The mountains of God
Commentary
Object:
Mountains occupy a strong place in our imaginations.
Throughout human history, mountains have been strategic locations. They are impervious to floods, they provide an important view of the surrounding area. And mountain strongholds are traditionally recognized as very difficult to attack and conquer.
Mountains also connote strength and permanence. To suggest that a mountain will be shaken or moved is to suggest that all bets are off -- anything can happen. After all, the grandest statement of a person's abilities is to claim that he or she can "move mountains."
Because of their overwhelming size and permanence, mountains have also come to symbolize our most immense obstacles. And the person with a rare sense of adventure and appetite for challenge will set out to climb mountains.
And, in our day-to-day human experience, we associate mountains with spectacular views. How many of us have had the opportunity to look down from some high place -- from "lofty mountain grandeur," as the hymn writer expresses it -- and felt overwhelmed by the panoramic beauty of the view.
Mountains are also prominent in our scripture readings this Sunday.
We read that Moses was invited up the mountain. In this case, the mountain was the famous Sinai, which dominates so many chapters of Exodus, and which ever since has represented both an experience and a covenant. We discover that a cloud covered that mountain and fire was on top of it. Moses is reported to have stayed on the mountain for forty days.
In the gospel lection, Matthew reports that Jesus led his inner circle "up a high mountain." This is the site and setting, then, where the Transfiguration occurred. And, some years later, Peter recalls in his epistle that occasion "while we were with him on the holy mountain."
Mountains are a prominent feature of this week's lections, and so we might weave together these mountaintop experiences as a way of exploring with our people the mountains of God.
Exodus 24:12-18
When we picture the Ten Commandments, we have in mind the traditional pair of stone tablets. We associate the Ten Commandments with Exodus chapter 20, for that is where we first meet with the text of the commandments. But the familiar tablets are not mentioned there in chapter 20 with the commandments themselves. Rather it is here, in chapter 24, that we are introduced to those famous stones.
The promise of these "tablets of stone" presents us with a fascinating purpose statement from God. He tells Moses about this hard copy of "the law and the commandment, which I have written for their instruction." So we discover God's expressed purpose for the law: the instruction of the people.
Sometimes Christians casually neglect -- or deliberately discard -- the Old Testament law, thinking that its purpose is somehow nullified by the coming of Christ. That's a strange hermeneutic, given that Jesus himself said he did not come to abolish the law (Matthew 5:17). Still, I have seen in many settings a certain blitheness among Christians concerning the law, and so I am struck by this purpose statement. Though we are surely under grace rather than law in terms of our covenant relationship with God, we dare not dismiss the law altogether, for it is still available for our instruction.
Meanwhile, Moses' pre-departure instructions represent a little well-deserved cynicism. "Wait here for us," he said to the elders, "until we come to you again; for Aaron and Hur are with you; whoever has a dispute may go to them."
The parent who leaves the young children at home with a babysitter would like to be able to say a certain kind of good-bye: "I love you! Have a great time! I'll be back as soon as I can!" But, instead, the farewell is cluttered with all sorts of "what if" instructions, anticipating all the bad things that might happen, all that could go wrong.
Moses, who so often sounds like a weary parent in Exodus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy, can't simply say, "I love you, and have a great time" as he leaves the troublesome people behind. Instead, he has to leave the phone numbers of the people to call if there's an emergency -- there almost certainly will be!
Finally, we see the scene of Moses ascending the mountain and disappearing into its ominous cloud. Later passages will give us a glimpse of Moses' experience there. Within the confines of the present narration, though, we are somewhat left in the position of the remainder of the Israelite community. Moses has effectively disappeared. He has gone where we are forbidden to go -- and, frankly, where we hesitate to go. And he is gone a very long time.
