Rev. Tara Barber
The Community Church of Sebastopol
February 10, 2002
Matthew 17: 1-9
Transfigured. Transfiguration. It’s at least a fifty-cent word from seminary. Try as I might, though, I can’t quite picture the scene. I can’t quite get my head around this transfiguration stuff. Maybe that’s the point. This transfiguration stuff is more than defining terms, and it goes beyond simply figuring out who Jesus is and was in that moment on a mountaintop. To grasp transfiguration, I think we’ll have to take a walk. I think we need to go and see for ourselves. So, let’s take that walk up the hill with Jesus and his friends. Let’s listen to what God has to say to us, and hear the voices of other companions along the way.
Maybe we’ll catch a glimpse of something that we haven’t seen before, and our vision will be transformed. Have you got your hiking boots on? Take a deep breath and let’s go.
We’re following Jesus, wandering up the hillside, stepping carefully around the rocks, looking for the path. Up we go. Weaving in and out of shadows and patches of sunlight. It’s quiet up here. Just the melody of the birds and the easy conversation between friends. Well, easy considering some of the scrapes we’ve gotten into lately.
Lately, Jesus has been saying some pretty demanding things. Like that one just six days ago, when he said that we would have to pick up our cross if we wanted to follow. I am following all right, but I’m not sure about picking up any crosses. I think Peter’s with me on that. Peter has so many questions – he’s always asking Jesus to explain this, and that. Sure, I have questions, too, but I keep them to myself.
I don’t know what it is about Jesus that keeps calling to me. He has some spark. Some light that shines in his eyes. Some way of relating to the world that is different, and not always easy. In fact, more and more people are mad at him everyday. It was good to come up the hillside today, and get away from all of that. Are you with me? Can you take a deep breath of the dusty dry air, and smell the Cypress? We are almost to the top. Our companion, John Aurelio describes it this way.
“When (we) reached the mountaintop, Jesus with his arms extended was dancing and laughing and calling out to Elijah to carry him home. The wind was blowing and the dust he kicked up swirled around him like a great cloud. The sun blazed behind him so that they had to squint to see him. “I have never seen him like this,” Peter said to John. “Nor I. (said John) Isn’t it wonderful?” John and James took Jesus by the hand and they circled and danced together.”
John Aurelio Word Among Us
Can you imagine it? Dancing and laughing in the sunshine and the dust. But what happens next is truly amazing. Picture it with me in the words of our companion, Madeleine L’Engle:
“Suddenly (we) saw him the way he was, the way he really was all the time, although (we) had never seen it before, the glory which binds the everyday eye, and so becomes invisible. This is how he was, radiant, brilliant, carrying joy like a flaming sun in his hands. This is the way he was – is –from the beginning, and we cannot bear it. So (God) manned himself, came manifest to us; and there on that mountain (we) saw him, (we) saw his light. We all know that if we really see him we die, but isn’t that what’s required of all of us? Then, perhaps, we’ll see each other, too.”
Madeleine L’Engle The Irrational Season
As I stop to catch my breath on this mountain journey, memories fly past. How do you react to this? What do you see? Madeleine’s description reminds me of a time sitting with my grandma in her studio apartment. I had been given the assignment to research my ancestors in the faith, and I was looking at old photo albums with her. As I turned the page, I must have gasped. Here was this beautiful, vivacious young woman, smiling broadly, confidently. I had never seen this woman before. My grandma was quiet, soft spoken; she was a school librarian, and lived a fairly solitary life with her books. Osteoporosis caused her to shrink a bit each year, and though I knew that she loved me, I had never seen her smile like that woman in the picture.
Yet this picture was my grandma. And it was as if I was seeing her as she really was, for the first time. It made me hopeful and sad at the same time. In that picture a brilliant light shone in her eyes. It made me wonder what had happened throughout her life to darken that brilliance?
Barbara Brown Taylor calls what happened to my grandma, sin. She describes it like this:
“Deep down in human existence, there is an experience of being cut off from life. There is some memory of having been treated cruelly, and –a little deeper, perhaps –the memory of having treated someone else cruelly as well. Deep down in human existence there is an experience of seeing the light and turning away from it, either because it is too beautiful to behold or because it spoils the dank but familiar darkness. Deep down in human existence there is an experience of reaching for forbidden fruit, of pushing away loving arms, of breaking something on purpose just to prove you can. Deep down in human existence there is an experience of doing whatever necessary to feed and comfort the self, because there is no one else to trust, no other purpose to serve, no other god to follow.”
Barbara Brown Taylor, Speaking of Sin
Often this is what life is like. We do what is necessary to feed and comfort ourselves, and our loved ones. We may glimpse the light, and if we are lucky or brave, we allow it to illumine us for a time. Mostly, though, the light is too brilliant to behold for any length of time, and we turn away, as if we were caught with the sun in our eyes. Up on this mountaintop, though, we are invited to see again, the beautiful light of God’s love. We are invited to look upon Jesus with new eyes, recognizing the light that burns in him, and indeed in each one of us.
Marianne Williamson describes it this way.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the World. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won't feel unsure around you. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It (the glory of God) is not just in some of us: it is in everyone. As we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
--Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love
“Do not be afraid,” Jesus says to those of us who are gathered around him on that mountaintop. Do not be afraid of what you have seen. Do not be afraid of who you are. You, each one of you, is God’s beloved. Listen to this man, Jesus, who radiates God’s love, and whose presence liberates others.
The story could have ended there. It could have ended with the dancing and laughing in the bright light of God’s love. In fact, I wanted the story today to end with verse 8, with the disciples looking up and seeing Jesus alone. But it didn’t end there.
The lectionary adds one more verse. Matthew’s gospel has Jesus asking those gathered at the mountaintop to say nothing of what they have seen. Already the stage is set for the next journey –the journey to Jerusalem.
John Aurelio describes it this way.
“Master,” Peter called to Jesus, “let us never leave this place. Let’s stay here forever. Let us set up our tents…in Galilee.” (We) sat down to rest. The effort had exhausted all of (us). (We) were still breathing heavily yet still relishing the magnificent moment. “Master,” Peter said again. “Why not stay here?” He tried not to look in the direction Jesus had set his gaze, south toward Jerusalem. The sun was setting. It had been an extraordinary and eventful day. (We) were tired and happy. Jesus stared toward Jerusalem. “There is one more mountain to climb,” he said. “In Jerusalem.”
John Aurelio Word Among Us
Wouldn’t it be nice to just stay here? Stay here in the sunshine, in the safety and warmth of this day. Let’s stay here in this warm loving place. Let’s stay here where we can feel God’s abiding love. Let’s stay here where we can look around and see friendly, familiar faces. It was hard work getting to this place, this mountaintop, where we can see love around us and glimpse love within us. Let’s just sit here with the vision of Jesus as glorious, transfigured, holy.
But Jerusalem beckons. Lent is just around the corner, and we are invited to keep walking this journey of darkness and light – of promise and peril. Let us go to Jerusalem, with Jesus. Filled with God’s transforming love, seeing with God’s compassionate eyes, recognizing God in one another – we can’t stop now. We must walk the Lenten journey of sin and salvation.
So, let us go, carrying the ancient psalms of joy and lament, with our visions and the visions of old to guide us. Jerusalem is calling to us. Let us be transfigured and go.
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