Showing posts with label Transfiguration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Transfiguration. Show all posts

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Lifting the veil



Today is the last Sunday of Epiphany; we have come through a season of revelation – the gospels have given us a series of stories about Jesus being revealed as much more than a regular baby, a regular man. The story of the wise men bringing gifts for a king, priest, and sacrifice, John the Baptist baptizing Jesus as God’s voice booms out of the sky and the spirit descends on him like a dove, the wedding at Cana where Jesus turned water into wine, and now Jesus himself is transfigured into light while three of his disciples sit stunned.
Epiphany... revelation... reveal... to un-veil
All these events lift pull back the veil of ordinariness and show that there is much more to Jesus than people normally saw.
Imagine the top of a mountain; it’s night time, the stars are out, making their own light, and the moon is out, reflecting a fraction of the light of the sun. Four men are climbing slowly up; when they reach the top, three of them sit down, lean on their hands, but one begins to pray. That one is Jesus.
While Jesus was praying, Peter, James, and John, even though they had been on the verge of nodding off, suddenly saw something very unexpected happening to their teacher. Light began to radiate from his face and from his whole body. His face, his skin, even his clothes were shining – not the pale green of a firefly, but bright white like the light of a welding torch - they could hardly look at him - his face was like lightning.

Then they noticed Moses and Elijah also standing there, talking with Jesus. The three sleepy guys were totally awake and focused at that point, their eyes fixed on the three figures. What is going on?
The disciples all knew the stories about Moses and Elijah and how they interacted with God - how Moses went up on Mt. Sinai to get the law and talked with God – face-to-face, like you would a friend, and how, when Moses came down the mountain, the stories all said the skin of his face was shining; it freaked people out so much that he started wearing a veil until the light faded and he looked normal again. The disciples knew the stories about Elijah, who at the end of his life didn’t die but was swept up into a chariot of fire and carried away by God. 

They all knew the stories, but now the stories were standing in front of them talking to each other.
Even though God loves us, and even when we believe God loves us, we can still be afraid of God’s great power. But in Christ, God made himself small, so we wouldn’t be as afraid to approach.

It’s like an adult stooping down to talk to a small child, eye to eye, rather than towering over them and booming down words they don’t understand. Jesus is God, stooping down so we can see him eye to eye and not be afraid. But he is also still God – “Light from Light, true God from true God.”

Even though God loves us, and even when we believe God loves us, we can still be afraid of God’s great power. But in Christ, God made himself small, so we wouldn’t be as afraid to approach.
It’s like an adult stooping down to talk to a small child, eye to eye, rather than towering over them and booming down words they don’t understand. Jesus is God, stooping down so we can see him eye to eye and not be afraid. But he is also still God – “Light from Light, true God from true God.”

It’s like an adult stooping down to talk to a small child, eye to eye, rather than towering over them and booming down words they don’t understand. Jesus is God, stooping down so we can see him eye to eye and not be afraid. But he is also still God – “Light from Light, true God from true God.”

Peter started to blurt out something irrelevant and inappropriate at that point – but while he was talking, a cloud started coming down onto the mountain, and the three disciples all froze. Some of the other stories in the Bible talk about God’s power descending over Mt. Sinai, causing the whole mountain to shake and smoke, when Moses when to receive the law, and many of the Psalms use images of raw natural power, such as storms, to describe God’s power. If you’ve been in any kind of big storm, you have a sense of how immense just natural power is, much less supernatural power.
“They were terrified as they entered the cloud” -  I bet they were.
God isn’t just powerful, though; God is also kind. Out of the cloud, God takes into account the disciples limitations in what kind of communications they can and can’t decipher; so God speaks to the disciples in words they can recognize: “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”
The cloud, though frightening to the disciples, veils God’s glory to a point that they can bear it – but this veil also reveals enough for them to recognize God’s presence for what it is.
A veil partly obscures and partly reveals what’s behind it. Sometimes the veil is to protect the one who wears it from other eyes, and sometimes it protects the eyes of those who are looking. Moses’ veil was to protect the other Israelites, who were disturbed by his shining face and afraid to come near him. When God wanted us not to be afraid to come near him, he veiled himself in our humanity. “Veiled in flesh the God-head see; hail the incarnate Deity.” Jesus is Emmanuel – God with us. 
The Transfiguration further unveiled Jesus’ identity as both God’s Son and the Son of Mary – human and divine, connecting us in our humanity to God in God’s glory.
The Epiphany, or revelation – or “unveiling” of Christ also reveals an alarmingly beautiful promise of who we are becoming as Christ transforms us. As you receive Christ’s body in the Eucharist, his body becomes part of your bodies and is transforming you from the inside out, increasing your capacity to both hold and reveal God’s glory. You may still look ordinary, but keep in mind, there is a lot of mystery in the world that we can’t see yet, but it’s there.
There is more dark matter in the universe than visible matter, for instance. There is a lot more empty space in an atom than mass. Some of the most fundamental aspects of our natural world remain a mystery even after several hundred years of intense scientific exploration. We still can’t really say what light even is, for example. We kind of know what makes light. But fire is also mysterious and unpredictable; we use electricity all the time but still fundamentally don’t know what it is exactly. We run into trouble trying to define even the most basic things, but mystery in ordinary things is a good thing to explore.
As the Mr. Rogers’ says, “It’s good to be curious about many things...”
For example, when I was reading about Moses’ shining face and how it continued shining after he left the presence of God and gradually faded away, it reminded me of phosphorescence – light without heat. I wondered if skin had the capability of emitting light. I don’t know; I’m just curious. Whether or no, it’s still a useful metaphor: if we want to continue to shine with God’s light, we need to regularly be in God’s presence or the light will fade. I also thought about the way phosphorescent material “resonates” (it’s the nearest thing I could think of, although resonance refers to sound) with the light that shines on it; something about the material gets activated by light and begins then to emit light. It’s interesting to think that something in us resonates or gets activated by God, and that part in us begins then to shine with a similar light.
As we heard in today’s Epistle 

“all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another...”

