a look at the book as a whole. The letter has probably been the subject of more doubt than any other New Testament writing. It purports to be written by "Simeon Peter" (1:1), but scholars are virtually unanimous that there is no possible way this could have true apostolic authorship. The purpose of the letter is to present the supposed last thoughts of Peter on the faith, and specifically on the question of the Day of the Lord. Remember, using the name of an apostle for a work of another was standard practice in biblical times. In fact, the possibility that it was written by a disciple of Peter is even questioned. There is even more doubt: it was the last work admitted to the New Testament canon. And regarding content, it incorporates large pieces of the book of Jude. So if we put it all together, the book's claim to a legitimate place in the canon is questionable indeed. Yet here it is, a part of our Bible. Obviously, it communicated something of value to the early church.
This reading is included on the Sunday of the Transfiguration because it refers to the event in verses 17-18. The reading opens as Peter (for want of a better name) offers his presence at the Transfiguration as a sort of credential, an affirmation that he really was an eyewitness of Christ's majesty, not just passing along human myths, but real experiences. This text assumes that the reader is familiar with the gospel accounts of the Transfiguration. The quotation from the heavens is closest to Matthew's version of the Transfiguration.
In verse 19 Peter goes on to offer his witness as evidence -- confirmation -- of the prophetic message. What precisely does the term "prophetic message" refer to? Is it about the prophets of the Old Testament, or is it about Peter's own testimony regarding the day of the Lord, which he will address later in the letter? Given the context and content of the rest of the book, we would choose the latter.
In a very poetic and lyrical passage using the image of a lamp shining in the dark until the dawn breaks, Peter calls his readers to pay heed to the prophetic message. And why? Because of the danger of individual interpretation about the Day of the Lord. That is precisely what this book is railing against. It must always give way to the testimony of witnesses.
Or, perhaps a better way to put it is that individual interpretation must always be measured and tested against the testimony of the community, both the historical community and the immediate church community. And those communities are created by, and that testimony is moved by, the Holy Spirit. As much as we might like to think otherwise, we are not solitary in our Christianity, and our understanding of scripture is not to be isolated.
Matthew 17:1-9
What are we to make of the Transfiguration? There is no question that it is a difficult story to get our heads around. Are we to take it literally? That's tough for people who are not biblical literalists. On the other hand, if we get too figurative, too metaphorical, in our interpretation, the story loses its power. To get around the difficulties, some have said that it is actually a post-resurrection story that has found its way to an earlier spot in the account of Jesus' life, an historical retrojection, as it were. On the other side, some have tried to deconstruct it, figure it out and explain precisely what happened in ways we can readily accept, suggesting, for example, that it might be a corporate hallucination or a dream. No, that's not the way to deal with it either. Paul Ricouer introduced the notion in biblical interpretation of a "second naiveté," in which we consciously set aside our critical objections for the moment, taking the text as a given and entering into it. That seems like the proper tack to take with this lection.
With the beginning of this passage, we are immediately forced to look at its context. It begins "six days later." Later than what? In chapter 16 we find Peter's confession of Jesus as the Messiah, followed by Jesus' prediction of the passion in Jerusalem, Peter's rebuke of Jesus, and Jesus' teaching on discipleship and the cross. The sequence holds true for all three synoptic gospels. The "six days later," then, refers to six days after Peter's confession. That's important for our understanding of the Transfiguration.
Tradition asserts that the Mount of the Transfiguration was Mount Hermon, a 9,000-foot mountain near Caesarea Philippi, but of course that can never be established. But that it happened on a mountain is of great symbolic and interpretive value. Moses' time on Mount Sinai and Elijah's adventure on Mount Carmel with the defeat of the prophets of Baal indicates closeness with God. That is certainly what is being communicated here.
In the vision there are two main points. First, the change in Jesus' appearance was a godly change. To an early church reader the brightness could only indicate one thing: divinity. The second point is that Jesus was speaking with Moses and Elijah, two from the past who, according to some traditions, had not tasted death. The message is unmistakable -- Jesus is the equal, at least, of the other two.
Peter's response of wanting to build booths (RSV; KJV "tabernacles"; NRSV "dwellings") is often criticized on the grounds that he wanted to preserve the moment, maintaining things precisely as they were at that instant, keeping Jesus in his glory on the mountain instead of on the road to Jerusalem and death and his destiny, which Jesus had foretold six days earlier. But for once let's give Peter a break: he wanted to honor his Lord, along with Moses and Elijah.
The bright cloud is reminiscent of the cloud on Mount Sinai in the Old Testament passage, and the voice is reminiscent of the voice at Jesus' baptism. Indeed, Matthew is the only one of the evangelists to have the statement, "with him I am well pleased," which he apparently imported from 3:17.
