Transfiguration or disfiguration
Commentary
The transfiguration plunges us into the kind of text that many preachers would rather avoid if possible. There is neither law to interpret nor parable to enter into. Neither is there the warm fuzziness of Advent and Christmas. There are no healings to affirm or to water down. These genera of texts leave little room to romanticize their meaning into political agenda or to personalize their content into another twelve-step approach to life. We are left with very atypical events to decipher and proclaim. We find ourselves looking as much for the exits as for commentaries when we come to such passages.
Yet, there is opportunity here to receive insight into the glory of God and the purpose of our lives. I like the icon that shows the disciples tumbling down the mountainside at the gift given to them in being witnesses to the transfiguration. While there is something here that might cause us to stumble, we also may find ourselves gaining a new footing in our faith journey.
It is one of the great ironies of human history that the feast of the transfiguration is celebrated on some calendars on August 6 -- a date that might cause us to fall to our knees in trembling for another reason. On August 6, 1945, the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, Japan. God once again sets before the human race the ways of life and death. The challenge before the world as never before, is transfiguration or disfiguration.
We may disfigure the garden we were intended to live in and the image we were made in. Given the possible contribution of human induced global warming to this past year's hurricanes, we may be facing, in dramatic ways, evidence of our choice of the methods of death. Given the contribution of religion to the world's misery, we may be as much on the side of disfiguration as transfiguration.
In the lectionary text from the Old Testament, the faith community faces a time when things can often be tipped in the direction of disfigurement. Some scholars point out that some eighty percent of church difficulties can be traced to times of transition in pastoral leadership. A recent television documentary, Congregation, told the tale of First United Methodist Church in Germantown, Pennsylvania, as they tried to transfer the mantle of leadership from a pastor of long standing to a newcomer. It came in the midst of change and upheaval in the community and the congregation. One sees the look on the faces of the people change as they move from high hopes, take a tumble, and come up knowing that this change will require more effort than they had originally thought. One longs to see all the participants transfigured by hope rather than so disfigured by their frustrations and fears.
It is rather telling that our political process seems to so disfigure our national leadership. Side by side, before and after photos reveal the toll the office has taken on them. Then one sees glimpses of transfiguration as the days of their term run out and they anticipate surrendering their responsibilities.
The saga of Elijah and Elisha invited us to ponder how we come down on either the side of transfiguration or disfiguration in the midst of transition and change in leadership.
The lection from Corinthians reminds us that when things are shrouded and veiled and we don't comprehend it, we are liable to disfigurement. We find that life gets twisted and distorted when we worship the gods that we have made rather than the God that has made us. The body can only stand so much disfigurement before it begins to perish. On the other hand, physical activity and care can lead to transfiguration -- often offsetting the results of bad genes.
In Mark's Gospel, Peter, James, and John hear the voice proclaiming Jesus' divinity from a cloud. In the midst of the cloud much remains a mystery. Yet one thing is clear: Jesus is to be listened to as the authoritative voice of God. Perhaps not until we are in the cloud do we perceive this.
2 Kings 2:1-12
Elijah's prophetic ministry is a call to a world that is disfigured by its political, economic, social, and religious structures. Building on the work of Walter Brueggemann in Testimony to Otherwise: The witness of Elijah and Elisha, I find in the Elijah passage a witness to structuring a world that chooses transfiguration over disfiguration. He is not dependent on competition for sustenance and survival. Rather in collaboration with the widow of Zarephath and with God's help he finds enough to feed the widow and himself in the midst of the surrounding scarcity. Present patterns of competition and consumption of the world's resources may leave the planet and our lives so disfigured that the sustainability of all life is called into question. At its deepest places the whole creation is growing in travail, waiting for the revelation of the sons and daughters of God. We are faced with transfiguration or disfiguration.