Saturday, August 06, 2011

Transfiguration

This sermon is posted here. It was written for the "Sermons That Work" series and also delivered in a modified form to St. John's in Silsbee.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Shine in our hearts


Shine in our hearts, Lord Jesus, and light us up so that you shine out of us as well. Amen

Readings
Let's reflect a bit today on theophany – that's a word for things like what we just read, Moses seeing God face to face and the disciples seeing Jesus transfigured into light and talking to Moses and Elijah, and God's voice coming out of a cloud.

Theophany is when God reveals himself in ways that we can't deny, when God shows up in ways that freak us out because they are so real, when something happens that moves us so deeply, we either say or do idiotic things trying to make some kind of response - or we don't' talk about it at all because we can't find any words that will work to really convey what happened.
You may not often talk about those experiences, or maybe you only tell one other person or a couple of people you really trust, but there is no way you can ever forget what you saw or what you heard or what you felt in that moment. And there's no way you can go back to how it was not knowing that things like that are real. Even though later, you may question whether you dreamed it or imagined it, deep down you know you didn't make it up.
And I think we hope that what we experience in moments like that is the true reality. We hope that what we see around us in mundane daily life is just a pale reflection of the way things really are, what life really is at the core. The difficulty in hope, though is it's a (seemingly) very fragile thing, and you hesitate to lay it out completely because you're not sure it could survive disappointment. Or maybe you know somehow deeply that if you completely hope for all you desire, there's no way you could stay in control – you'd be at the mercy of how God responds. And if you laid out your deepest hope to God, you couldn't stay aloof from him and safe from what you fear would happen if you found that God either doesn't want or isn't able to fulfill what you hope for – that your hope may in fact be foundationless. You think your hope is what keeps you alive, and you couldn't survive losing it.
So you hedge your prayers, you pray for what seems reasonable, for what God couldn't refuse; you pray in ways that give God an "out" in case he doesn't answer or doesn't want to or maybe isn't actually able to – because maybe he doesn't actually exist …
But why do you think we have hopes if there isn't actually a reality they're based on? Thomas Aquinas hashed this question out from both the theological and philosophical point of view, and he says we're right to hope - because God does exist and God is good – and he hasn't made a desire without its object. We have hope because there is such a thing as its fulfillment. Aquinas says that if we have a desire, not only does its object exist, but it's attainable and it's also good – in fact, it's intended. God isn't cruel – he hasn't made us so that we hope for things that don't exist or are bad for us or that he has no intention of giving us – so that we'll eternally be frustrated in our deepest desires.
No, God is good, and he's given us good desires, and he's also put in us a desire for himself as the greatest good, so when moments of theophany happen, we are getting a glimpse, a taste of what is most deeply true about God's relationship to us and his love for us.
So, if what we hope for is predicated on a real object, then its fulfillment is possible, and if in fact, this fulfillment was designed and intended by God and is in God's power to grant, then we should have no fear in asking for it – because it's already what God also wants: our wholeness, our integration. What you most deeply desire… already is – and is in God's power to give you.
Are you willing to risk asking for it?
And I mean hopes – those things you most deeply ache for, that you don't think are even reasonable, that you don't think you have any business asking God for because there's no way they could be accomplished. It would take a miracle…
That's what I'm talking about –what kind of church is this if it's not about miraculous expectation? So I'll tell you what I've started doing as a result of this thought process: I've started asking God for what I hope for St. John's: for you as a community and you as individuals. I invite you to do the same… Hope everything you can imagine for us and ask God to do it. And don't hedge or make qualifications to "let God off the hook" in case it doesn't happen – that is your fear and attempt to control the situation so that you can't be disappointed. Instead, try risking disappointment on God.
I'm praying that God starts to breathe on your hearts so that the little embers of hope in there start heating you up inside and even starting to hurt – some of the prophets have said God's word can feel like a fire in your bones. I'm hoping that what he desires for us begins to burn inside us also, until it starts to shine out in our faces and in what we say and what we do. What are y'all waiting for anyway? "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you'll return."


An interesting thing about fire, which I've learned from the firefighters in Vidor, is that it doesn't even have to touch its fuel to ignite it. A fire in one spot can gradually heat an entire area, and anything that can be fuel, when it reaches its ignition temperature, will spontaneously combust at that point. So, in a room where there's a fire in one corner, when the entire room reaches a certain temperature, will completely erupt in flame everywhere.


It's called flashover. Here is another video showing fire behavior leading up to a rollover (burning across the ceiling) and then a flashover (everything erupting in flame).

You know somebody's been burning churches in east Texas, and the interesting thing about that, I think, is they're confusing a symbol of God's power with the thing itself, as though a fire in a church building would destroy the Church. It's the same mistake people make when they try to kill Christians – when they tried to kill Christ. In our worship, fire represents to us God's presence with us in the Holy Spirit, and at Jayde's baptism last week, we lit a candle to symbolize the light of Christ in her heart. Fire is a symbol of God's presence because, like fire, God is not safe, not predictable.
Talking about flashover, maybe Pentecost was something like that. My prayer is that during Lent, God will breathe on you and start a little fire in a corner of your heart, and we'll see what happens by Pentecost.
Amen.

Given to St. John's, Silsbee

February 14, 2010