As the disciples hide their faces, the scene returns to normal, and Jesus comforts his followers. The injunction not to tell anyone of the vision certainly is familiar. In all three synoptics, Jesus regularly gives the same instruction to those who are witnesses that he is more than he seems, witnesses to any suggestion of divinity. Why not tell? Perhaps the issue is understanding: Would anyone understand? Perhaps the issue is readiness: Are we ready to hear that God is in our midst? Perhaps the issue is that there is still much work to be done, and Jesus was not yet ready to claim his oneness with God.
Yet for all of the attempts to understand it and explain it, for all of Jesus' efforts at the time to quash it, this is distinctly a theophany, an appearance of God. The church has held for two thousand years that in some strange way the truth of Jesus of Nazareth was revealed at the Transfiguration. Did the disciples actually see God? Well, only if God has a human form and wears bright clothing. Did they see the works of God? Surely. And perhaps the manifestation of God comes, not just in a glowing human figure, but in all of it: in Jesus' brightness and in his comforting calm later; in the minds of Peter, James and John; and in the trip down the mountain later. Could the evidence, the theophany, even be seen along the road to Jerusalem?
Application
Perhaps more than most of the animals on the planet, human beings are visual creatures. Most of the information that we gain about the world is taken in through our eyes. Certainly the other four senses teach us about reality, but without our binocular vision, we really wouldn't have a concept of the three-dimensional nature of the world.
And it seems we are becoming increasingly visual. Where once we depended on words, written or spoken, now we depend on images. Television, of course, has been the big cause of that. For 50 years it has been the primary way we learn about other people and places. But we find the change in all areas of life. The Internet has added yet another visual medium to our lives. Instead of words, computers now display little pictures called icons. It used to be that road signs were words painted on large pieces of metal. NO LEFT TURN, the signs yelled. Now, for people who don't read English, there are pictures -- a left-pointing arrow with a circle around it and a slash through it. Those of us who love words might lament the loss of words and books to pictures, but for good or for ill, it is the way the world is going.
But there is a great deal in creation, and beyond, that we can't see, much that doesn't lend itself to being seen, at least in the usual, physical way. Deep ideas like truth, justice and beauty. Profound feelings like love and compassion. And God.
Each of the three readings in the lectionary deals with seeing God. Epiphany is the technical theological term for that; it is defined in the American Heritage Dictionary as "a spiritual event in which the essence of a given object or manifestation appears to the subject, as in a sudden flash of recognition."
In the passage from Exodus, Moses ascended Mount Sinai and saw God on the top of the mountain. Or did he? Think about it. He saw a cloud, out of which God called to him. He saw God's glory, which Exodus describes carefully as being like a devouring fire on top of the mountain. Later in Exodus, God permits Moses, protected by a cleft in the rock, to catch a glimpse of his back, but only his back, since "no one shall see me and live" (33:20).
In the reading from 2 Peter and in the passage from Matthew we hear a description of the strange event that has come to be known as the Transfiguration, a mystical experience that eludes precise understanding, an event that defies us to pin it down. Reduced to the minimum, we can say that something dramatic and powerful happened on the top of the mountain. Peter and James and John and Matthew, and the other gospel writers, and the church, have all seen in the event a revelation about Jesus, that Jesus was God. They -- we -- have seen in it the works of God.
The simple truth is that in both of the experiences of God, Moses' encounter on Mount Sinai and the Transfiguration, and in any experience of God for that matter, it is less about the physical happening that took place, less about light rays reflected from an object and striking our retinas, than about the spiritual perception of God. Each account is a testimony to the faith of those who were there.
The most we can see are the works of God, the effects of God, the movement of the trees, or the fluttering of a curtain in the window as the wind passes, and it is only our devotion and faith that tells us it is God's movement in the world. The Transfiguration is about seeing the essential truth behind the familiar person, seeing the divine in Jesus. And the key to seeing those spiritual truths lies not in the eyes. The key to seeing spiritual things is faith.
The title for this installment comes from Frederick Buechner, who wrote, "Through some moment of beauty, some sudden turning of their lives, most [people] have caught glimmers at least of what the saints are blinded by. Only then, unlike the saints, they tend to go on as though nothing had happened."
We need to look closely at the world and let the evidence of our eyes be interpreted by our faith. We need to look at a sunset and see not simply a red sky, not simply the results of light waves refracted by dust particles and a slightly thicker atmosphere, we need to look and see God's works. We need to read the paper about the events of the world and see in some little piece of kindness that one person does for another, not just a random bit of human activity, but God's love and grace made real. We need to look at the person next to us and see not simply another person who perhaps gets in our way sometimes, and may actually on occasion be of use to us, but a work of the Creator, an emanation from God, perhaps a little piece of God's glory. Through all of those things, our faith shows us -- perhaps only in brief glimmers -- what blinds saints.
And when we see those glimmers we need to be very careful not to go on as if nothing happened, but like the saints Buechner speaks of, we need to let ourselves be changed by our encounter with the divine.
