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Sermon – Luke 9.28-36, TRS, YC, February 7, 2016

12 Friday Feb 2016

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Today is a pivotal day in the Church year.  In Advent, we start out the Church year anticipating and then celebrating God taking on human form in the Christ Child.  After Christmas we celebrate the season of Epiphany – a series of moments in which the true identity of Christ is revealed.  We hear first from the magi who devote their lives to finding Jesus.  At Jesus’ baptism we hear God claiming Jesus as God’s son.  In Cana, Jesus reveals his power at a wedding.  And then today, we close out the season of Epiphany with another revelation of the true identity of Christ – the transfiguration.

An epiphany is defined as a sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something; an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure; or a revealing scene or moment – in our case, of the divine.  That is what is happens to Peter, James, and John on the mountaintop:  a revealing of the essential nature of Jesus as the divine son of God.  When they see Jesus standing there with Moses and Elijah, talking about Jesus’ pending departure or exodus,[i] Peter, James and John can finally connect the dots about all Jesus has told them.  And in case the dazzling white light, and the appearance of the ancient prophet and lawgiver are not enough, out of the cloud they hear God’s voice saying, “This is my Son, my Chosen.”  On this last day of Epiphany, we get the epiphany of epiphanies!

Many of us have had our own epiphanies when it comes to God.  Whether we suddenly and clearly hear God’s voice, whether someone says something so profound that it shakes us to the core, or whether we see Christ in the face of a child, we have all had those revealing God moments.  My favorite epiphany story comes from the parish I served as a curate.  The associate had a rare Sunday where he was the only clergy person serving at the altar that day.  Everything had been going along smoothly in the service.  After he pronounced and shared the peace, he started to make his way back to the altar when something caught his eye.  He froze as he realized at the corner of the alter sat a bat.  Panicked, he turned around and looked down the long aisle.  There, he says, standing in the Narthex by the baptismal font, bathed in light from the morning sun stood our Sexton, Walt.  The priest, mesmerized by and grateful for Walt’s presence, briskly walked down the long aisle to Walt.  As parishioners looked on with curiosity, the priest quickly whispered to the sexton about the rodent sitting on the altar.  “Don’t worry,” said Walt.  “I got it.”  The priest walked shakily back down the aisle, giving the bat a wide berth on the other side of the altar.  Before he could even start fumbling at the credence table, Walt mysteriously appeared from the side door with a t-shirt, walked past the priest, swooped the bat up with the t-shirt, and then disappeared out the other side door.  Though Walt would never claim sacred status, the priest that day saw Christ in him not unlike the disciples on the mountaintop.

Most of us have more traditional epiphany moments in life:  baptisms, confirmations, ordinations, or weddings.  Today, we will honor two people who celebrated their wedding twenty-five years ago.  Weddings are not unlike those mountaintop experiences.  The soon-to-be-married couple sees each other bathed in light – if not literally, then certainly figuratively.  That day seems to be a day when the couple sees only the goodness in the other person:  their beauty, their care, their compassion, and their love.  There is a certain clarity that comes on a wedding day:  this is the person who makes the other better.  Together they are better servants of God than apart.  Time almost stands still, noises drop into the background, and suddenly, the couple is offered a moment deep assurance that this is a good and holy decision.  I had fun talking with Bob and Janet about that day for them so many years ago.

I think God knows that we need those sacred moments because God knows what happens next:  we come down the mountain.[ii]  I always like to remind couples about their wedding, especially those married for a long time, because their mountaintop experience may feel far away.  When we come down the mountain, we see the realities of life.  No matter how dreamy someone seems basked in light, all of their imperfections are obvious outside of the light.  In Luke’s gospel, the next verses tell the story of a young man who needs healing.  The disciples fail to heal him and the father of the young man begs Jesus for help.  Jesus is frustrated with his easily distracted disciples and scolds them.  The disciples are definitely not on the mountain anymore.  Jesus is no longer gloriously bathed in light – now he is just a scolding teacher.