We know that, as the story unfolds, the impatience and uncertainty that prevail among the waiting Israelites result in great mischief there at the foot of the mountain. While Moses is receiving God's grand commandments for the instruction of the people, the people below are systematically breaking those commands. We are reminded, thus, of two other episodes. First, there is the picture of the disciples who did not go up the Transfiguration mountain with Jesus; they, in the meantime, failed by faithlessness (Matthew 17:14-17). And, second, there is the picture of us: The present people of God waiting, like the Israelites, for our leader to return. He has been gone a long time now. Is he ever coming back? And what mischief may ensue while we wait?
2 Peter 1:16-21
The old maxim claims that there are no atheists in foxholes. That may be true. But there are skeptics in every age. Apart from the fear and urgency of personal plight that customarily sends even unbelievers to their knees, every generation has its cadre of skeptical observers, who simultaneously seek and refuse to be persuaded about our faith.
Peter's Christian audience, of course, is not primarily comprised of skeptics. Yet we do well to address his words to the incredulous souls of our generation, for he makes a strong case.
First, he insists that "we did not follow cleverly devised myths." With so much twenty- first-century speculation about codes and cover-ups, and with the so-often cynical search for the "truth" about Jesus, his followers, and the Bible, our generation should hear this voice from the first century. No cleverly devised myths here: just personal, first-hand experience.
Peter plays the strongest card a person can have in his reference to personal experience. He is not claiming blind faith; he is not relying on second-hand knowledge or hearsay; rather, he is an eyewitness to the truth that he proclaims.
Meanwhile, it might be an interesting exercise to tear down this passage and reassemble it on a time line. For within the span of just a few verses, Peter has skillfully made reference to four different layers of history and future.
First, there is the layer of prediction and promise. Peter twice refers to "prophecy" and "prophecy of scripture," acknowledging that we believe in a God who has, if you will, called his shot. He has revealed, in advance, his will and his plan. (In regard to that prophetic layer, Peter makes a dramatic statement that would raise so many contemporary eyebrows: "no prophecy of scripture is a matter of one's own interpretation.")
Second, there is the layer of fulfillment. "We have the prophetic message more fully confirmed," Peter insists. The first generation of Christians did not have a "New Testament." When they went out and preached Christ from the scriptures, therefore, they preached from the Old Testament. They understood that those ancient texts spoke of Christ and pointed forward to him (see, for example, Acts 10:43; 2 Timothy 3:15). In turn, they understood that they had been witnesses to the fulfillment of the promises and prophecies made to God's people so long ago -- a theme especially developed in Matthew's gospel.
That, in turn, brings us to the third layer: recollection. "We ourselves heard this voice," Peter recalls, and "we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty." It is always the role of the eyewitness to recall aloud what he has seen, heard, and experienced. That is a prominent part of the disciples' mission (see Acts 1:8), and that is a part of Peter's purpose here.
Finally, there is the layer of things awaited and a time yet to come. We discover that this is a prominent theme in both of Peter's two epistles, as well as several of Paul's. In our selected passage, Peter makes reference to waiting "until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts." Just as the God who had made promises so long ago faithfully fulfilled them in Jesus, so the present generation could trust him to fulfill his promises for the future. And if that promised future is so sure, then they -- and we -- should live with both expectation and preparation.
Matthew 17:1-9
Here is the event that we set aside this Sunday of each year to remember. Peter alludes to it in the epistle reading, and Moses' mountaintop experience resonates with it. This is the occasion itself, and this story is our primary focus on this church holiday.
As with the healing of Jairus' daughter (Mark 5:37) and the crucial night in Gethsemane (Mark 14:33), Jesus removes Peter, James, and John from the rest of the twelve to take with him. They are apparently a kind of inner circle -- though they hardly distinguish themselves by their performance either here or in the garden. Thus, we are reminded that what the Lord gives us is a function of his gracious purpose for us rather than a function of our merit.