An Alternative Application
Peter speaks of the dangers of individual interpretation, of solitary religion. In a modern world where people avow proudly that they "don't have to go to church to be a good Christian," individual interpretation is a particular danger. The corrective to that is church. Peter reminds us that ours is a corporate faith, a faith that finds its fullest expression in a covenant community, which is a creation of God, and in which people are moved by the work the Holy Spirit. You could call this "The Eyes of the Community."
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Exodus 24:12-18
You and I have entered into covenant with our Lord. We renew that covenant every time we partake of the Lord's Supper. Through the words of that sacrament, we hear our Lord say to us as he said to his first disciples, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me." So we drink of the cup, and you and I thereby affirm once again that yes, we are God's covenant people, his "royal priesthood," his "holy nation" (1 Peter 2:9). In the ancient words of the covenant formula (cf. e.g. Jeremiah 31:33), he is our God, and we are his people, bound together in communion and love.
The first covenant between God and his people, who were Israel, was celebrated in the 13th century B.C., at the foot of the mountain of God in the Sinai peninsula, when Moses sprinkled the people with the blood of the covenant sacrifice and pronounced, "Behold the blood of the covenant which the Lord has made with you...." Following that pronouncement, Moses and Aaron, Nadad and Abihu, and 70 elders of Israel went up on Mount Sinai and ate and drank with the Lord God (Exodus 24:1-11). Those are the events that precede our text.
The people of Israel were very much like us when they entered into covenant with their God. The Lord had delivered them out of slavery, just as he delivered us from our slavery to sin and death. God accompanied them as they set out on their journey through the wilderness toward the Promised Land, just as he accompanies us on our journey toward the kingdom, telling us that he will be with us always. And having enjoyed God's redemption of them, Israel glibly declared at the covenant ceremony, "All that the Lord has spoken we will do, and we will be obedient" (Exodus 24:7 and 19:8). We sometimes make the same promise at the Lord's Table too, don't we? Surely, we think, in the future we will be faithful followers of our Lord. Or perhaps we just rest secured in the assurance of the Supper that Christ has died for our sins and that therefore we are forgiven and acceptable once more in his sight. And that is the end of it. Israel, in her glibness, thought that was that. Now she had a new life in a new freedom, and God was benevolent and supportive.
But surprise! Israel then learned that God was not through with her and that he now had instructions for her life with him. So in our text, the Lord summons Moses up to the top of Mount Sinai to receive those instructions. Moses leaves Aaron and Hur behind with the people to see to their judicial and physical needs. (Though Joshua is present, v. 13, he is not further mentioned in this text). And Moses ascends the mountain to meet with God and to receive from his hands all of the instructions that follow in the Priestly Code of Exodus 25-31, concerning the tabernacle, the Ark of the Covenant, the altar and the priesthood.
Moses remains on the mountain 40 days and 40 nights, and so when the people become impatient with Moses' absence, they cajole Aaron into the idolatrous erection and worship of a golden calf (Exodus 32). The result is that the people are punished with a plague, and once more God issues his instructions, this time including an ancient Decalogue, similar to the Ten Commandments (Exodus 34:12-28). At the end of Exodus, then, the tabernacle, the ark and the garments of the priests are made, all is set in order, and the Lord descends in his glory, which fills the tabernacle (Exodus 35-40).
What are we to make of all of that and what does it mean for us? First of all, because we, like ancient Israel, are members of God's covenant people and his holy nation, God is not through with us either. To be "holy," according to the scriptures, is to be set apart for God to serve his purpose. God did not forgive us by the work of Jesus Christ for no purpose at all. No. He made us his own in order that we might carry out special tasks for him. God is working out his plan of salvation in the world, and as his covenant people, he has enlisted us in the furtherance of that plan.
Second, as God's redeemed, special people, the way we live our lives is now to be shaped not by our will, desires, and plans, but by his. We can no longer take the instructions for how we live from the society around us or from our families, from the media or even from the experts. The Lord has instructions for us also, as he had for Israel. And it is no accident that in the Transfiguration, God's voice from heaven declares, "This is my beloved Son with whom I am well pleased; listen to him" (Matthew 17:5). Listen to him. Listen to Christ. Listen to his teachings, handed down to us in the scriptures. Listen to his prayers, his commands, his cries from the cross. Observe what he does and do likewise. From Christ come God's instructions for our covenant lives. And when we partake of the Lord's Supper, those instructions become the shape and model of who we are to be and what we are to do.
Third, it is clear from the stories in Exodus, and indeed from the story of the Transfiguration, that our worship of God is to be shaped by one thing -- by the realization that we are worshiping the Lord of glory, the Ruler over all the earth. Exodus gives the most careful instructions concerning the tabernacle and the ark and the priests, because the glorious Lord has descended to be with his people, and you do not approach his glory casually or lightly.
