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The Transfiguration of our
Lord, 22. February 2004 |
Luke 9:28 Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. 29 And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. 30 Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. 31 They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. 32 Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. 33 Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah"-- not knowing what he said. 34 While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. 35 Then from the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" 36 When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen. Have You Seen Jesus? Does Jesus dwell among us still? Is the transfigured Jesus a character from the murky past or does he show himself from time to time among us? Listen, once, to a story, a true story, that I stumbled upon, and then ask yourselves again. For this happened to me and two others, roughly as I describe it. By coincidence, not even the names are changed. It was a very dark night. There was no moon in the sky. The Milky Way spread across the sky above the camp like a soft blanket of silver. As it so happened I was holding the flashlight as a little group of three of us labored up the slope toward the illuminated cross and outdoor sleeping area on a bluff high above the cabins and relative safety of the campground. But this is to start the story in the middle. Let's back up a bit. P.T., known by his initials, would someday become a confident adult, but not this week at camp. Jr. High school culture is not kind to those who are socially inept. To put it frankly, even in a Christian camp environment P.T. had two choices: stay off by himself, or be picked on and teased by the other kids, despite the my best efforts working with the camp staff to help the others to be kinder. Even so, P.T. was having a relatively active and fun week, staying clear of the bullies and beautiful people, living on the edge. Then came the night of the sleep out. P.T. and his group had earned the right to sleep out under the stars on a hot Texas night. A treat for any 13 year old not afraid of the bugs. He and his group had dutifully carried their sleeping bags, snacks and other night gear up the bluff during the daylight hours. After all camp worship around the campfire, the smaller group would use flashlights to hike to the campsite without the burden of the packs. Though I would not stay the night with them, I would hike up the bluff to provide extra safety and walk down when the kids were safely tucked away for the night. That was the plan, and so far it was going well. Until P.T., walking last in the group and just ahead of me, stumbled and fell three times in the space of the first 100 yards of walking. I called ahead to stop the lead walkers and asked him what was wrong. “I can't see in the dark,” he said. We talked about how he might make it up the hill, finally determining that he would likely not be able to sleep on the bluff that night. For someone not well embraced by the others in the group, P.T. was still crushed by the sudden thought that he would be excluded. He began to cry. It was then that one of the kind but ultra popular young men from another congregation walked up. Rather than talking with the other “cool” kids, James had hung back and listened to my conversation with P.T. He volunteered a solution. “What would happen if you held the flashlight for us, Pastor Luke, and I took P.T. by the hand and led him up the trail?” he offered. “I could tell P.T. what to do, where to step, and hold him up if he slips, and you just shine the light on the path in front of us. Would that be okay?” The camp staff and I agreed that this would be alright. The three of us would join the rest of the group at the top of the bluff. I marveled at this offer. For not only was James sacrificing conversation with the cute and obviously interested girl he had been walking with. He was also sacrificing his status among the “cool” people of the group. Leading P.T. by the hand up the hill was not cool to the other kids, who rolled their eyes, shrugged their shoulders, and moved on, clear that James was now cast out of the group. James had knowingly given up what a 13 year old prizes most. He shrugged as well, as if to signal that this was okay with him. So we found ourselves on the trail strewn with rocks and tree roots that wound its way past a sheer rock face to the top of the bluff. Most of the time we could not even see the lights on the cross that marked our destination. During daylight this journey could be made in 15 minutes by the nimble and strong. For the rest of our group, with flashlights in the dark, it was scarcely more than 30 minutes to the top. James guided P.T., who was clinging desperately to his hand and hanging on every word of direction, for the better part of 2 hours. I was a mostly silent observer of this incredible journey. Step by step we crawled up the hill. James coached P.T. each step of the way. He talked him around tree roots, up steps hewn out of the rock itself. He warned me, at first too late, about low hanging tree branches, since I was focused on the path below not the trouble above. The three of us must have been a sight to see. But only God was watching us. Finally when we arrived at the top of the hill, I expected that the whole group might rise up to meet us, to recognize the promethean efforts of these two young men, but the flirting and generally silliness of Jr. High had the other kids