Elijah has not bought into the definition that the royal system has placed upon him and all other people. The disfigurement that can come from a slavish acceptance of the way things are -- as opposed to the way they could be -- is highlighted in 1 Samuel. Demanding a king, Samuel reports back to the people what God had told him: "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" (1 Samuel 8:11-14). When nations send fourteen-year-old children to do their fighting, young lives are disfigured. Young teenage girls are being disfigured by resorting to bulimia and anorexia to achieve the cultural norm for body types. The powers that be will disfigure the retirement hopes and dreams of many into a hellish nightmare. This will happen while the few who had contacts at some royal court avoid disaster. Elijah objects to the governmental land use policy of Ahab that robs Naboth of his vineyard ... which boils down to what is mine is mine and what is yours could be mine.
Much is at stake in the departure of Elijah. Does the end of his earthly career put an end to the meaning of his earthly ministry? There are several ways in which scripture makes clear that the meaning of his ministry will be expanded upon. His departure makes clear that like Moses we are dealing with an archetypical figure whose life gives us a handle on events to come. Elisha will be granted the inheritance of an elder son because he sticks around to see this moment. Certainly, the arrangement for Elisha to continue this prophetic witness leaves nothing to chance. The transfer of power itself partakes of the archetypical story of the parting of the waters and reminds the reader that this narrative is not a mere footnote to the larger historical meaning. Furthermore, the book of Malachi makes clear that we are not dealing merely with history. The meaning of Elijah's life has future implications: "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" (Malachi 4:6). This seems to describe a transfiguring moment if ever there was one. Children and parents will not be at each other's throats rather that they will be open to each other's hearts. I find parents often mourn their relationship with their children because it is often marred by the market forces of our society. The land is not to be considered a source of competition and curse, but blessing. A world struggling through climate change would be transfigured by such a self-understanding.
Christian people find Elijah reappearing in the figure of John the Baptist and giving meaning to the moment of Jesus' transfiguration.
2 Corinthians 4:3-6
Paul's division of humanity into those who are being saved and those who are perishing does not sit entirely well with many Christians. Certainly moderns find this notion disturbing as yet another reason to divide humanity into an "us verses them" scheme with the "us" being those who are saved. We long for unity and human divisions to be overcome. We live in a time when we need religion to be a source of harmony of the kind that can bridge the racial, class, and ethnic divisions that threaten our common life. It's a time when religious leaders and communities have found the strength to apologize to native people for the role played by many faith groups in the oppression and cruelty inflicted on the "other." Among the many sorrows of religious people is the disfigurement of religion by hate and elitism that have denied others their full humanity. Moderns should find themselves more than a bit nervous as they read Paul's words.
The Christian scriptures themselves puzzle over why it is that some accept Christ and others do not. John's Gospel attributes the acceptance of Christ to the action of the Holy Sprit that blows where it blows. My ancestors in the Reformed and Congregational tradition, seeking some evidence of what group they were in, somehow took comfort in elaborate theories of double and single predestination. Such labors seem for many of us to be the result of a disfigured understanding of the meaning and purpose of religion. Yet, this has been a troubling question for Christians. It often seems that for many it is a concern that they had not reckoned on having to deal with. How it could be that so many would not "get it." Even today, many ponder why they have a sibling, uncle, neighbor, or someone else close to them that shows little evidence of saving grace in their lives.
I sense that I am most likely to avoid the disfiguring potential of Paul's words when I apply them to my own life rather than use them as a justification for my doubts about others' religious destiny. I find the great divide to fall within my life as much as between me and others. There is a Christ that habitually remains hidden to me because I have found myself all too comfortable with the god of this world.
Enraptured with success as a definition of my validity I am often blinded to the Christ who looked on the rich, young man with love when the young man did not understand what Jesus was telling him. Eager to please that god that measures life in quarterly reports and PowerPoint presentations, the Christ that suggested a plan for failure to the disciples remains hidden to me. He said to them: "Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them" (Mark 6:10-11). I find my life and my ministry often disfigured by the way that I internalize the failures, remember the criticisms, and obsess when things are not going well. Paul may be on to something here after all.