In similar manner, in the gospel story of the Transfiguration, Peter and James and John are given the privilege of seeing who Jesus Christ really is -- not just fully human, but also fully divine, glorious Lord. Christ is pictured in his transcendent radiance, talking to Moses and Elijah, the representatives of the law and the prophets, at the end of history. Christ is seen in his shining, risen effulgence, in heaven, where he reigns as Lord over all history and all nature. And that is the Lord whom we also approach in our worship.
We cannot draw near to such a Lord, or utter a prayer to him, or set our thanksgivings and petitions before him unless, in his mercy and because of his sacrifice, he lets us approach him in confidence of his help in the time of our need (cf. Hebrews 4:14-16). We dare never worship such a Sovereign if we seek him indifferently or casually, and if we somehow think we are doing him a favor when we come to church to worship. Nor dare we ever worship our Lord Christ if our prayers are automatic words learned by rote and do not involve our hearts and minds, or if our songs are just obligatory opportunities to stand up and stretch our legs.
We worship the Lord in spirit and in truth (cf. John 4:24) or we do not worship him at all. For he is the King of glory, who descended to that tabernacle in the midst of Israel, who was transfigured before the eyes of Peter, James and John, and who now in his grace has condescended to commune with you and me at the Supper and to be in our midst always.
PREACHING THE PSALM
Psalm 99
This psalm celebrates the kingship of God, and proclaims that he is king through his holiness. Structurally, the psalm may be divided into three parts. Verses 1-3 proclaim the kingship of God over all the earth. Verses 4-5 announce God's justice and righteousness specifically for Israel. Verses 6-9 praise God as the one who answers those who call on his name. Together, these three sections define a God who is holy: holy in majesty, holy in justice, holy in responsiveness.
This being Transfiguration Sunday, it's fruitful to consider why this psalm is used on this day. Surely the Transfiguration was an experience of God's holiness, and Moses, named in verse 6 as one of God's priests, performed along with Elijah a priestly function for Jesus during the transfiguring experience. And the God who previously spoke from "the pillar of the cloud" (v. 7) also spoke in the dazzling white of the Transfiguration.
For preaching from the psalm, consider verse 8, speaking of the God who answers his people and forgives them. In the psalmist's day, it was the mark of a good king that he would respond to the petitions of those in need. Even greater is a king who graciously forgives, but our God does both. Consider that many who sit in your pews today may be suffering from guilt due to some real or imagined offense. In his book, Whatever Became of Sin, Karl Menninger tells of a man standing on a Chicago street corner pointing to passersby and stating loudly, "GUILTY!" People hurried away from him, but one man, turning to another said, "But how did he know?"
We worship a God who stands ready to forgive the penitent. For one suffering guilt, divine forgiveness is at least a transforming experience.
Annie Dillard, in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, says this about seeing: "I see what I expect. I once spent a full three minutes looking at a bullfrog that was so unexpectedly large I couldn't see it even though a dozen enthusiastic campers were shouting directions. Finally I asked, 'What color am I looking for?' and a fellow said, 'Green.' When at last I picked out the frog, I saw what painters are up against: the thing wasn't green at all, but the color of wet hickory bark." That's true of everything in human experience: we see the things that our minds tell us to see; our expectations edit the sights received by our eyes.
We can see the ordinary things of nature, of the world, of creation, even though it may sometimes take us a little while. We can see physical objects around us, and we have a pretty good idea that what we are seeing is real, that it somehow reflects a deeper reality.
Likewise with people, we see a person and we know enough biology for us to understand how the person came to be, and we can make pretty accurate guesses about the rest of that person: that he has a family and a history, that there are relationships and desires, that he was born and that he will die. In all of it, we see reality.
But how about God? The ground of our being. What do we do with a God who is invisible, but one who, we claim, is active in the world and who relates to human beings? And not only is God invisible, but the very tablets of the law that God gave Moses make it a dire crime to try to portray God. Can we see God?
No, all we can see is glimmers and glimpses, on occasion, and even then what we are seeing is sideways evidence. Projections. Emanations. The side effects of God in the world. Maybe it's a bush that burns without being consumed. Maybe it's a glow. Maybe it's a cloud. Maybe it's another human being who bears the marks of God's hand in her life.
What we see in the world is the evidence of our eyes; our faith takes that evidence, reconfigures it and reshapes it, and shows us the works of God, and maybe even the person of God. And perhaps we, made in the image of God, are one of the works of God through which people see the Creator.
Exodus 24:12-18
After being led out of slavery in Egypt, the people of Israel finally came to the foot of Mount Sinai, to worship as God had commanded them (Exodus 3:12). So far, so good. It was then time for Moses to pay a call on God at the summit, where God laid upon him and the Israelites the requirements of the covenant that God was making with Israel, beginning with the 10 laws, and continuing with more covenant requirements. Again, so far so good.
With that we come to chapter 24 of Exodus, in which the people of Israel ratify -- officially sign on to -- the covenant. Unfortunately, the chapter is a strange mishmash of multiple traditions and sources. Yet the very fact that such different accounts and sources come together in this one spot speaks to the importance of the events at Sinai.
