“On an Ordinary Day”
Exodus 34:29-35 Luke 9:28-36
Dr. Thomas E. Sagendorf First Congregational UCC
February 14, 2010
Not long ago The Christian Century magazine reported an item that was both comical and troubling. Most Americans, it says, own a Bible, and most profess to read it. So far, so good. But, in a recent survey, ten percent of those polled said they thought the name of Noah’s wife was Joan of Arc. Sixteen percent said that New Testament contains the Book of Thomas. And thirty eight percent said the entire Bible, including the Hebrew Bible, was written several decades after Jesus’ death.
“Clearly,” said the researcher, “most people don’t know what to make of the Bible.”
Joan of Arc? Most people don’t know. We may not want to admit it, but this may be true for most Christians. We say that we believe in the Bible, but very often we don’t know what the Bible says. And what we know is often confusing.
Take, for example, this morning’s Gospel Lesson. The story of Jesus’ transfiguration. This is the traditional scripture that ends this time called “Epiphany.”
Many of us are familiar with this story. Jesus went up a mountain to pray. A good place to meet God. He took Peter, James, and John. We don’t know why he took these three and not the others. Neither do we know how they felt about being included. Was it a grand opportunity or just another long walk?
The three disciples were heavy with sleep, the story says. They weren’t expecting anything to happen. In fact, they might have dozed off and missed the whole thing.
Once they reached the mountaintop, however, they encountered an astounding vision. Jesus was “transfigured” before them. The appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. While in this state, he was seen talking with Moses and Elijah. They appeared “in glory,” says Luke, speaking of “the departure which he was about to accomplish in Jerusalem.”
We know now that they were talking about his death.
The disciples were overwhelmed by what they saw. But this didn’t keep Peter from sticking his foot in his mouth. Always ready to say something (anything), Peter proposed that they stop the clock and build three dwellings. Three shrines. One for Moses. One for Elijah. And one for Jesus.
Luke implies that Peter was blowing hot air.
Just when Peter was speaking, a cloud overshadowed the scene, and the disciples were terrified. Out of the cloud came a voice saying, “This is my Son, my Chosen. Listen to him!”
“Oh my God, it’s God!” they said to each other.
Then everything became ordinary again. Just Jesus and the disciples. They headed back down the road, walking in silence.
It’s a wonderful story. Full of mystery, color, light, and sound. But I wonder. Has this ever happened to anyone you know? What do we make of a story like this? Does it fall in the same category as the name of Noah’ wife? An interesting aside, but a million miles away from the world where we live?
I invite you to put on your best imagination and step inside the story. Look beneath the surface for what’s really there. Luke seems to think that this strange event has profound and far-reaching implications.
Could he be right?
This is an Epiphany story par excellence. A story of manifestation. It’s another glimpse of Jesus Christ in glory. “Show us God,” says Philip in the Gospel of John, “and we will be satisfied.” The writer of John assumes that this is the fundamental human longing. Just show us God, and everything will be OK.
Well, the Transfiguration story is about seeing God. Face-to-face! And it’s told not as ancient history but as a current event.
Hmmm!
First of all, this is a story about people on the move. People on a journey. It all came about when the disciples accepted an invitation to follow Jesus up a mountain. They may have been weary and short on enthusiasm, but they went.
THEY GOT MOVING!
The life of faith is a journey, the story is saying. It’s getting up and moving from one place to another. Sometimes reluctantly. Often heading into the unknown.
I remember a journey that we took as a family in 1976. I had been directing a youth agency in Muskegon, Michigan. On paper, the mandate looked challenging. Find troubled kids and work with them before they ended up in the court system. But my time as the program’s director was mostly consumed in bureaucratic hassles with the funding agency.
Feeling the winds of the Spirit, I decided to return to the parish pastorate. It’s a decision I haven’t regretted.
But this meant a major disruption of our family. I would return to Ohio, where my ministry began, and accept an appointment in a city where we’d never lived. To a church I knew nothing about. To a congregation of complete strangers.
There was nothing familiar about where we were going, and I had an uneasy feeling.
We made our move in a Ryder truck pulling a U-Haul trailer and our little VW Rabbit. We were carrying our children, pets, and everything we owned. We moved slowly and stopped overnight in Toledo. Like Abraham and Sarah, we were leaving everything behind and setting out for a new country.