My inordinate attention to the god of the world not only disfigures me, but my anxious pursuit of positive outcomes and clear conclusions disfigures the lives of others as I lay my message on them. "For it is the God who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ" (v. 6). My problem is that many of the faces of Jesus remain hidden to me because of fear of, and enthusiasm for, the god of this world. I do not find myself focusing on the face of Jesus that must have been there in those places where scripture recounts that he was not able to heal. "And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief. Then he went about among the villages teaching" (Mark 6:5-6). When that face remains veiled -- the one that had to confront the unbelief of many -- and had to continue on his mission being faithful rather than successful, then I am likely to add to the world's disfigurement.
There is no doubt that Paul's words hold the potential for contributing to the world's disfigurement. Yet in facing the question and considering the Christ that I keep hidden, there is transfiguration for me as well as for the lives I touch.
Mark 9:2-9
One way to enter into a text is to ask, "How would I write this story?" Of course most, like the disciples, would want to make sure that they had a solid factual basis to what was happening. Yet, I suspect that this is the kind of event that demands much more than factual reporting. The gospel writers exercise their own discretion as to what is to be included. Luke finds it necessary to mention that the disciples were overcome by sleepiness of the kind that was, perhaps, a foretaste of the drowsiness that overtakes them in the garden of Gethsemane. Mark and Luke mention the fear of the disciples while Matthew leaves it out. My selection for the cutting room floor is the cloud that enveloped the disciples. For me fear is fine; drowsiness is a constant companion; but being in a fog is a less than appealing image.
If I told the story it would run something like this: The disciples climbed the mountain ... the clouds parted ... the heavens opened ... revelation occurred ... and they felt they clearly had a future. Of course, it might conclude with: "They lived happily ever after knowing what would happen, knowing how they should live -- yet without any uncertainty as to who they were." Now that is my idea of transfiguration. Of course that is the problem. This is my idea of transfiguration. As a matter of fact, my idea falls pretty short of what transfiguration means. Actually, when we seek certain outcomes, count on happiness rather than looking for joy, and when we stick with the plan no matter what ... it can lead to disfiguration just as easily as to transfiguration.
The heavens do not open and the mists do not part, but we are left with the command to listen to Jesus. More often than not, life does remain a mystery, as we are mysteries not only to one another, but also to ourselves. Yet, out of the surrounding cloud comes a voice that calls us to love and cherish each other. Out of the cloud of uncertainty comes a voice that calls us to follow the way of Christ that clears a path through the mists. I have walked with many through terminal illness feeling helpless to affect a cure or to answer their question, "Why me?" Yet there is a voice that summons me to follow Christ by being present to those I cannot fix, in situations I cannot explain. It leaves both of us listening to the voice and is a transfiguring moment. I long for peace in the world. Yet, the transforming moment comes when I hear the voice that says, "There is no way to peace, peace is the way." In such moments I know why Peter wanted to hang on to the experience and make it last.
Many of my generation can remember the fog that we entered on November 22, 1963, and the events surrounding the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Ernest Campbell tells the story of how in the midst of fog and shrouded in gloom the congregation he served made arrangements for Marina Oswald, the Russian wife of the assassin, to come to their community to learn English. Looking around in that transfiguring moment all you could see was the love of Jesus.
Application
Where do you see yourself fitting into this story? What question do you ask of scripture? It makes all the difference in the world. Perhaps, even more importantly, it is not the question you ask but of whom you ask it. When I am in a panic mode before writing the Sunday sermon, which is okay on Tuesday but is not okay on Thursday, I find myself slipping down a sort of ministerial "Maslow" scale of needs. Things are very good when I am entering into the world of scripture and are not so good when I am asking myself: "Just how in the name of all that is sacred am I going to be able to preach this?"
When it comes down to the latter I have achieved a high level of significant disfiguration. That is the time I start searching for the killer sermon illustrations that will crack this baby wide open. Looking for ways to preach the text before I enter it, I start mentally reviewing every sermon I have ever heard on the text. The next step is chants, voodoo, and entrails!
However, given enough time to start asking less of myself and more of the text, I find that God may actually have something to say about it. Once this concession is made, the hard part is over and I am on my way. Let us be clear, sin does cling tenaciously so that last month's concession speech does not seem to cover this month's attack of business.