The chapter begins with an initial summons by God to Moses and the elders. Moses writes down the words of the law God had spoken, and then embarks on the covenant ceremony. Only then does Moses ascend the mountain, with Aaron, Nadab, Abihu, and 70 elders, where they all behold God.
Now, in the lectionary reading, verses 12-18, we come to the second account of Moses' ascent of the mountain, in response to God's summons. And why is Moses to go up? To receive from God the stone tablets of the law, written by nothing other than the very hand of God. In this version of the ascent, Moses takes only Joshua, leaving the elders below.
It is on top of the mountain that we find the real meat of the reading and the reason it is appointed for the Sunday of the Transfiguration. Because there, Moses encounters God. But again the reading displays the redundancies that are so characteristic of much of the Hebrew scriptures. It's hard to figure out precisely what happened. The six days before God spoke are a clear reference back to the creation account in Genesis; but to the writer of the Priestly document of which this is part, the events at Sinai are tantamount to a new creation. Likewise, the 40 days and 40 nights -- in fact, simply indicating a long time -- take us back to the period of rain that caused the Flood. Again, by connecting it with the events of prehistory in Genesis, it lifts up the importance of Moses' time on Mount Sinai.
But how are we to understand what happened up there? Was God in the cloud, or did the cloud simply presage God's arrival? And the fire, was that God or simply "the appearance of God's glory"? And when precisely did Moses go up the mountain? In some ways, it is oddly reassuring that it is so unclear; it would be strange indeed for God's appearance to be too carefully detailed and too understandable.
So what can we say about this, given such a strange narrative? Well, first of all, this is a theophany, a divine appearance or manifestation. And what that means is that in some way, through some strange agency, Moses had a profound, and singular, experience of God's presence. Moses stood uniquely in the presence of God. But at no point can Moses be said to actually have seen God. Quite the contrary, all Moses saw was the emanations from God, what God produced, the outward signs. A mountain, a cloud, a devouring fire. And the latter was labeled "glory."
Are emanations the most we can ever hope to see of God? Perhaps it doesn't seem so minimal if we speak of seeing the things God has wrought. And those are manifold, needing only an open and clear eye to see.
2 Peter 1:16-21
The book of Second Peter is in the Revised Common Lectionary precisely twice, so let's take a look at the book as a whole. The letter has probably been the subject of more doubt than any other New Testament writing. It purports to be written by "Simeon Peter" (1:1), but scholars are virtually unanimous that there is no possible way this could have true apostolic authorship. The purpose of the letter is to present the supposed last thoughts of Peter on the faith, and specifically on the question of the Day of the Lord. Remember, using the name of an apostle for a work of another was standard practice in biblical times. In fact, the possibility that it was written by a disciple of Peter is even questioned. There is even more doubt: it was the last work admitted to the New Testament canon. And regarding content, it incorporates large pieces of the book of Jude. So if we put it all together, the book's claim to a legitimate place in the canon is questionable indeed. Yet here it is, a part of our Bible. Obviously, it communicated something of value to the early church.
This reading is included on the Sunday of the Transfiguration because it refers to the event in verses 17-18. The reading opens as Peter (for want of a better name) offers his presence at the Transfiguration as a sort of credential, an affirmation that he really was an eyewitness of Christ's majesty, not just passing along human myths, but real experiences. This text assumes that the reader is familiar with the gospel accounts of the Transfiguration. The quotation from the heavens is closest to Matthew's version of the Transfiguration.
In verse 19 Peter goes on to offer his witness as evidence -- confirmation -- of the prophetic message. What precisely does the term "prophetic message" refer to? Is it about the prophets of the Old Testament, or is it about Peter's own testimony regarding the day of the Lord, which he will address later in the letter? Given the context and content of the rest of the book, we would choose the latter.
In a very poetic and lyrical passage using the image of a lamp shining in the dark until the dawn breaks, Peter calls his readers to pay heed to the prophetic message. And why? Because of the danger of individual interpretation about the Day of the Lord. That is precisely what this book is railing against. It must always give way to the testimony of witnesses.
Or, perhaps a better way to put it is that individual interpretation must always be measured and tested against the testimony of the community, both the historical community and the immediate church community. And those communities are created by, and that testimony is moved by, the Holy Spirit. As much as we might like to think otherwise, we are not solitary in our Christianity, and our understanding of scripture is not to be isolated.
Matthew 17:1-9
What are we to make of the Transfiguration? There is no question that it is a difficult story to get our heads around. Are we to take it literally? That's tough for people who are not biblical literalists. On the other hand, if we get too figurative, too metaphorical, in our interpretation, the story loses its power. To get around the difficulties, some have said that it is actually a post-resurrection story that has found its way to an earlier spot in the account of Jesus' life, an historical retrojection, as it were. On the other side, some have tried to deconstruct it, figure it out and explain precisely what happened in ways we can readily accept, suggesting, for example, that it might be a corporate hallucination or a dream. No, that's not the way to deal with it either. Paul Ricouer introduced the notion in biblical interpretation of a "second naiveté," in which we consciously set aside our critical objections for the moment, taking the text as a given and entering into it. That seems like the proper tack to take with this lection.
