February 26, 2006
"Changed"
By The Reverend Joanna M. Adams
Morningside Presbyterian Church, Atlanta
Changed
Mark 9: 2-9, Psalm 50: 1-6
The Reverend Joanna Adams
Morningside Presbyterian Church
Atlanta, Georgia
February 26, 2006
Changed
Mark 9: 2-9, Psalm 50: 1-6
The Reverend Joanna Adams
Morningside Presbyterian Church
Atlanta, Georgia
February 26, 2006
Perhaps you have already noticed at the top of your bulletin the words “Transfiguration of the Lord.” I am not going to ask for a show of hands to find out who, if anyone, came to church today for the specific purpose of celebrating this odd holy day on the liturgical calendar. I would wager, though, that not a single one of you received a greeting card that said, “Thinking about you on Transfiguration Day.” I bet not a one of you was greeted with a box of candy this morning in honor of the season. No call will be forthcoming from a friend or a relative in another part of the country saying, “Just wanted to be in touch on Transfiguration Day. I attended a wedding brunch yesterday. Over the fruit platter at the buffet table, someone asked me what I was going to preach about today. I replied, “The Transfiguration.” “That’s nice,” the man said. His eyes glazed over, his attention immediately riveted on the smoked salmon.
Transfiguration Day. Every year, on the Sunday before the beginning of Lent, the church gathers around the most shining story the gospels tell. Every year, we climb the mountain to that special place set apart, with Jesus
and three of his favorite disciples -- Peter, James and John. Along with them, we are privileged to see beyond and through Jesus’ words, his ministry, his acts of kindness and mercy and come face to face with his true identity. “He was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, as no one on earth could bleach them.”
This brilliant whiteness was a sign of the presence of the living God, a stunning display of divine glory, and it came at a critical point in the ministry of Jesus, as he turned from the region of the Galilee and set his face toward Jerusalem. Just days before, he had announced to his disciples that the path would go in a direction different from what they expected, that he would go to Jerusalem “where he would suffer many things, be rejected, and killed and after three days, rise again.”
Our Ash Wednesday service this week will serve as our reminder of the serious side of the Christian story. It is no accident that the glory of the Transfiguration precedes the somberness of the days that are to come. As it was for the disciples, the brightness is intended to give us enough light to find our way through the challenges that lie ahead.
I read not long ago about a pastor on the West Coast who decided that the season of Lent was too much of a downer for his congregation. He wrote in the newsletter of the church, “I think we start thinking of the word Lent as an acronym. L-E-N-T. Let it stand for ‘Let’s eliminate negative thinking.’” (1)
I am all for positive thinking, but positive thinking cannot be the only arrow in the quiver when fighting against the forces of darkness that are so real in our world. You can think positively all you want to, but that will not do much about the brokenness of the world. The terrible developments in Iraq this past week, the attack on the shrine in Samarra, the bloody reprisals: they are illustrative of the power of darkness. Something more than a sunny outlook is needed to overcome the sins of the world.
You can think positively all you want, but the power of addiction will not go to its knees because of a can-do, be-happy attitude. Alcoholism, drug addiction, sexual addiction, pornography: none of it will be diminished one iota by simply wishing it away. We need a power that comes from another world, the power released into this world in Jesus Christ.
When we climb the mountain with Peter, James, John, and Jesus and find the curtain pulled back, we see the depth of our need and the strength and spirit of God fully present in the person of Jesus Christ. We hear a clear voice speaking through the clouds of confusion and anxiety that wrap themselves around us. We glimpse the future that we pray and long for, when “Christ’s great kingdom will have come on earth, the kingdom of love and light,” as the great old hymn of the church put it. We realize it is possible to get a glimpse of the love and light that we long for in the here and now.
The late Dutch theologian Henri Nouwen looked on the story of the transfiguration of Christ and saw it as functioning in our faith tradition much as an icon functions in the orthodox churches. We’re familiar with the term “icon.” Brittany Spears is an icon. Is Elton John still an icon? I know I’m a little behind the times. In a religious context, what an icon does is to offer access, a gate into the mystery of the invisible. And there on the mountain, the familiar face of Jesus, familiar to his friends as a teacher and a healer, became the gate into the realm of eternity. They saw into the invisible reality of who he was. Their ears were opened to hear a voice that is not of this world: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him.” For one shining moment they understood, Peter, James and John, what was real and true and lasting.