Transfiguration begins to happen for me when I ask of the text "where do I fit in?" and I try different places on for size. Before explaining the transfiguration to your congregation, try taking them on the journey. What would it feel like to be invited up the mountain with Jesus? Would you feel gratitude or responsibility for finding yourself part of the inner core? Would you grieve those who are left down at the bottom of the hill? The text leaves the disciples only seeing Jesus. I doubt that I would feel that was enough. To quote Bill Coffin, "I want theological hitching posts to tie my red wagon to more than sign posts for my journey along the way." I rather suspect that the appearance of Elijah and Moses would leave me somewhat flatfooted -- I should have paid more attention in Hebrew Testament 101.
As I go up this mountain I find myself more transfigured than I thought possible. Even in the midst of the cloud I hear words of hope.
An Alternative Application
2 Kings 2:1-12. Three times Elisha repeats the words to Elijah, "I will not leave you." Such repetition seems pointless adding little to the narrative. Yet, as the story is told it seems that each time the words are repeated Elisha gains permission to touch one more base in the Hebrews story and move on. It is at Bethel where Elisha makes his first promise to see it to the end with Elijah. It is at Bethel that Jacob is named Israel. The compiler of this saga has tied the meaning of nationhood to the Elijah/Elisha story. The tale means that kings are not immune to the judgment of God. The meaning of national security is tied here to faithfulness as understood in the Elijah narrative. The second stop is Jericho, recalling the climatic battle with those outside the covenant before Israel can enter the promised land. Yet, Elijah goes to the widow of Zarephath who is marginalized by the social order. As Elijah rounds the bases before he can get home he touches base with Israel's self-understanding as occupiers of the promised land. The order has lost its basis in the covenant if it marginalizes the vulnerable and weak.
Finally Elijah and Elisha touch base at the river Jordan where an exiting from the land of oppression and entrance into the promised land is reenacted. In revisiting this foundational event the fundamental narrative is tied to a ministry that in the end defies death. The power to kill pales in the face of the power to raise up. Only after the basic foundational events are revisited is it time for Elijah to be taken up and for Elisha to move on.
This raises the questions for the preacher. What foundational events in your community, in your church, need to be revisited in the in light of Elijah's ministry?
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 50:1-6
How do we feel about judgment? Buoyed up by thin interpretations of New Testament scripture, our relativistic culture has decided that we don't feel good about it. Truthfully, no one likes to be judged. We especially don't like to be judged by other people. But here, we're talking about a higher power. Here, we come face to face, not with judgmental finger wagging zealots, but with God.
God calls upon the people with some rather dramatic fanfare. The "perfection of beauty," does not come subtly or quietly, but with a "devouring fire" in the lead, and a "mighty tempest" surrounding [him].
It turns out that this is the real deal, and we are called to receive God's judgment upon us. Of course there are several possible reactions to all this. Some might strengthen an already healthy sense of denial and say, "bring it on." Others, already wracked with self-doubt and insecurity, might simply quake where they are and wait, frozen in abject terror. Still others might get lost trying to weigh a lifetime of moments and decisions made long ago.
The summons issued in these verses implies a coming one-time thing. It could be referred to as the "big bang" of judgment. Indeed, the text suggests this, but what if God's judgment doesn't cohere to our sense of time? What if God's judgment isn't waiting around for some unknown, unmentioned appointed moment? What if God's judgment is already here? More than that, what if God's judgment is ongoing? An always thing?
How would things change if judgment were not off in some vague future, but here and now? Imagine the politician who is keenly aware that God is not only watching, but also judging his or her actions. Conjure up a vision of a church with a crystalline awareness that God is very much present, and very concerned with how we are representing God's interests.
This God who summons us to hear the indictment against us is the same God who walks with us each and every moment of our lives. This God who is about to announce judgment is the same God who has numbered the hairs on our heads, who has known us, even in our mother's wombs. And, as almost anyone can tell you, judgment from someone who knows you is a lot tougher than the opinion of a stranger.