With the beginning of this passage, we are immediately forced to look at its context. It begins "six days later." Later than what? In chapter 16 we find Peter's confession of Jesus as the Messiah, followed by Jesus' prediction of the passion in Jerusalem, Peter's rebuke of Jesus, and Jesus' teaching on discipleship and the cross. The sequence holds true for all three synoptic gospels. The "six days later," then, refers to six days after Peter's confession. That's important for our understanding of the Transfiguration.
Tradition asserts that the Mount of the Transfiguration was Mount Hermon, a 9,000-foot mountain near Caesarea Philippi, but of course that can never be established. But that it happened on a mountain is of great symbolic and interpretive value. Moses' time on Mount Sinai and Elijah's adventure on Mount Carmel with the defeat of the prophets of Baal indicates closeness with God. That is certainly what is being communicated here.
In the vision there are two main points. First, the change in Jesus' appearance was a godly change. To an early church reader the brightness could only indicate one thing: divinity. The second point is that Jesus was speaking with Moses and Elijah, two from the past who, according to some traditions, had not tasted death. The message is unmistakable -- Jesus is the equal, at least, of the other two.
Peter's response of wanting to build booths (RSV; KJV "tabernacles"; NRSV "dwellings") is often criticized on the grounds that he wanted to preserve the moment, maintaining things precisely as they were at that instant, keeping Jesus in his glory on the mountain instead of on the road to Jerusalem and death and his destiny, which Jesus had foretold six days earlier. But for once let's give Peter a break: he wanted to honor his Lord, along with Moses and Elijah.
The bright cloud is reminiscent of the cloud on Mount Sinai in the Old Testament passage, and the voice is reminiscent of the voice at Jesus' baptism. Indeed, Matthew is the only one of the evangelists to have the statement, "with him I am well pleased," which he apparently imported from 3:17.
As the disciples hide their faces, the scene returns to normal, and Jesus comforts his followers. The injunction not to tell anyone of the vision certainly is familiar. In all three synoptics, Jesus regularly gives the same instruction to those who are witnesses that he is more than he seems, witnesses to any suggestion of divinity. Why not tell? Perhaps the issue is understanding: Would anyone understand? Perhaps the issue is readiness: Are we ready to hear that God is in our midst? Perhaps the issue is that there is still much work to be done, and Jesus was not yet ready to claim his oneness with God.
Yet for all of the attempts to understand it and explain it, for all of Jesus' efforts at the time to quash it, this is distinctly a theophany, an appearance of God. The church has held for two thousand years that in some strange way the truth of Jesus of Nazareth was revealed at the Transfiguration. Did the disciples actually see God? Well, only if God has a human form and wears bright clothing. Did they see the works of God? Surely. And perhaps the manifestation of God comes, not just in a glowing human figure, but in all of it: in Jesus' brightness and in his comforting calm later; in the minds of Peter, James and John; and in the trip down the mountain later. Could the evidence, the theophany, even be seen along the road to Jerusalem?
Application
Perhaps more than most of the animals on the planet, human beings are visual creatures. Most of the information that we gain about the world is taken in through our eyes. Certainly the other four senses teach us about reality, but without our binocular vision, we really wouldn't have a concept of the three-dimensional nature of the world.
And it seems we are becoming increasingly visual. Where once we depended on words, written or spoken, now we depend on images. Television, of course, has been the big cause of that. For 50 years it has been the primary way we learn about other people and places. But we find the change in all areas of life. The Internet has added yet another visual medium to our lives. Instead of words, computers now display little pictures called icons. It used to be that road signs were words painted on large pieces of metal. NO LEFT TURN, the signs yelled. Now, for people who don't read English, there are pictures -- a left-pointing arrow with a circle around it and a slash through it. Those of us who love words might lament the loss of words and books to pictures, but for good or for ill, it is the way the world is going.
But there is a great deal in creation, and beyond, that we can't see, much that doesn't lend itself to being seen, at least in the usual, physical way. Deep ideas like truth, justice and beauty. Profound feelings like love and compassion. And God.
Each of the three readings in the lectionary deals with seeing God. Epiphany is the technical theological term for that; it is defined in the American Heritage Dictionary as "a spiritual event in which the essence of a given object or manifestation appears to the subject, as in a sudden flash of recognition."
In the passage from Exodus, Moses ascended Mount Sinai and saw God on the top of the mountain. Or did he? Think about it. He saw a cloud, out of which God called to him. He saw God's glory, which Exodus describes carefully as being like a devouring fire on top of the mountain. Later in Exodus, God permits Moses, protected by a cleft in the rock, to catch a glimpse of his back, but only his back, since "no one shall see me and live" (33:20).