One of my heroines is a French social philosopher and mystic named Simone Weil. She had a moment of particular glory, a transforming experience as she listened to a Gregorian chant at a Catholic mass. She wrote, “We live in a world of unreality and dreams. And to give up our imaginary position as the center of the universe in the imaginative part of our souls is to awaken to what is real and what is eternal. A transformation takes place at the very roots of our existence. It is the transformation analogous to that which might take place at dusk on a road when we suddenly discern as a tree what we first had thought was a stooping man. When we realized that what we thought was the rustling of leaves was really the whispering of voices.” We are seeing the same thing, but in a different way. We wake up to what is true.
That is what happened to Peter and James and John. On the day of the transfiguration, they woke up to what was real. It was terrifying for them at first. You can imagine how three who were former fisherman, whose lives had been mostly a matter of mending nets, would react to seeing Jesus in such a new light.
I wonder if you’ve ever had an experience in which the scales fell off your eyes and you saw someone who was in your life on a regular basis in an entirely different way. Perhaps a kid in your family whom you’ve told to do his homework about three dozen times in the course of one evening. He is about to drive you crazy, and you’re about to drive him crazy, and then all of a sudden, you look at him, and you see the person that he is, the beauty of his spirit, the promise of his future, the tenderness of his existence. (2) And you are changed. That’s the kind of thing that’s possible in this world. You become alive in a new way, and you see life and other people with new eyes.
No wonder the disciples wanted to save the moment. Peter said, “Let’s build three booths here on the mountain. Let’s freeze the picture frame and stay here forever. Jesus, you stay in one booth. And Elijah, we’ll build a booth for you, the great prophet. Then we’ll build a booth for Moses, the great liberator and law giver. Nothing will have to change. We’ll live on this mountaintop forever.” But Jesus said no. Moments of high drama, grandeur and glory bless our lives, but the real work is yet to be done, down the mountain, in places where people suffer and long for hope. Here is the great thing about a mountaintop experience, though. After you’ve had one, you live in the world in a different way. You see the promises of God coming true. You see the same things, you’re connected to the same people, but your eyes are different, and your ears are different.
I thank God for those surprising moments when you and I just get it, get something that we did not get before. It’s not that we make the willful choice to see things in a different way. It is that through the power of the Spirit of the Living God, we’re given a glimpse of something that is more real, and our outlook is transformed. For many years in my ministry, I thought that the point of ministry was to speak in a prophetic voice and to call people to righteousness, as I understood righteousness. Then I began to see, through the grace of God, that we’re all sinners, saved by grace. I have come to
understand my calling as being not so much to divide people up into the good people or the bad people, the liberals or the conservatives. My job is to help people find common ground and to let go of their sense of their own unassailable righteousness. I want help people see that our shared humanity is more important than all the things that would cause us to have disdain for one another.
Through the power of God, transformation can happen. We can see and hear and hope differently. I think of how this congregation, for a number of years, saw only through the eyes of survival. Will we make it? That was the question. And now, God is giving us a new way to see. There are all sorts of new ideas and hopes about tomorrow popping up. We are hearing in a new way the voices of our neighbors calling us into mission and into collaboration. We can be changed.
I read recently an article about the Moderator of our denomination, a wonderful young man named Rick Ufford-Chase. He said that when he was a boy, he thought that to be a part of the church was to grow up and become an elder or sing in the choir. Then, he thought it was about status in the institution, but now he has come to see that it is all about serving. How are we going to act in the world? How is my faith connected with what I do to bear witness to the power of God?”