in such a vise grip that they did not observe our arriving. Although no one noticed, I knew that something extraordinary had been uncovered here. No teenager has the strength or courage to do what James had done, except that Jesus be with him. The Lord Jesus, normally hidden, was laid bare for all to see. The one who died and was raised and who now sits at the right hand of God was present with our little band of three. He was transfigured before us. And yet, none but P.T., James and I were to witness his presence, and it was a burden that the three of us could not bear to talk about, not yet. So P.T. and James retired to their small shelters, their sleeping bags, to remain on the mountain, and the light shining from the face of Jesus began to fade a bit before me. I walked down, puzzled about all of this. Jesus, Transfigured Luke's version of the transfiguration story is so full of imagery and theology that any preacher could easily come up with a dozen or more sermons on the subjects involved. A sermon could: visit the “exodus” or departure peculiar to Luke's telling of the story, trace the pattern of prayer by Jesus coupled with the sleepiness of the disciples, relate the significance of the “booths” proposed by Peter, or the voice from the cloud, or the disciples reluctance to talk about things. All of these things would make fine starting points for a sermon. But what about a world in which people do not expect to see Jesus at all. What about a world in which this story is so far from the experience of most people that they may not even be able to see it? Can we find good news here? Can we see this moment as the turning point of Jesus' life as well as the turning point of the narrative of the Gospel? And seeing it can we know what it means? We discover here that Peter's confession was only partly right. Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the Living God, but on this mountain we discover that Jesus is much more than that. All the healing stories, the stilling of the storm, the casting out of demons, the raising of the dead child, now culminate in this event. In Luke's Gospel we now discover Jesus is more than just another human being. This story has all the classic elements of an ancient form known as “Theophany” which is a fancy way of saying that God has made an appearance. Luke is making a theological statement, but not a complete one. Not yet. This event, by itself, means nothing. So God shows up. So what. If there is nothing but the blinding power and presence of God, then humanity is still hopelessly mired in the problems that the “otherness” of God present to us. We are still cut off and cannot hope to be in a relationship with God that makes a difference for us in our world. Even the Greek gods came to visit. They came, they played with humanity, they left. And the world was not enriched by their presence. This event, in light of Jesus “exodus” means something different. English translations of the Greek text do us no favors when they simply talk about this as a departure for Jesus. (Exit, stage left, hanging on a cross.) This is more than a departure. An exodus: an intervention of God leading the people out of bondage and into a new kind of freedom. An exodus: God mixing in the very real lives of people, in the political, the geographical, the struggles of every day life. An exodus: a covenant that God makes to establish God's reign among the nations. An exodus: an event of rescue and wholeness. When God is committed to living as we do, to dying as we die, to serving even those who do not (yet) know or care, then the depth of God's love is plainly laid bare. We have neither a God who does not care, nor another human being who dies a tragic death. We have the God who lays down his life and suffers and dies for the people. The transfiguration makes no sense without Good Friday. Good Friday is devoid of hope without the transfiguration. From this moment, Jesus turns his attention toward Jerusalem. Armed with the knowledge of Jesus we follow because we know that in the awesome and terrible battle on Calvary, life itself, existence itself, hangs in the balance. Our Lenten journey is now no longer one of personal pietistic penance. Having seen the transfigured Jesus, we now see him that way always, even when his face does not shine. God in the Midst of Life I wish my camp story had a nice situation comedy ending. I wish I could tell you that the other kids embraced P.T. and James in time. Somehow our culture expects these happy endings, both from our story and from God. But it did not happen, not fully, not that week. The two of them remained friends and gathered a small group of others around them. For the most part, the other kids at camp stayed clueless. What did happen was that Jesus showed up, in all his glory, on a steep hill in Texas one night. Three lives were altered. An exodus was re-enacted there on that hillside. I have the sense that, if once you see the Lord transfigured like this, then you see Jesus present in many more unexpected places. For it is in the messy stuff of life that God comes, to the outcast and the mighty alike. God bids us glimpse, if for a moment, what is to come. Then God invites us to journey, to take up our crosses and follow. For the life God gives is a gift. But the journey requires our whole lives. It is possible only for those who have learned to see Jesus' light that shines as a beacon on the path before us, no matter how long and dangerous the journey. Rev. Dr. Luke Bouman
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