Nowhere else in the gospels are we told what Jesus looks like. We have our traditional mental images, to be sure, but they are often specious. Neither Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John do us the favor of telling us about his height, his eyes, his skin, or his hair. We are not told about the sound of his voice or the features of his face. We are given in scripture some physical details about Esau and Jacob, Rachel and Leah, Joseph, Saul, David, and Zacchaeus, among others; but the gospel writers tell us nothing about Jesus' appearance -- except for this.
On this unique occasion, the gospel writers regard his appearance as vitally important. "His face shone like the sun," Matthew reports, "and his clothes became dazzling white." The description of Jesus' face, of course, brings to mind John's majestic vision of Jesus in Revelation (1:6). We are encouraged to understand that what Peter, James, and John glimpsed on the mountain is the kind of sight we shall see when we meet him face-to- face. Though on earth, this glorified appearance was momentary, we gather that, in the big scheme of things, it is the non-glorified countenance that was brief and temporary.
The combination of Moses and Elijah is a fascinating one, for the two are mentioned side by side just as the curtain closes on the Old Testament. In the final verses of the prophet Malachi, the Lord assures that "the day is coming" (4:1). It comes with both judgment and restoration. And then, as the final word, the Lord says, "Remember the teaching of my servant Moses, the statutes and ordinances that I commanded him at Horeb for all Israel. Lo, I will send you the prophet Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes. He will turn the hearts of parents to their children and the hearts of children to their parents, so that I will not come and strike the land with a curse" (vv. 4-6).
Together, Moses and Elijah -- long dead by the time of Malachi -- anticipate the coming day. Together, they represent the whole Old Testament -- Moses symbolizing the law and Elijah symbolizing the prophets. And they, together with the apostles trembling on the ground -- who represent the New Testament and the church -- form a complete testament to the one in the center of the scene. Together they all surround and bear witness to him. And not they alone: for the Father himself speaks and bears witness to his beloved, pleasing Son.
Finally, we meet with Jesus' closing instructions to "tell no one about the vision."
More than a century ago, German scholar, William Wrede, observed a phenomenon in Mark's gospel that he dubbed the "messianic secret." The pattern he saw in Mark -- which certainly exists in Matthew and Luke, as well -- included Jesus' commands to silence. We see these operative, for example, in his silencing of demons (Mark 1:34), his instructions to beneficiaries of his healing and miracles (as in Mark 7:36; Luke 8:56), and even his directions to his disciples (Matthew 16:20), including the end of our present passage.
Much has been written about this phenomenon, and there is more scholarship than can be summarized here. Suffice it to say, though, that the key to these "commands to silence" may lie in the specific instruction we find here in our lection. "Tell no one about the vision," Jesus told them, "until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead."
Jesus' disciples are not permanently commanded to keep silent. Quite the contrary; his followers live under a standing order to be his witnesses. But the silence was for a time -- "until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead" -- and the timing suggests the purpose.
Application
We tell two stories this morning. One is the Exodus story. The other is the Matthew story, which Peter also recalls in our epistle reading. As we tell the stories, the people will no doubt recognize the similarity of scenery: both stories take place on mountains -- and mountains are powerful images in our imaginations.
Moses, Peter, James, and John had special encounters with God on mountains. But notice the nature of those experiences. In contrast to the fluff that sometimes gets labeled a "mountaintop experience," these men were overwhelmed by glory and awe.
This is another common quality that the congregation will detect in our telling of the stories. These are not breezy, lighthearted events. Rather, Peter recalls hearing the voice of God from heaven. In Matthew's account, he reports that all three disciples "fell to the ground and were overcome by fear." Meanwhile, in the book of Exodus, we observe that the ancient Israelites saw that "the appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain." Nevertheless, "Moses entered the cloud and went up on the mountain," though it was the manifestly human instinct to shrink back and stay at a distance (see Exodus 20:18-21).
In ordinary human experience, we associate mountains with magnificent views. And in these episodes from scripture, we also recognize that God's people saw things on mountains that they couldn't see elsewhere. Perhaps that's what the poet had in mind when he sang, "I want to scale the utmost height / and catch a gleam of glory bright."