The promise of the Transfiguration is nothing less than this, that the future for which we hope and dream is available to us now. It is available to the church. It is available to us individually. I don’t know whether anyone here has ever felt a sense of lostness and lack of direction. You wonder: what do I do next? Where shall I go? And then, the day comes when you know what it is you need to do and you find the courage in your own soul to do it. You can’t imagine why you didn’t see it before. That’s the kind of transforming power that is released when God comes near. Transcendent love from the high, heavenly places breaks in upon us and there it is, our own life shining with possibility through the power of God. It is true that the disciples had to climb a mountain. Mountains are steep and difficult to climb but the promise is this: If we do our part, God will be waiting and God will do God’s part, and we will see things we have never seen. We will realize the true value of what we have not valued before. And we will be released from our own limited notions of what can and cannot be.
I think now of a story Will Willimon, long time dean of chapel at Duke University and now a bishop in the United Methodist Church tells about a boyhood friend of his who, in his adult life, ended up hitting bottom. He had been a prestigious attorney and he had fallen into the depths of alcohol addiction. One Saturday night, he was arrested on an interstate highway for driving the wrong way. The good news is, Dr. Willimon says, is that he got back on his feet, thanks to a loving spouse and children and the good work of AA. Among the many things that surprised him, though, was that the major highway back to life was the church. He had always gone to church but like many smart, well-educated people, had considered himself a step or two above it all. To take faith seriously was the kind of thing that other people did. Church was for people who needed crutches. Later, reflecting on how the church had been his pathway, the man said, “You’d be amazed at what I’ve learned at church.”
“Like what?” his friend asked.
“Well, I’ve learned a lot about God. I’ve learned the meaning of so many words that I had heard all my life, and there they were being said again. Like a flash of lightening, they became real for me. Words you could think of them as little Christian slogans but they were suddenly, amazingly deep and real and true.”
“Like what?”
“Like ‘You can only find your life by losing it.’ Like ‘Take up your cross and follow me.’ Words like that. I live on them now,” he said.
On the Mount of the Transfiguration, a voice from the clouds said, “This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him.”
9
His are the words of life. In him is the power to transform the world.
Notes:
(1) As told by K.C. Ptomey in a sermon at Westminster Presbyterian church, Nashville, Tennessee.
(2) See Tom Long’s “Living in the Future Present,” Shepherds and Bathrobes
Changed Mark 9: 2-9, Psalm 50: 1-6 The Reverend Joanna Adams Morningside Presbyterian Church Atlanta, Georgia February 26, 2006
| |
Changed
Mark 9: 2-9, Psalm 50: 1-6
The Reverend Joanna Adams
Morningside Presbyterian Church
Atlanta, Georgia
February 26, 2006
Perhaps you have already noticed at the top of your bulletin the words “Transfiguration of the Lord.” I am not going to ask for a show of hands to find out who, if anyone, came to church today for the specific purpose of celebrating this odd holy day on the liturgical calendar. I would wager, though, that not a single one of you received a greeting card that said, “Thinking about you on Transfiguration Day.” I bet not a one of you was greeted with a box of candy this morning in honor of the season. No call will be forthcoming from a friend or a relative in another part of the country saying, “Just wanted to be in touch on Transfiguration Day. I attended a wedding brunch yesterday. Over the fruit platter at the buffet table, someone asked me what I was going to preach about today. I replied, “The Transfiguration.” “That’s nice,” the man said. His eyes glazed over, his attention immediately riveted on the smoked salmon.
Transfiguration Day. Every year, on the Sunday before the beginning of Lent, the church gathers around the most shining story the gospels tell. Every year, we climb the mountain to that special place set apart, with Jesus
and three of his favorite disciples -- Peter, James and John. Along with them, we are privileged to see beyond and through Jesus’ words, his ministry, his acts of kindness and mercy and come face to face with his true identity. “He was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, as no one on earth could bleach them.”
This brilliant whiteness was a sign of the presence of the living God, a stunning display of divine glory, and it came at a critical point in the ministry of Jesus, as he turned from the region of the Galilee and set his face toward Jerusalem. Just days before, he had announced to his disciples that the path would go in a direction different from what they expected, that he would go to Jerusalem “where he would suffer many things, be rejected, and killed and after three days, rise again.”