We made this journey thirty four years ago, yet it’s still clear in my mind. I can even recall the routes we followed and where we stopped to rest. It was a time of fear and uncertainty, and yet a time of growth and new beginning.
When I look back at such times, I realized that these have been the occasions when I have come closest to the presence of God.
And so it may be with you.
If we really want to see God, as Philip requested in the Gospel of John, we need to get up and get moving. Despite all our temptations toward ease and security. We need to get out of the comfortable places and start climbing the mountains that will tax our strength and test our courage. We need to follow where the voice of God is calling, even if it’s strange and new.
Even if we’ve never been there before.
They followed Jesus up the mountain, these three disciples. Weary as they were. And there they saw Christ transfigured and heard the voice of God!
This is also a story about the vital tradition that nourishes our faith.
On the mountain, the disciples saw Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah. It must have been clear to them who this was and what this presence symbolized. Moses and Elijah were pillars of the Hebrew tradition. Respectively, they represented the law and the prophets. Without them, Israel’s faith would not stand.
Our ties with tradition are not always as clear, however. In fact, in our fast-moving and highly mobile society, we can lose touch with tradition altogether.
Let me show you what I mean.
I’m a Methodist. (I hope you won’t hold it against me). And, since our beginnings, we Methodists have hitched our wagon to something called the Wesley Quadrilateral. The what? Even most Methodist have no idea what this means.
When Christians make decisions, says my Methodist tradition, there are four points of reference that need to be kept in balance.
Always.
Scripture, tradition, reason, and experience.
Without these, says my tradition, our values become mushy and our judgments skewed.
This simple formula can be especially helpful in a culture where everyone becomes his or her own interpreter—of scripture and everything else. Often making decisions simply on the basis of subjective experience and personal feelings.
Scripture. Tradition. Reason. Experience. It makes a great difference where we look for direction!
Or, again, we Methodists have a Social Creed and a set of Social Principles. All of this is found in our Book of DISCIPLINE. On the whole, probably the most boring reading that anyone can find.
But, our Methodist Social Creed is grounded in the strong social witness of our founder, John Wesley. And our Social Principles present a decidedly Christian view on some of the most important social issues. Everything from racism, to health care, to aging, to the death penalty.
These are a significant part of my heritage, you see. A vital part of my tradition. And, as Congregationalists, you have just as vital a tradition as mine. Teachings that can be as essential to our lives as was the vision of Moses and Elijah on the mount of Transfiguration.
But, more than this, we have here a story about the absolute centrality of Jesus Christ, the Chosen One of God. If anything in this story comes into focus, it is a vision of Jesus in glory—fulfilling the law and the prophets and looking toward what was coming in Jerusalem. All eyes were on Jesus, transfigured and dazzling white. “This is my Son, my Chosen,” said the voice. “Listen to him!”
God is manifested in Jesus Christ, says our Gospel Lesson. And, by listening to and following what he says, we too can see God. If Philip’s words to Jesus express the fundamental human longing, this is where it begins.
“Listen to him!” says the voice from heaven. LISTEN TO HIM! Not just when you happen to think of it, but all the time. As a way of living.
Especially in a culture like ours, it makes a great difference where we look for direction and how we shape our lives.
Dr. Thomas Long (professor of preaching whom Pastor Deb quoted a few weeks ago) talks about ordinary Christians. “Ordinary Christians,” he says, “have many opportunities to preach the Gospel in what they say and do in ordinary circumstances. In the way they show kindness, for example, and in the way they speak the truth. In the way they vote and the way they relate to other people. And in the way they take stands for justice in the hidden corridors of daily life.
Ordinary Christians are everyday preachers, proclaiming ‘good news’ wherever they go.”
This, then, is the deeper meaning that lies beneath the surface of our Gospel Lesson. It has to do with people who saw the face of God because they followed an invitation, understood their tradition, and were willing to listen to God’s voice.
On an ordinary day, three disciples followed Jesus up a mountain and beheld his glory. What they saw was so startling that it changed their lives forever.
And so it is even now, says the Gospel, with ordinary people like you and me.