Mountains are a helpful metaphor for our meeting with God, for mountains are, at once, both grand and daunting. They invite us up -- always further up -- with their beauty and majesty, yet they deter us with their size. The sight of a mountain is awesome and inspiring, while the experience of a mountain may be intimidating and frightening. And it seems, based on the accounts in Exodus and Matthew, that it is a small minority of God's people who are willing to experience the mountain of God.
Alternative Application
Exodus 24:12-18. "No 30-Minute Guarantee." At two periods in my early ministry, when I was a student-pastor and a youth minister, I supplemented my income by delivering pizzas for Domino's. At that time, they still boasted a thirty-minute guarantee on their deliveries.
That guarantee of speedy delivery, of course, reflects the general impatience of our culture. Faster is better. And so we want to be able to drive through restaurants, drive through banks, and drive through pharmacies. Toll roads across the country now feature technology that does not require you to stop and throw your coins in a basket any longer. Huge percentages of the food we buy in grocery stores include microwave instructions. And few businesses dare anymore to say, "Please allow four to six weeks for delivery."
So it may truly be said of our generation: We want it, and we want it now.
Impatient generation, allow me to introduce you to the God of Mount Sinai. He bid his servant, Moses, to come up the mountain, "and wait there." At the end of the passage, we discover that "Moses was on the mountain for forty days and forty nights."
If it were not God, we would think that this Sinai outlet was a most inefficient operation. We would take our business elsewhere. Why should we have to make the trek up the mountain -- don't they deliver? And if they're going to call us to come, shouldn't the product be ready for us when we get there? No dry cleaners would tell us to pick up our clothes on Thursday, only to make us sit and watch for hours while they clean, press, hang, and bag our order.
Here is a God who unapologetically invites us: "Come up to me on the mountain, and wait there," because the trek is good for us, and so is the waiting. Wait -- because there are experiences and exposures that belong to the mountaintop, and not elsewhere. Wait -- because souls cannot always be microwaved; they must sometimes simmer and slow- cook for long periods of time. Wait -- because this God, who is more than willing to meet us where we are, knows that it is essential for us at times to leave where we are, to steal away, and to be exclusively with him.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 2
There is an old preacher's joke that asks the question, "How do you make God laugh?" The answer that follows quickly is short and to the point -- "Make plans." Anyone who has had their carefully laid plans foiled by fate can attest to the truth contained in this joke. From vacations to careers to families, relationships and beyond, the words of old rock-and-roller, John Lennon, bear the reality that life is something that happens while you're busy making plans.
The message is clear. Our plans and strategies amount to little in the wake of life's exegencies. That this is true on an individual level seems clear enough, but it is to those who plan and "conspire" in the seats of power that this psalm addresses itself. From the days of King David right on through to the moment of this writing, it has ever been the same with kings and presidents, dictators and leaders. Those who find themselves in power inevitably find themselves wound up in plots and conspiracies that aim at confounding the purposes of God. Those in power plot and conspire to oppress workers and those who live on the land. It has been thus for millennia. Perhaps 1 Samuel puts it best as the people of Israel clamor for a king and God explains the ways of the king.
These will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen, and to run before his chariots; and he will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and some to plow his ground and to reap his harvest, and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards and give them to his courtiers. He will take one-tenth of your grain and of your vineyards and give it to his officers and his courtiers. He will take your male and female slaves, and the best of your cattle and donkeys, and put them to his work. He will take one-tenth of your flocks, and you shall be his slaves. And in that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves; but the LORD will not answer you in that day.
-- 1 Samuel 8:11-18
Though we passed the one-tenth mark long ago in terms of what today's kings take, the essence and truth ring with clarity down the centuries. But still, from the White House to the Kremlin; from Paris to Managua and back they continue to plot and conspire. And God? God continues to laugh.