In the reading from 2 Peter and in the passage from Matthew we hear a description of the strange event that has come to be known as the Transfiguration, a mystical experience that eludes precise understanding, an event that defies us to pin it down. Reduced to the minimum, we can say that something dramatic and powerful happened on the top of the mountain. Peter and James and John and Matthew, and the other gospel writers, and the church, have all seen in the event a revelation about Jesus, that Jesus was God. They -- we -- have seen in it the works of God.
The simple truth is that in both of the experiences of God, Moses' encounter on Mount Sinai and the Transfiguration, and in any experience of God for that matter, it is less about the physical happening that took place, less about light rays reflected from an object and striking our retinas, than about the spiritual perception of God. Each account is a testimony to the faith of those who were there.
The most we can see are the works of God, the effects of God, the movement of the trees, or the fluttering of a curtain in the window as the wind passes, and it is only our devotion and faith that tells us it is God's movement in the world. The Transfiguration is about seeing the essential truth behind the familiar person, seeing the divine in Jesus. And the key to seeing those spiritual truths lies not in the eyes. The key to seeing spiritual things is faith.
The title for this installment comes from Frederick Buechner, who wrote, "Through some moment of beauty, some sudden turning of their lives, most [people] have caught glimmers at least of what the saints are blinded by. Only then, unlike the saints, they tend to go on as though nothing had happened."
We need to look closely at the world and let the evidence of our eyes be interpreted by our faith. We need to look at a sunset and see not simply a red sky, not simply the results of light waves refracted by dust particles and a slightly thicker atmosphere, we need to look and see God's works. We need to read the paper about the events of the world and see in some little piece of kindness that one person does for another, not just a random bit of human activity, but God's love and grace made real. We need to look at the person next to us and see not simply another person who perhaps gets in our way sometimes, and may actually on occasion be of use to us, but a work of the Creator, an emanation from God, perhaps a little piece of God's glory. Through all of those things, our faith shows us -- perhaps only in brief glimmers -- what blinds saints.
And when we see those glimmers we need to be very careful not to go on as if nothing happened, but like the saints Buechner speaks of, we need to let ourselves be changed by our encounter with the divine.
An Alternative Application
Peter speaks of the dangers of individual interpretation, of solitary religion. In a modern world where people avow proudly that they "don't have to go to church to be a good Christian," individual interpretation is a particular danger. The corrective to that is church. Peter reminds us that ours is a corporate faith, a faith that finds its fullest expression in a covenant community, which is a creation of God, and in which people are moved by the work the Holy Spirit. You could call this "The Eyes of the Community."
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Exodus 24:12-18
You and I have entered into covenant with our Lord. We renew that covenant every time we partake of the Lord's Supper. Through the words of that sacrament, we hear our Lord say to us as he said to his first disciples, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me." So we drink of the cup, and you and I thereby affirm once again that yes, we are God's covenant people, his "royal priesthood," his "holy nation" (1 Peter 2:9). In the ancient words of the covenant formula (cf. e.g. Jeremiah 31:33), he is our God, and we are his people, bound together in communion and love.
The first covenant between God and his people, who were Israel, was celebrated in the 13th century B.C., at the foot of the mountain of God in the Sinai peninsula, when Moses sprinkled the people with the blood of the covenant sacrifice and pronounced, "Behold the blood of the covenant which the Lord has made with you...." Following that pronouncement, Moses and Aaron, Nadad and Abihu, and 70 elders of Israel went up on Mount Sinai and ate and drank with the Lord God (Exodus 24:1-11). Those are the events that precede our text.
The people of Israel were very much like us when they entered into covenant with their God. The Lord had delivered them out of slavery, just as he delivered us from our slavery to sin and death. God accompanied them as they set out on their journey through the wilderness toward the Promised Land, just as he accompanies us on our journey toward the kingdom, telling us that he will be with us always. And having enjoyed God's redemption of them, Israel glibly declared at the covenant ceremony, "All that the Lord has spoken we will do, and we will be obedient" (Exodus 24:7 and 19:8). We sometimes make the same promise at the Lord's Table too, don't we? Surely, we think, in the future we will be faithful followers of our Lord. Or perhaps we just rest secured in the assurance of the Supper that Christ has died for our sins and that therefore we are forgiven and acceptable once more in his sight. And that is the end of it. Israel, in her glibness, thought that was that. Now she had a new life in a new freedom, and God was benevolent and supportive.
But surprise! Israel then learned that God was not through with her and that he now had instructions for her life with him. So in our text, the Lord summons Moses up to the top of Mount Sinai to receive those instructions. Moses leaves Aaron and Hur behind with the people to see to their judicial and physical needs. (Though Joshua is present, v. 13, he is not further mentioned in this text). And Moses ascends the mountain to meet with God and to receive from his hands all of the instructions that follow in the Priestly Code of Exodus 25-31, concerning the tabernacle, the Ark of the Covenant, the altar and the priesthood.