We know that feeling too.  For as many mountaintop experiences we have had – whether at a wedding or at a retreat or even in a holy moment of prayer – we also have those experiences in the fields of everyday life.  We may even wonder where that glorious God is in those moments.   In fact, when we stay in the valleys and trenches too long, we sometimes wonder whether we imagined the mountaintop.  How could we have seen things so clearly and radiantly when in everyday life we feel nothing but God’s distance?  We may begin to doubt, to experience anger, or to simply feel like God is absent.

Luckily today’s text gives us some hope in our valley and trench moments.  First, epiphany moments are so strong that they keep revealing themselves to us.  On occasions like an anniversary, we can go back to that mountaintop moment and ask, “Why did I choose this person?”  We do not need long to be flooded with list of reasons.  Suddenly all the little annoyances fade, and what is left are the loving, tender moments, the caring, sacrificial actions, and the joyful, abiding experience.  I imagine that is why Luke tells this story today.  Only three of the disciples were privileged enough to be on that mountain.  But in Jesus’ death, resurrection, and ascension, I imagine they returned to this story again and again, recalling with affirmation how God had said that Jesus is God’s son.[iii]

Second, today’s text also gives us hope through the other part of God’s words.  God says, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”  We are all going to have hard days.  But those hard days are even harder when we refuse to listen.  No matter where we are, no matter how low the valley, Jesus is there speaking to us.  We simply need to listen.  All the answers to our questions, all our cries for support, all our loneliness and aching is answered when we listen.  When we get caught up in the illusion of self-sufficiency and having everything figured out, we forget God’s words.  The epiphany today – Jesus’ transfiguration – reminds us that God is speaking.  We need only to listen.

This week Janet and Bob will bask in the glory of their anniversary and the renewal of their vows.  They may even experience some of the radiance of that initial wedding day.  But eventually, the anniversary bliss will fade as they come down the mountain.  In that journey back to reality, their hope will be in listening to Christ as God commands.  The same will be true for us.  This week we begin the journey of Lent.  As we step into that time of penitence and fasting, God’s words offer us hope, “Listen to him.”  If God is telling us to listen, we can be assured that Jesus is speaking.  Our journey off the mountaintop and into the valley in these next forty days will be blessed and full when we listen to our Redeemer speaking to us.  As grateful as I am for a retelling of that transcendent day on the mountain, I am even more grateful for the reminder that disciples, like us, came back down the mountain.  But even on that journey down, Jesus is still with them, speaking truth, love, and hope.  Amen.

[i] N. T. Wright, Luke for Everyone (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 114.

[ii] Lori Brandt Hale, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 456.

[iii] Fred B. Craddock, Luke, Interpretation:  A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1990), 135.

Sermon – Psalm 23, E4, YC, April 21, 2013

24 Wednesday Apr 2013

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One of the most familiar pieces of scripture is the 23rd Psalm.  Today we hear the BCP version of the psalm, but most of us know the psalm in the King James Version.  In fact, the Prayer Book even has the King James Version printed within the Burial office because that translation is so familiar and comforting to us.  This is the psalm we turn to when we are steeped in anxiety.  This is the psalm we turn to when a loved one is facing serious illness.  This is the psalm we turn to when death finally comes.

I have been particularly grateful for this psalm this week.  This week has felt like a tremendous “valley of the shadow of death.”  We started the week with the horrible bombing in Boston.  Not only did we lose lives, and were many people horribly injured and maimed, but also something of the innocent joy of that sporting event was taken away.  But the week just kept getting worse.  After powerful testimonies from the Newtown families, the Senate still could not pass legislation around background checks for guns.  I know that gun control is a sensitive political topic, but for many people, the Senate’s not passing this bill felt like an acquiescence to the violence in our country.  Then just a day later, a horrible explosion happened in Texas, killing many.  After the past six months, which have included Hurricane Sandy and Newtown, this week makes our valley of the shadow of death seem more and more barren, and perhaps unending.

Of course that is only our own American valley of the shadow of death.  That valley does not include the hundreds of places around the world where bombings happen every day.  The American valley does not include the places where villages are ravaged by HIV/AIDS, where children are starving, and where violence threatens whole ethnic groups.  Just this week, the night one of the Boston bombers was killed, a bomb went off in Baghdad in a coffee shop, killing 27 people and injuring over 50.  If we really tracked the worldwide and domestic news everyday, we may not feel as though we are just walking in the valley of the shadow of death, but instead our entire world has been exiled to a permanent valley of darkness and death.