Throughout human history, mountains have been strategic locations. They are impervious to floods, they provide an important view of the surrounding area. And mountain strongholds are traditionally recognized as very difficult to attack and conquer.
Mountains also connote strength and permanence. To suggest that a mountain will be shaken or moved is to suggest that all bets are off -- anything can happen. After all, the grandest statement of a person's abilities is to claim that he or she can "move mountains."
Because of their overwhelming size and permanence, mountains have also come to symbolize our most immense obstacles. And the person with a rare sense of adventure and appetite for challenge will set out to climb mountains.
And, in our day-to-day human experience, we associate mountains with spectacular views. How many of us have had the opportunity to look down from some high place -- from "lofty mountain grandeur," as the hymn writer expresses it -- and felt overwhelmed by the panoramic beauty of the view.
Mountains are also prominent in our scripture readings this Sunday.
We read that Moses was invited up the mountain. In this case, the mountain was the famous Sinai, which dominates so many chapters of Exodus, and which ever since has represented both an experience and a covenant. We discover that a cloud covered that mountain and fire was on top of it. Moses is reported to have stayed on the mountain for forty days.
In the gospel lection, Matthew reports that Jesus led his inner circle "up a high mountain." This is the site and setting, then, where the Transfiguration occurred. And, some years later, Peter recalls in his epistle that occasion "while we were with him on the holy mountain."
Mountains are a prominent feature of this week's lections, and so we might weave together these mountaintop experiences as a way of exploring with our people the mountains of God.
Exodus 24:12-18
When we picture the Ten Commandments, we have in mind the traditional pair of stone tablets. We associate the Ten Commandments with Exodus chapter 20, for that is where we first meet with the text of the commandments. But the familiar tablets are not mentioned there in chapter 20 with the commandments themselves. Rather it is here, in chapter 24, that we are introduced to those famous stones.
The promise of these "tablets of stone" presents us with a fascinating purpose statement from God. He tells Moses about this hard copy of "the law and the commandment, which I have written for their instruction." So we discover God's expressed purpose for the law: the instruction of the people.
Sometimes Christians casually neglect -- or deliberately discard -- the Old Testament law, thinking that its purpose is somehow nullified by the coming of Christ. That's a strange hermeneutic, given that Jesus himself said he did not come to abolish the law (Matthew 5:17). Still, I have seen in many settings a certain blitheness among Christians concerning the law, and so I am struck by this purpose statement. Though we are surely under grace rather than law in terms of our covenant relationship with God, we dare not dismiss the law altogether, for it is still available for our instruction.
Meanwhile, Moses' pre-departure instructions represent a little well-deserved cynicism. "Wait here for us," he said to the elders, "until we come to you again; for Aaron and Hur are with you; whoever has a dispute may go to them."
The parent who leaves the young children at home with a babysitter would like to be able to say a certain kind of good-bye: "I love you! Have a great time! I'll be back as soon as I can!" But, instead, the farewell is cluttered with all sorts of "what if" instructions, anticipating all the bad things that might happen, all that could go wrong.
Moses, who so often sounds like a weary parent in Exodus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy, can't simply say, "I love you, and have a great time" as he leaves the troublesome people behind. Instead, he has to leave the phone numbers of the people to call if there's an emergency -- there almost certainly will be!
Finally, we see the scene of Moses ascending the mountain and disappearing into its ominous cloud. Later passages will give us a glimpse of Moses' experience there. Within the confines of the present narration, though, we are somewhat left in the position of the remainder of the Israelite community. Moses has effectively disappeared. He has gone where we are forbidden to go -- and, frankly, where we hesitate to go. And he is gone a very long time.