Yes, this God who comes accompanied by fire and storm to announce judgment upon us doesn't have a real big commute. So maybe it would be a good idea to try to shape up now. Where would you begin? Where would our church communities begin? Where should our nation begin? Because God's not merely on his way. God's here now. And God's judgment is an always thing.
Yet, there is opportunity here to receive insight into the glory of God and the purpose of our lives. I like the icon that shows the disciples tumbling down the mountainside at the gift given to them in being witnesses to the transfiguration. While there is something here that might cause us to stumble, we also may find ourselves gaining a new footing in our faith journey.
It is one of the great ironies of human history that the feast of the transfiguration is celebrated on some calendars on August 6 -- a date that might cause us to fall to our knees in trembling for another reason. On August 6, 1945, the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, Japan. God once again sets before the human race the ways of life and death. The challenge before the world as never before, is transfiguration or disfiguration.
We may disfigure the garden we were intended to live in and the image we were made in. Given the possible contribution of human induced global warming to this past year's hurricanes, we may be facing, in dramatic ways, evidence of our choice of the methods of death. Given the contribution of religion to the world's misery, we may be as much on the side of disfiguration as transfiguration.
In the lectionary text from the Old Testament, the faith community faces a time when things can often be tipped in the direction of disfigurement. Some scholars point out that some eighty percent of church difficulties can be traced to times of transition in pastoral leadership. A recent television documentary, Congregation, told the tale of First United Methodist Church in Germantown, Pennsylvania, as they tried to transfer the mantle of leadership from a pastor of long standing to a newcomer. It came in the midst of change and upheaval in the community and the congregation. One sees the look on the faces of the people change as they move from high hopes, take a tumble, and come up knowing that this change will require more effort than they had originally thought. One longs to see all the participants transfigured by hope rather than so disfigured by their frustrations and fears.
It is rather telling that our political process seems to so disfigure our national leadership. Side by side, before and after photos reveal the toll the office has taken on them. Then one sees glimpses of transfiguration as the days of their term run out and they anticipate surrendering their responsibilities.
The saga of Elijah and Elisha invited us to ponder how we come down on either the side of transfiguration or disfiguration in the midst of transition and change in leadership.
The lection from Corinthians reminds us that when things are shrouded and veiled and we don't comprehend it, we are liable to disfigurement. We find that life gets twisted and distorted when we worship the gods that we have made rather than the God that has made us. The body can only stand so much disfigurement before it begins to perish. On the other hand, physical activity and care can lead to transfiguration -- often offsetting the results of bad genes.
In Mark's Gospel, Peter, James, and John hear the voice proclaiming Jesus' divinity from a cloud. In the midst of the cloud much remains a mystery. Yet one thing is clear: Jesus is to be listened to as the authoritative voice of God. Perhaps not until we are in the cloud do we perceive this.
2 Kings 2:1-12
Elijah's prophetic ministry is a call to a world that is disfigured by its political, economic, social, and religious structures. Building on the work of Walter Brueggemann in Testimony to Otherwise: The witness of Elijah and Elisha, I find in the Elijah passage a witness to structuring a world that chooses transfiguration over disfiguration. He is not dependent on competition for sustenance and survival. Rather in collaboration with the widow of Zarephath and with God's help he finds enough to feed the widow and himself in the midst of the surrounding scarcity. Present patterns of competition and consumption of the world's resources may leave the planet and our lives so disfigured that the sustainability of all life is called into question. At its deepest places the whole creation is growing in travail, waiting for the revelation of the sons and daughters of God. We are faced with transfiguration or disfiguration.
Elijah has not bought into the definition that the royal system has placed upon him and all other people. The disfigurement that can come from a slavish acceptance of the way things are -- as opposed to the way they could be -- is highlighted in 1 Samuel. Demanding a king, Samuel reports back to the people what God had told him: "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" (1 Samuel 8:11-14). When nations send fourteen-year-old children to do their fighting, young lives are disfigured. Young teenage girls are being disfigured by resorting to bulimia and anorexia to achieve the cultural norm for body types. The powers that be will disfigure the retirement hopes and dreams of many into a hellish nightmare. This will happen while the few who had contacts at some royal court avoid disaster. Elijah objects to the governmental land use policy of Ahab that robs Naboth of his vineyard ... which boils down to what is mine is mine and what is yours could be mine.