Moses remains on the mountain 40 days and 40 nights, and so when the people become impatient with Moses' absence, they cajole Aaron into the idolatrous erection and worship of a golden calf (Exodus 32). The result is that the people are punished with a plague, and once more God issues his instructions, this time including an ancient Decalogue, similar to the Ten Commandments (Exodus 34:12-28). At the end of Exodus, then, the tabernacle, the ark and the garments of the priests are made, all is set in order, and the Lord descends in his glory, which fills the tabernacle (Exodus 35-40).
What are we to make of all of that and what does it mean for us? First of all, because we, like ancient Israel, are members of God's covenant people and his holy nation, God is not through with us either. To be "holy," according to the scriptures, is to be set apart for God to serve his purpose. God did not forgive us by the work of Jesus Christ for no purpose at all. No. He made us his own in order that we might carry out special tasks for him. God is working out his plan of salvation in the world, and as his covenant people, he has enlisted us in the furtherance of that plan.
Second, as God's redeemed, special people, the way we live our lives is now to be shaped not by our will, desires, and plans, but by his. We can no longer take the instructions for how we live from the society around us or from our families, from the media or even from the experts. The Lord has instructions for us also, as he had for Israel. And it is no accident that in the Transfiguration, God's voice from heaven declares, "This is my beloved Son with whom I am well pleased; listen to him" (Matthew 17:5). Listen to him. Listen to Christ. Listen to his teachings, handed down to us in the scriptures. Listen to his prayers, his commands, his cries from the cross. Observe what he does and do likewise. From Christ come God's instructions for our covenant lives. And when we partake of the Lord's Supper, those instructions become the shape and model of who we are to be and what we are to do.
Third, it is clear from the stories in Exodus, and indeed from the story of the Transfiguration, that our worship of God is to be shaped by one thing -- by the realization that we are worshiping the Lord of glory, the Ruler over all the earth. Exodus gives the most careful instructions concerning the tabernacle and the ark and the priests, because the glorious Lord has descended to be with his people, and you do not approach his glory casually or lightly.
In similar manner, in the gospel story of the Transfiguration, Peter and James and John are given the privilege of seeing who Jesus Christ really is -- not just fully human, but also fully divine, glorious Lord. Christ is pictured in his transcendent radiance, talking to Moses and Elijah, the representatives of the law and the prophets, at the end of history. Christ is seen in his shining, risen effulgence, in heaven, where he reigns as Lord over all history and all nature. And that is the Lord whom we also approach in our worship.
We cannot draw near to such a Lord, or utter a prayer to him, or set our thanksgivings and petitions before him unless, in his mercy and because of his sacrifice, he lets us approach him in confidence of his help in the time of our need (cf. Hebrews 4:14-16). We dare never worship such a Sovereign if we seek him indifferently or casually, and if we somehow think we are doing him a favor when we come to church to worship. Nor dare we ever worship our Lord Christ if our prayers are automatic words learned by rote and do not involve our hearts and minds, or if our songs are just obligatory opportunities to stand up and stretch our legs.
We worship the Lord in spirit and in truth (cf. John 4:24) or we do not worship him at all. For he is the King of glory, who descended to that tabernacle in the midst of Israel, who was transfigured before the eyes of Peter, James and John, and who now in his grace has condescended to commune with you and me at the Supper and to be in our midst always.
PREACHING THE PSALM
Psalm 99
This psalm celebrates the kingship of God, and proclaims that he is king through his holiness. Structurally, the psalm may be divided into three parts. Verses 1-3 proclaim the kingship of God over all the earth. Verses 4-5 announce God's justice and righteousness specifically for Israel. Verses 6-9 praise God as the one who answers those who call on his name. Together, these three sections define a God who is holy: holy in majesty, holy in justice, holy in responsiveness.
This being Transfiguration Sunday, it's fruitful to consider why this psalm is used on this day. Surely the Transfiguration was an experience of God's holiness, and Moses, named in verse 6 as one of God's priests, performed along with Elijah a priestly function for Jesus during the transfiguring experience. And the God who previously spoke from "the pillar of the cloud" (v. 7) also spoke in the dazzling white of the Transfiguration.
For preaching from the psalm, consider verse 8, speaking of the God who answers his people and forgives them. In the psalmist's day, it was the mark of a good king that he would respond to the petitions of those in need. Even greater is a king who graciously forgives, but our God does both. Consider that many who sit in your pews today may be suffering from guilt due to some real or imagined offense. In his book, Whatever Became of Sin, Karl Menninger tells of a man standing on a Chicago street corner pointing to passersby and stating loudly, "GUILTY!" People hurried away from him, but one man, turning to another said, "But how did he know?"
We worship a God who stands ready to forgive the penitent. For one suffering guilt, divine forgiveness is at least a transforming experience.