Our Ash Wednesday service this week will serve as our reminder of the serious side of the Christian story. It is no accident that the glory of the Transfiguration precedes the somberness of the days that are to come. As it was for the disciples, the brightness is intended to give us enough light to find our way through the challenges that lie ahead.
I read not long ago about a pastor on the West Coast who decided that the season of Lent was too much of a downer for his congregation. He wrote in the newsletter of the church, “I think we start thinking of the word Lent as an acronym. L-E-N-T. Let it stand for ‘Let’s eliminate negative thinking.’” (1)
I am all for positive thinking, but positive thinking cannot be the only arrow in the quiver when fighting against the forces of darkness that are so real in our world. You can think positively all you want to, but that will not do much about the brokenness of the world. The terrible developments in Iraq this past week, the attack on the shrine in Samarra, the bloody reprisals: they are illustrative of the power of darkness. Something more than a sunny outlook is needed to overcome the sins of the world.
You can think positively all you want, but the power of addiction will not go to its knees because of a can-do, be-happy attitude. Alcoholism, drug addiction, sexual addiction, pornography: none of it will be diminished one iota by simply wishing it away. We need a power that comes from another world, the power released into this world in Jesus Christ.
When we climb the mountain with Peter, James, John, and Jesus and find the curtain pulled back, we see the depth of our need and the strength and spirit of God fully present in the person of Jesus Christ. We hear a clear voice speaking through the clouds of confusion and anxiety that wrap themselves around us. We glimpse the future that we pray and long for, when “Christ’s great kingdom will have come on earth, the kingdom of love and light,” as the great old hymn of the church put it. We realize it is possible to get a glimpse of the love and light that we long for in the here and now.
The late Dutch theologian Henri Nouwen looked on the story of the transfiguration of Christ and saw it as functioning in our faith tradition much as an icon functions in the orthodox churches. We’re familiar with the term “icon.” Brittany Spears is an icon. Is Elton John still an icon? I know I’m a little behind the times. In a religious context, what an icon does is to offer access, a gate into the mystery of the invisible. And there on the mountain, the familiar face of Jesus, familiar to his friends as a teacher and a healer, became the gate into the realm of eternity. They saw into the invisible reality of who he was. Their ears were opened to hear a voice that is not of this world: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him.” For one shining moment they understood, Peter, James and John, what was real and true and lasting.
One of my heroines is a French social philosopher and mystic named Simone Weil. She had a moment of particular glory, a transforming experience as she listened to a Gregorian chant at a Catholic mass. She wrote, “We live in a world of unreality and dreams. And to give up our imaginary position as the center of the universe in the imaginative part of our souls is to awaken to what is real and what is eternal. A transformation takes place at the very roots of our existence. It is the transformation analogous to that which might take place at dusk on a road when we suddenly discern as a tree what we first had thought was a stooping man. When we realized that what we thought was the rustling of leaves was really the whispering of voices.” We are seeing the same thing, but in a different way. We wake up to what is true.
That is what happened to Peter and James and John. On the day of the transfiguration, they woke up to what was real. It was terrifying for them at first. You can imagine how three who were former fisherman, whose lives had been mostly a matter of mending nets, would react to seeing Jesus in such a new light.
I wonder if you’ve ever had an experience in which the scales fell off your eyes and you saw someone who was in your life on a regular basis in an entirely different way. Perhaps a kid in your family whom you’ve told to do his homework about three dozen times in the course of one evening. He is about to drive you crazy, and you’re about to drive him crazy, and then all of a sudden, you look at him, and you see the person that he is, the beauty of his spirit, the promise of his future, the tenderness of his existence. (2) And you are changed. That’s the kind of thing that’s possible in this world. You become alive in a new way, and you see life and other people with new eyes.
No wonder the disciples wanted to save the moment. Peter said, “Let’s build three booths here on the mountain. Let’s freeze the picture frame and stay here forever. Jesus, you stay in one booth. And Elijah, we’ll build a booth for you, the great prophet. Then we’ll build a booth for Moses, the great liberator and law giver. Nothing will have to change. We’ll live on this mountaintop forever.” But Jesus said no. Moments of high drama, grandeur and glory bless our lives, but the real work is yet to be done, down the mountain, in places where people suffer and long for hope. Here is the great thing about a mountaintop experience, though. After you’ve had one, you live in the world in a different way. You see the promises of God coming true. You see the same things, you’re connected to the same people, but your eyes are different, and your ears are different.