But the reason I have been so drawn to the 23rd Psalm this week has not only been because of the poignancy of the valley.  I have also been drawn to this psalm because of the richness of comfort, blessing, and peace in this psalm.  In fact, in some ways, the valley is mentioned in passing to highlight the ways that God cares for us so abundantly.  Frederick Buechner wrote about a worship service that happened immediately after September 11th, in which a speaker said, “At times like these, God is useless.”  Buechner writes, “When I first heard of it, it struck me as appalling, and then it struck me as very brave, and finally it struck me as true.  When horrors happen we can’t use God to make them unhappen any more than we can use a flood of light to put out a fire or Psalm 23 to find our way home in the dark.  All we can do is to draw closer to God and to each other as best we can, the way those stunned New Yorkers did, and to hope that, although God may well be useless when all hell breaks loose, there is nothing that happens, not even hell, where God is not present with us and for us.”[i]

This is why we are all drawn to this piece of scripture.  All that we want to believe about God, all that we hope is true about God, is found here in this brief psalm.  Our longing for words like these is why this psalm is so popular and prominent.  The 23rd Psalm is so well-know that the psalm has been called “an American secular icon,” because even people who do not attend church have come to know this psalm.[ii]  We all want a God who leads us beside still waters, who restores our souls, who takes away all fear, and who comforts us.

I think this is why so many artists and biblical scholars are drawn to this psalm.  Because this psalm captures for so many people not only who we believe God to be, but also who we desire God to be, many have been inspired to rephrase the language of this psalm to capture our imagination in new and fresh ways.  Probably the most familiar is the hymn “The King of Love my Shepherd Is.”  This hymn breathes air into the psalm, describing our God as a God, “whose goodness faileth never; I nothing lack if I am his.”  Just this week I stumbled on an a cappella version of the 23rd Psalm that uses feminine language to refer to God – “She makes me lie down in green meadows; beside the still waters she will lead.”[iii]  For those of us who struggle with the overly masculine language we have about God, this version of the psalm broke open the psalm yet again for me.  All of the things we hear about God in this psalm – one who comforts, cares, and cradles – are all stereotypically feminine qualities.  When God can be both feminine and masculine, then God truly is bigger and more whole.

But the one translation that really grabbed me this week is from the New Jerusalem Bible.  The verse that we typically recall as, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,” in the New Jerusalem Bible is translated as, “kindness and faithful love pursue me every day of my life.”  The “mercy” or “faithful love” we hear translated is the hesed of God in Hebrew – God’s loving-kindness.  This is the kind of overflowing love, loyalty, and lavishness that God shares with God’s people.  In fact, when people show hesed, that loving-kindness is sometimes translated as “godly love.”  But what really grabbed me about this translation is that God’s hesed does not simply follow us in life.  God’s hesed pursues us in life.  God chases after us, actively, even frantically, attempting “to reach us with the gift of life and the resources which sustain life.”[iv]  We hear the strength of this verb because this is the same verb in scripture that is often used to describe what enemies do – they pursue.  So to use the strength of this word to describe what God does to us is to say that God ferociously desires and drives to give us God’s hesed.

Our invitation today is to allow these new images to work on us as we continue to journey with God, even in what feel like valleys of the shadow of death.  Even when we feel like God is useless or that darkness may overwhelm us, God’s love never fails, God’s motherly care is for us, and when we feel most abandoned by God, God is chasing us down to rain God’s hesed upon us.  This is the beauty of our spiritual journey – our words are ever trying to help us understand this God with whom we journey.  Our language will never fully capture God, but each new attempt awakens our journey and invites us into deeper connection.  Our blessing this Eastertide is the myriad voices that help us get just a little closer to God when we need God the most.  Amen.

[ii] J. Clinton McCann, Jr., “Preaching the Psalms: Psalm 23,” Journal for Preachers, vol. 31, no. 2, Lent 2008, 43.

[iv] McCann, 46.