We know that, as the story unfolds, the impatience and uncertainty that prevail among the waiting Israelites result in great mischief there at the foot of the mountain. While Moses is receiving God's grand commandments for the instruction of the people, the people below are systematically breaking those commands. We are reminded, thus, of two other episodes. First, there is the picture of the disciples who did not go up the Transfiguration mountain with Jesus; they, in the meantime, failed by faithlessness (Matthew 17:14-17). And, second, there is the picture of us: The present people of God waiting, like the Israelites, for our leader to return. He has been gone a long time now. Is he ever coming back? And what mischief may ensue while we wait?
2 Peter 1:16-21
The old maxim claims that there are no atheists in foxholes. That may be true. But there are skeptics in every age. Apart from the fear and urgency of personal plight that customarily sends even unbelievers to their knees, every generation has its cadre of skeptical observers, who simultaneously seek and refuse to be persuaded about our faith.
Peter's Christian audience, of course, is not primarily comprised of skeptics. Yet we do well to address his words to the incredulous souls of our generation, for he makes a strong case.
First, he insists that "we did not follow cleverly devised myths." With so much twenty- first-century speculation about codes and cover-ups, and with the so-often cynical search for the "truth" about Jesus, his followers, and the Bible, our generation should hear this voice from the first century. No cleverly devised myths here: just personal, first-hand experience.
Peter plays the strongest card a person can have in his reference to personal experience. He is not claiming blind faith; he is not relying on second-hand knowledge or hearsay; rather, he is an eyewitness to the truth that he proclaims.
Meanwhile, it might be an interesting exercise to tear down this passage and reassemble it on a time line. For within the span of just a few verses, Peter has skillfully made reference to four different layers of history and future.
First, there is the layer of prediction and promise. Peter twice refers to "prophecy" and "prophecy of scripture," acknowledging that we believe in a God who has, if you will, called his shot. He has revealed, in advance, his will and his plan. (In regard to that prophetic layer, Peter makes a dramatic statement that would raise so many contemporary eyebrows: "no prophecy of scripture is a matter of one's own interpretation.")
Second, there is the layer of fulfillment. "We have the prophetic message more fully confirmed," Peter insists. The first generation of Christians did not have a "New Testament." When they went out and preached Christ from the scriptures, therefore, they preached from the Old Testament. They understood that those ancient texts spoke of Christ and pointed forward to him (see, for example, Acts 10:43; 2 Timothy 3:15). In turn, they understood that they had been witnesses to the fulfillment of the promises and prophecies made to God's people so long ago -- a theme especially developed in Matthew's gospel.
That, in turn, brings us to the third layer: recollection. "We ourselves heard this voice," Peter recalls, and "we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty." It is always the role of the eyewitness to recall aloud what he has seen, heard, and experienced. That is a prominent part of the disciples' mission (see Acts 1:8), and that is a part of Peter's purpose here.
Finally, there is the layer of things awaited and a time yet to come. We discover that this is a prominent theme in both of Peter's two epistles, as well as several of Paul's. In our selected passage, Peter makes reference to waiting "until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts." Just as the God who had made promises so long ago faithfully fulfilled them in Jesus, so the present generation could trust him to fulfill his promises for the future. And if that promised future is so sure, then they -- and we -- should live with both expectation and preparation.
Matthew 17:1-9
Here is the event that we set aside this Sunday of each year to remember. Peter alludes to it in the epistle reading, and Moses' mountaintop experience resonates with it. This is the occasion itself, and this story is our primary focus on this church holiday.
As with the healing of Jairus' daughter (Mark 5:37) and the crucial night in Gethsemane (Mark 14:33), Jesus removes Peter, James, and John from the rest of the twelve to take with him. They are apparently a kind of inner circle -- though they hardly distinguish themselves by their performance either here or in the garden. Thus, we are reminded that what the Lord gives us is a function of his gracious purpose for us rather than a function of our merit.
