The story which precedes the Transfiguration story is the story of Peter’s declaration. Jesus interrogates his disciples who have returned from a missionary journey: “Who do the people say that I am?” They reply: “Some think you’re John the Immerser, some think you’re Elijah or some other prophet returned to us.” “But you, what say you?” And Peter declares: “You are the Messiah,” meaning the anointed one from God.
Jesus then tells them that he must go to Jerusalem and confront the Temple authorities with a call to repent – to change their hearts, minds, and will – and that this will be a journey filled with risk, a risk he knew well from the martyrdom of his mentor John. But a peasant movement is not enough; the leaders need to change. In Mark’s gospel, Peter tries to talk Jesus out of it and in that advice, Jesus hears the counsel of Satan. [You’ll hear more about that at the end of the month.]
Eight days later, Jesus takes his top lieutenants, Peter, James, and John up to Mount Hermon. The trip is an echo of Moses taking his top leaders Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu up Mount Sinai where they were granted a vision of God’s glory.
Jesus, now at this critical turning point in his life, goes up to pray with his friends. And there, Peter, James, and John enter into an alternate state of consciousness and receive first a vision: they see Jesus filled with light, and Moses and Elijah, traditional forerunners of the coming of the Messiah, standing with Jesus.
In effect, by their presence, they signify that the same spirit which had animated them, is now present in Jesus. Now, if that was so, then that same spirit is able to be passed on to them, and if to them, then to you and me.
The vision is followed by an audition – a voice proclaims, “This is my son, listen to him!” Well, listen to what? To his testimony that the shift in focus from the Galilee to Jerusalem in Judea, is not optional. Follow him…
As the mystical experience begins to fade, Peter – ever impulsive – says, “Let’s build 3 dwellings!” Let’s shelter this experience – contain it – and stay here. Understandable.
Because when they come down the mountain, a crowd of needy people await them. His other disciples – the ones who didn’t get to go on the field trip – had tried to exorcize a young boy and failed. Jesus is frustrated and angry. “How long do I have to put up with you! This work can only be accomplished through prayer”– a line which Luke omitted in his telling of this story.
In Mark’s story here, we see the balance. The journey inward in prayer; the journey outward in service. A couple of stories …
On a weeknight in 2003, about 60 parishioners were gathered in the parish hall at St. Augustine’s for a Lenten program. Our speaker was a Muslim woman who was giving a talk on Islam. Toward the end of her presentation, unexpectedly, her family came into the hall and took her aside for a moment.
She then announced that our government had begun bombing in Iraq – you remember shock and awe. All of us gathered in a circle and held hands. After a bit, she prayed in Arabic and then I in English. One of our Vestry members would later remark that there was no place she would have rather been other than in the parish hall when the war began.
The following Sunday, several people asked me if “we” were going to organize a march against the war. Hmmm – at the same time, several other folk spontaneously gathered around the peace pole in the garden, held hands and prayed. An action which would continue, every Sunday for months.
Now, a year earlier, the National Church had done a study called The Zaccheus Project, in which interviewers traveled around to get a sense of the health of the Episcopal Church. Diana Butler Bass asked our group about our church’s history. That small group of 8 people, long time members all, described a proud history of social and political action in the 1960’s, 70’s, and beyond.
They were then asked: “Well, who are you now?” – and the group was speechless. Finally, to break the silence, someone boldly confessed: “We don’t know anymore, we need to figure that out!”
Hence my hesitation a year later about marching against the war. How would that action be grounded in who we were becoming – whatever that was.
Another story. The parish was extensively involved in an ecumenical charity project called “Corazon.” It involved taking a team to the outskirts of Tijuana and building a simple home for a peasant family. On one of these mission trips were a woman and her two boys, both quite young. While the adults hammered and painted, her sons played with the son of the family for whom we were building. It’s amazing how little kids aren’t stymied by a language barrier.
Our leaders cautioned us to be gracious. If the family offered to share their food with you, although it would be meager at best, don’t turn them down and wound their dignity. When it was time to leave, the Mexican boy offered his American visitor a gift of his Matchbox car – missing 2 wheels and all its paint – but it was his one toy. This Brentwood kid was reluctant, but his mother made him take it nevertheless.
A week later, I asked the mom to interview her son on tape, to be transcribed for the church newsletter, answering the question: “Where was God in this experience for you?” It was an amazing conversation!
The journey inward; the journey outward. Charity without prayer is just social work. Prayer without charity is spiritual masturbation.
Far too often in the life of the church we disconnect the two. We romanticize the lives of monastics as being more noble, more worthy, more pleasing to God. We get impatient with discernment and cry out “Why don’t we do something! What difference are we making?” Far too often, our identity is grounded in doing to the devaluing of being.
Our worship is grounded in this essential truth. Each week, Monday to Saturday, we build our offering in the world beyond these walls. As followers of Jesus, it is your life’s work to bear witness against evil and to be Christ’s compassion and justice in the community. And if you are faithful, if you’re taking those risks, you will get beat up for it.
Lucille Ball was being interviewed and was asked by a gushing television personality: “Lucy, you are just so great! How did you get to be so funny?!” Without missing a beat, she replied: “What I am is not funny, it’s being brave…”
Were you brave this week? If so, perhaps you come here today beaten but not defeated. To confess your faithlessness to our values – times when you could have spoken up but did not out of fear. But also, you come to celebrate your successes, though they were usually fleeting. You are here to offer it all up, symbolically, in the bread and wine; which will be blessed and returned to you as food for the journey, strength to go forth again – and by your light, to push back the darkness just a bit.
The journey inward – in prayer and sacrament and this gathered community of St. Matthias – and the journey outward – with compassion and love in a broken, fractured land.
And if you’re lucky, really lucky, someone may give you a Matchbox car someday.
Amen.