Much is at stake in the departure of Elijah. Does the end of his earthly career put an end to the meaning of his earthly ministry? There are several ways in which scripture makes clear that the meaning of his ministry will be expanded upon. His departure makes clear that like Moses we are dealing with an archetypical figure whose life gives us a handle on events to come. Elisha will be granted the inheritance of an elder son because he sticks around to see this moment. Certainly, the arrangement for Elisha to continue this prophetic witness leaves nothing to chance. The transfer of power itself partakes of the archetypical story of the parting of the waters and reminds the reader that this narrative is not a mere footnote to the larger historical meaning. Furthermore, the book of Malachi makes clear that we are not dealing merely with history. The meaning of Elijah's life has future implications: "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" (Malachi 4:6). This seems to describe a transfiguring moment if ever there was one. Children and parents will not be at each other's throats rather that they will be open to each other's hearts. I find parents often mourn their relationship with their children because it is often marred by the market forces of our society. The land is not to be considered a source of competition and curse, but blessing. A world struggling through climate change would be transfigured by such a self-understanding.
Christian people find Elijah reappearing in the figure of John the Baptist and giving meaning to the moment of Jesus' transfiguration.
2 Corinthians 4:3-6
Paul's division of humanity into those who are being saved and those who are perishing does not sit entirely well with many Christians. Certainly moderns find this notion disturbing as yet another reason to divide humanity into an "us verses them" scheme with the "us" being those who are saved. We long for unity and human divisions to be overcome. We live in a time when we need religion to be a source of harmony of the kind that can bridge the racial, class, and ethnic divisions that threaten our common life. It's a time when religious leaders and communities have found the strength to apologize to native people for the role played by many faith groups in the oppression and cruelty inflicted on the "other." Among the many sorrows of religious people is the disfigurement of religion by hate and elitism that have denied others their full humanity. Moderns should find themselves more than a bit nervous as they read Paul's words.
The Christian scriptures themselves puzzle over why it is that some accept Christ and others do not. John's Gospel attributes the acceptance of Christ to the action of the Holy Sprit that blows where it blows. My ancestors in the Reformed and Congregational tradition, seeking some evidence of what group they were in, somehow took comfort in elaborate theories of double and single predestination. Such labors seem for many of us to be the result of a disfigured understanding of the meaning and purpose of religion. Yet, this has been a troubling question for Christians. It often seems that for many it is a concern that they had not reckoned on having to deal with. How it could be that so many would not "get it." Even today, many ponder why they have a sibling, uncle, neighbor, or someone else close to them that shows little evidence of saving grace in their lives.
I sense that I am most likely to avoid the disfiguring potential of Paul's words when I apply them to my own life rather than use them as a justification for my doubts about others' religious destiny. I find the great divide to fall within my life as much as between me and others. There is a Christ that habitually remains hidden to me because I have found myself all too comfortable with the god of this world.
Enraptured with success as a definition of my validity I am often blinded to the Christ who looked on the rich, young man with love when the young man did not understand what Jesus was telling him. Eager to please that god that measures life in quarterly reports and PowerPoint presentations, the Christ that suggested a plan for failure to the disciples remains hidden to me. He said to them: "Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them" (Mark 6:10-11). I find my life and my ministry often disfigured by the way that I internalize the failures, remember the criticisms, and obsess when things are not going well. Paul may be on to something here after all.
My inordinate attention to the god of the world not only disfigures me, but my anxious pursuit of positive outcomes and clear conclusions disfigures the lives of others as I lay my message on them. "For it is the God who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ" (v. 6). My problem is that many of the faces of Jesus remain hidden to me because of fear of, and enthusiasm for, the god of this world. I do not find myself focusing on the face of Jesus that must have been there in those places where scripture recounts that he was not able to heal. "And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief. Then he went about among the villages teaching" (Mark 6:5-6). When that face remains veiled -- the one that had to confront the unbelief of many -- and had to continue on his mission being faithful rather than successful, then I am likely to add to the world's disfigurement.