Nowhere else in the gospels are we told what Jesus looks like. We have our traditional mental images, to be sure, but they are often specious. Neither Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John do us the favor of telling us about his height, his eyes, his skin, or his hair. We are not told about the sound of his voice or the features of his face. We are given in scripture some physical details about Esau and Jacob, Rachel and Leah, Joseph, Saul, David, and Zacchaeus, among others; but the gospel writers tell us nothing about Jesus' appearance -- except for this.
On this unique occasion, the gospel writers regard his appearance as vitally important. "His face shone like the sun," Matthew reports, "and his clothes became dazzling white." The description of Jesus' face, of course, brings to mind John's majestic vision of Jesus in Revelation (1:6). We are encouraged to understand that what Peter, James, and John glimpsed on the mountain is the kind of sight we shall see when we meet him face-to- face. Though on earth, this glorified appearance was momentary, we gather that, in the big scheme of things, it is the non-glorified countenance that was brief and temporary.
The combination of Moses and Elijah is a fascinating one, for the two are mentioned side by side just as the curtain closes on the Old Testament. In the final verses of the prophet Malachi, the Lord assures that "the day is coming" (4:1). It comes with both judgment and restoration. And then, as the final word, the Lord says, "Remember the teaching of my servant Moses, the statutes and ordinances that I commanded him at Horeb for all Israel. Lo, I will send you the prophet Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes. He will turn the hearts of parents to their children and the hearts of children to their parents, so that I will not come and strike the land with a curse" (vv. 4-6).
Together, Moses and Elijah -- long dead by the time of Malachi -- anticipate the coming day. Together, they represent the whole Old Testament -- Moses symbolizing the law and Elijah symbolizing the prophets. And they, together with the apostles trembling on the ground -- who represent the New Testament and the church -- form a complete testament to the one in the center of the scene. Together they all surround and bear witness to him. And not they alone: for the Father himself speaks and bears witness to his beloved, pleasing Son.
Finally, we meet with Jesus' closing instructions to "tell no one about the vision."
More than a century ago, German scholar, William Wrede, observed a phenomenon in Mark's gospel that he dubbed the "messianic secret." The pattern he saw in Mark -- which certainly exists in Matthew and Luke, as well -- included Jesus' commands to silence. We see these operative, for example, in his silencing of demons (Mark 1:34), his instructions to beneficiaries of his healing and miracles (as in Mark 7:36; Luke 8:56), and even his directions to his disciples (Matthew 16:20), including the end of our present passage.
Much has been written about this phenomenon, and there is more scholarship than can be summarized here. Suffice it to say, though, that the key to these "commands to silence" may lie in the specific instruction we find here in our lection. "Tell no one about the vision," Jesus told them, "until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead."
Jesus' disciples are not permanently commanded to keep silent. Quite the contrary; his followers live under a standing order to be his witnesses. But the silence was for a time -- "until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead" -- and the timing suggests the purpose.
Application
We tell two stories this morning. One is the Exodus story. The other is the Matthew story, which Peter also recalls in our epistle reading. As we tell the stories, the people will no doubt recognize the similarity of scenery: both stories take place on mountains -- and mountains are powerful images in our imaginations.
Moses, Peter, James, and John had special encounters with God on mountains. But notice the nature of those experiences. In contrast to the fluff that sometimes gets labeled a "mountaintop experience," these men were overwhelmed by glory and awe.
This is another common quality that the congregation will detect in our telling of the stories. These are not breezy, lighthearted events. Rather, Peter recalls hearing the voice of God from heaven. In Matthew's account, he reports that all three disciples "fell to the ground and were overcome by fear." Meanwhile, in the book of Exodus, we observe that the ancient Israelites saw that "the appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain." Nevertheless, "Moses entered the cloud and went up on the mountain," though it was the manifestly human instinct to shrink back and stay at a distance (see Exodus 20:18-21).
In ordinary human experience, we associate mountains with magnificent views. And in these episodes from scripture, we also recognize that God's people saw things on mountains that they couldn't see elsewhere. Perhaps that's what the poet had in mind when he sang, "I want to scale the utmost height / and catch a gleam of glory bright."