I thank God for those surprising moments when you and I just get it, get something that we did not get before. It’s not that we make the willful choice to see things in a different way. It is that through the power of the Spirit of the Living God, we’re given a glimpse of something that is more real, and our outlook is transformed. For many years in my ministry, I thought that the point of ministry was to speak in a prophetic voice and to call people to righteousness, as I understood righteousness. Then I began to see, through the grace of God, that we’re all sinners, saved by grace. I have come to
understand my calling as being not so much to divide people up into the good people or the bad people, the liberals or the conservatives. My job is to help people find common ground and to let go of their sense of their own unassailable righteousness. I want help people see that our shared humanity is more important than all the things that would cause us to have disdain for one another.
Through the power of God, transformation can happen. We can see and hear and hope differently. I think of how this congregation, for a number of years, saw only through the eyes of survival. Will we make it? That was the question. And now, God is giving us a new way to see. There are all sorts of new ideas and hopes about tomorrow popping up. We are hearing in a new way the voices of our neighbors calling us into mission and into collaboration. We can be changed.
I read recently an article about the Moderator of our denomination, a wonderful young man named Rick Ufford-Chase. He said that when he was a boy, he thought that to be a part of the church was to grow up and become an elder or sing in the choir. Then, he thought it was about status in the institution, but now he has come to see that it is all about serving. How are we going to act in the world? How is my faith connected with what I do to bear witness to the power of God?”
The promise of the Transfiguration is nothing less than this, that the future for which we hope and dream is available to us now. It is available to the church. It is available to us individually. I don’t know whether anyone here has ever felt a sense of lostness and lack of direction. You wonder: what do I do next? Where shall I go? And then, the day comes when you know what it is you need to do and you find the courage in your own soul to do it. You can’t imagine why you didn’t see it before. That’s the kind of transforming power that is released when God comes near. Transcendent love from the high, heavenly places breaks in upon us and there it is, our own life shining with possibility through the power of God. It is true that the disciples had to climb a mountain. Mountains are steep and difficult to climb but the promise is this: If we do our part, God will be waiting and God will do God’s part, and we will see things we have never seen. We will realize the true value of what we have not valued before. And we will be released from our own limited notions of what can and cannot be.
I think now of a story Will Willimon, long time dean of chapel at Duke University and now a bishop in the United Methodist Church tells about a boyhood friend of his who, in his adult life, ended up hitting bottom. He had been a prestigious attorney and he had fallen into the depths of alcohol addiction. One Saturday night, he was arrested on an interstate highway for driving the wrong way. The good news is, Dr. Willimon says, is that he got back on his feet, thanks to a loving spouse and children and the good work of AA. Among the many things that surprised him, though, was that the major highway back to life was the church. He had always gone to church but like many smart, well-educated people, had considered himself a step or two above it all. To take faith seriously was the kind of thing that other people did. Church was for people who needed crutches. Later, reflecting on how the church had been his pathway, the man said, “You’d be amazed at what I’ve learned at church.”
“Like what?” his friend asked.
“Well, I’ve learned a lot about God. I’ve learned the meaning of so many words that I had heard all my life, and there they were being said again. Like a flash of lightening, they became real for me. Words you could think of them as little Christian slogans but they were suddenly, amazingly deep and real and true.”
“Like what?”
“Like ‘You can only find your life by losing it.’ Like ‘Take up your cross and follow me.’ Words like that. I live on them now,” he said.
On the Mount of the Transfiguration, a voice from the clouds said, “This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him.”
9
His are the words of life. In him is the power to transform the world.
Notes:
(1) As told by K.C. Ptomey in a sermon at Westminster Presbyterian church, Nashville, Tennessee.
(2) See Tom Long’s “Living in the Future Present,” Shepherds and Bathrobes
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