There is no doubt that Paul's words hold the potential for contributing to the world's disfigurement. Yet in facing the question and considering the Christ that I keep hidden, there is transfiguration for me as well as for the lives I touch.
Mark 9:2-9
One way to enter into a text is to ask, "How would I write this story?" Of course most, like the disciples, would want to make sure that they had a solid factual basis to what was happening. Yet, I suspect that this is the kind of event that demands much more than factual reporting. The gospel writers exercise their own discretion as to what is to be included. Luke finds it necessary to mention that the disciples were overcome by sleepiness of the kind that was, perhaps, a foretaste of the drowsiness that overtakes them in the garden of Gethsemane. Mark and Luke mention the fear of the disciples while Matthew leaves it out. My selection for the cutting room floor is the cloud that enveloped the disciples. For me fear is fine; drowsiness is a constant companion; but being in a fog is a less than appealing image.
If I told the story it would run something like this: The disciples climbed the mountain ... the clouds parted ... the heavens opened ... revelation occurred ... and they felt they clearly had a future. Of course, it might conclude with: "They lived happily ever after knowing what would happen, knowing how they should live -- yet without any uncertainty as to who they were." Now that is my idea of transfiguration. Of course that is the problem. This is my idea of transfiguration. As a matter of fact, my idea falls pretty short of what transfiguration means. Actually, when we seek certain outcomes, count on happiness rather than looking for joy, and when we stick with the plan no matter what ... it can lead to disfiguration just as easily as to transfiguration.
The heavens do not open and the mists do not part, but we are left with the command to listen to Jesus. More often than not, life does remain a mystery, as we are mysteries not only to one another, but also to ourselves. Yet, out of the surrounding cloud comes a voice that calls us to love and cherish each other. Out of the cloud of uncertainty comes a voice that calls us to follow the way of Christ that clears a path through the mists. I have walked with many through terminal illness feeling helpless to affect a cure or to answer their question, "Why me?" Yet there is a voice that summons me to follow Christ by being present to those I cannot fix, in situations I cannot explain. It leaves both of us listening to the voice and is a transfiguring moment. I long for peace in the world. Yet, the transforming moment comes when I hear the voice that says, "There is no way to peace, peace is the way." In such moments I know why Peter wanted to hang on to the experience and make it last.
Many of my generation can remember the fog that we entered on November 22, 1963, and the events surrounding the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Ernest Campbell tells the story of how in the midst of fog and shrouded in gloom the congregation he served made arrangements for Marina Oswald, the Russian wife of the assassin, to come to their community to learn English. Looking around in that transfiguring moment all you could see was the love of Jesus.
Application
Where do you see yourself fitting into this story? What question do you ask of scripture? It makes all the difference in the world. Perhaps, even more importantly, it is not the question you ask but of whom you ask it. When I am in a panic mode before writing the Sunday sermon, which is okay on Tuesday but is not okay on Thursday, I find myself slipping down a sort of ministerial "Maslow" scale of needs. Things are very good when I am entering into the world of scripture and are not so good when I am asking myself: "Just how in the name of all that is sacred am I going to be able to preach this?"
When it comes down to the latter I have achieved a high level of significant disfiguration. That is the time I start searching for the killer sermon illustrations that will crack this baby wide open. Looking for ways to preach the text before I enter it, I start mentally reviewing every sermon I have ever heard on the text. The next step is chants, voodoo, and entrails!
However, given enough time to start asking less of myself and more of the text, I find that God may actually have something to say about it. Once this concession is made, the hard part is over and I am on my way. Let us be clear, sin does cling tenaciously so that last month's concession speech does not seem to cover this month's attack of business.