Mountains are a helpful metaphor for our meeting with God, for mountains are, at once, both grand and daunting. They invite us up -- always further up -- with their beauty and majesty, yet they deter us with their size. The sight of a mountain is awesome and inspiring, while the experience of a mountain may be intimidating and frightening. And it seems, based on the accounts in Exodus and Matthew, that it is a small minority of God's people who are willing to experience the mountain of God.
Alternative Application
Exodus 24:12-18. "No 30-Minute Guarantee." At two periods in my early ministry, when I was a student-pastor and a youth minister, I supplemented my income by delivering pizzas for Domino's. At that time, they still boasted a thirty-minute guarantee on their deliveries.
That guarantee of speedy delivery, of course, reflects the general impatience of our culture. Faster is better. And so we want to be able to drive through restaurants, drive through banks, and drive through pharmacies. Toll roads across the country now feature technology that does not require you to stop and throw your coins in a basket any longer. Huge percentages of the food we buy in grocery stores include microwave instructions. And few businesses dare anymore to say, "Please allow four to six weeks for delivery."
So it may truly be said of our generation: We want it, and we want it now.
Impatient generation, allow me to introduce you to the God of Mount Sinai. He bid his servant, Moses, to come up the mountain, "and wait there." At the end of the passage, we discover that "Moses was on the mountain for forty days and forty nights."
If it were not God, we would think that this Sinai outlet was a most inefficient operation. We would take our business elsewhere. Why should we have to make the trek up the mountain -- don't they deliver? And if they're going to call us to come, shouldn't the product be ready for us when we get there? No dry cleaners would tell us to pick up our clothes on Thursday, only to make us sit and watch for hours while they clean, press, hang, and bag our order.
Here is a God who unapologetically invites us: "Come up to me on the mountain, and wait there," because the trek is good for us, and so is the waiting. Wait -- because there are experiences and exposures that belong to the mountaintop, and not elsewhere. Wait -- because souls cannot always be microwaved; they must sometimes simmer and slow- cook for long periods of time. Wait -- because this God, who is more than willing to meet us where we are, knows that it is essential for us at times to leave where we are, to steal away, and to be exclusively with him.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 2
There is an old preacher's joke that asks the question, "How do you make God laugh?" The answer that follows quickly is short and to the point -- "Make plans." Anyone who has had their carefully laid plans foiled by fate can attest to the truth contained in this joke. From vacations to careers to families, relationships and beyond, the words of old rock-and-roller, John Lennon, bear the reality that life is something that happens while you're busy making plans.
The message is clear. Our plans and strategies amount to little in the wake of life's exegencies. That this is true on an individual level seems clear enough, but it is to those who plan and "conspire" in the seats of power that this psalm addresses itself. From the days of King David right on through to the moment of this writing, it has ever been the same with kings and presidents, dictators and leaders. Those who find themselves in power inevitably find themselves wound up in plots and conspiracies that aim at confounding the purposes of God. Those in power plot and conspire to oppress workers and those who live on the land. It has been thus for millennia. Perhaps 1 Samuel puts it best as the people of Israel clamor for a king and God explains the ways of the king.
These will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen, and to run before his chariots; and he will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and some to plow his ground and to reap his harvest, and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards and give them to his courtiers. He will take one-tenth of your grain and of your vineyards and give it to his officers and his courtiers. He will take your male and female slaves, and the best of your cattle and donkeys, and put them to his work. He will take one-tenth of your flocks, and you shall be his slaves. And in that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves; but the LORD will not answer you in that day.
-- 1 Samuel 8:11-18
Though we passed the one-tenth mark long ago in terms of what today's kings take, the essence and truth ring with clarity down the centuries. But still, from the White House to the Kremlin; from Paris to Managua and back they continue to plot and conspire. And God? God continues to laugh.