Transfiguration begins to happen for me when I ask of the text "where do I fit in?" and I try different places on for size. Before explaining the transfiguration to your congregation, try taking them on the journey. What would it feel like to be invited up the mountain with Jesus? Would you feel gratitude or responsibility for finding yourself part of the inner core? Would you grieve those who are left down at the bottom of the hill? The text leaves the disciples only seeing Jesus. I doubt that I would feel that was enough. To quote Bill Coffin, "I want theological hitching posts to tie my red wagon to more than sign posts for my journey along the way." I rather suspect that the appearance of Elijah and Moses would leave me somewhat flatfooted -- I should have paid more attention in Hebrew Testament 101.
As I go up this mountain I find myself more transfigured than I thought possible. Even in the midst of the cloud I hear words of hope.
An Alternative Application
2 Kings 2:1-12. Three times Elisha repeats the words to Elijah, "I will not leave you." Such repetition seems pointless adding little to the narrative. Yet, as the story is told it seems that each time the words are repeated Elisha gains permission to touch one more base in the Hebrews story and move on. It is at Bethel where Elisha makes his first promise to see it to the end with Elijah. It is at Bethel that Jacob is named Israel. The compiler of this saga has tied the meaning of nationhood to the Elijah/Elisha story. The tale means that kings are not immune to the judgment of God. The meaning of national security is tied here to faithfulness as understood in the Elijah narrative. The second stop is Jericho, recalling the climatic battle with those outside the covenant before Israel can enter the promised land. Yet, Elijah goes to the widow of Zarephath who is marginalized by the social order. As Elijah rounds the bases before he can get home he touches base with Israel's self-understanding as occupiers of the promised land. The order has lost its basis in the covenant if it marginalizes the vulnerable and weak.
Finally Elijah and Elisha touch base at the river Jordan where an exiting from the land of oppression and entrance into the promised land is reenacted. In revisiting this foundational event the fundamental narrative is tied to a ministry that in the end defies death. The power to kill pales in the face of the power to raise up. Only after the basic foundational events are revisited is it time for Elijah to be taken up and for Elisha to move on.
This raises the questions for the preacher. What foundational events in your community, in your church, need to be revisited in the in light of Elijah's ministry?
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 50:1-6
How do we feel about judgment? Buoyed up by thin interpretations of New Testament scripture, our relativistic culture has decided that we don't feel good about it. Truthfully, no one likes to be judged. We especially don't like to be judged by other people. But here, we're talking about a higher power. Here, we come face to face, not with judgmental finger wagging zealots, but with God.
God calls upon the people with some rather dramatic fanfare. The "perfection of beauty," does not come subtly or quietly, but with a "devouring fire" in the lead, and a "mighty tempest" surrounding [him].
It turns out that this is the real deal, and we are called to receive God's judgment upon us. Of course there are several possible reactions to all this. Some might strengthen an already healthy sense of denial and say, "bring it on." Others, already wracked with self-doubt and insecurity, might simply quake where they are and wait, frozen in abject terror. Still others might get lost trying to weigh a lifetime of moments and decisions made long ago.
The summons issued in these verses implies a coming one-time thing. It could be referred to as the "big bang" of judgment. Indeed, the text suggests this, but what if God's judgment doesn't cohere to our sense of time? What if God's judgment isn't waiting around for some unknown, unmentioned appointed moment? What if God's judgment is already here? More than that, what if God's judgment is ongoing? An always thing?
How would things change if judgment were not off in some vague future, but here and now? Imagine the politician who is keenly aware that God is not only watching, but also judging his or her actions. Conjure up a vision of a church with a crystalline awareness that God is very much present, and very concerned with how we are representing God's interests.
This God who summons us to hear the indictment against us is the same God who walks with us each and every moment of our lives. This God who is about to announce judgment is the same God who has numbered the hairs on our heads, who has known us, even in our mother's wombs. And, as almost anyone can tell you, judgment from someone who knows you is a lot tougher than the opinion of a stranger.
Yes, this God who comes accompanied by fire and storm to announce judgment upon us doesn't have a real big commute. So maybe it would be a good idea to try to shape up now. Where would you begin? Where would our church communities begin? Where should our nation begin? Because God's not merely on his way. God's here now. And God's judgment is an always thing.
