Luke 9:28-36
March 2
Lauren J. McFeaters
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Many years ago, during the Cold War, I traveled with my family on an extended trip to the Soviet Union. My father was teaching. And when we returned home, I found it was difficult to share about the experience.
School friends would ask, “How was your trip?” And I didn’t know where to begin. The trip was so formative and unexpected; so shaping and strange, I didn’t know how to form the words.
Moscow was astounding and daunting. And Leningrad. Leningrad was filled with light and mystery, sadness and bitter cold, like something out of Doctor Zhivago. I was thirteen years old, and this was the Russia of the 1970s. I was overwhelmed.
In Leningrad, if it was a sunny day, even with piles of snow on the ground, Russians would strip off their clothes to help the sun touch their skin. On a sunlit day, everyone walked with their faces to the sky so as not to miss one drop of sunshine. People stood for hours, 50 deep to buy bread or vegetables. Teenagers would trade us pictures of Lenin for chewing gum, or offer us 50 rubles to mail back Levi jeans.
And then there were the maps. On our search for the Church of the Blessed Trinity, my family thought we were lost, because my father’s maps didn’t match what we were seeing. We knew the church was built on the banks of the Neva but we could not find the church, no trace and no address.
We passed the Church of Saints Simeon and Anna, it was right there, huge and glowing, but it was missing from our map. We passed ancient onion domed basilicas, majestic historical cathedrals, but still no notation on our maps.
Finally we stopped to ask why churches were not listed and the woman said, “We don’t show churches on our maps because they don’t exist.”
“Well,” my father said. “What about this church – the one we’re standing in front of?”
“Oh, that is not a tserkov (or House of God). That is what we call a museum. There are no churches here.
So to return to the States and say to my friends and family that the trip “was so interesting,” “remarkable,” or “unlike anything else,” was completely mediocre in the face of the beautiful, the fantastic, and incredible.
Have you ever been unable to speak of an experience because of your inability to communicate the depth and height of something so remarkable and astonishing? Times when we want to reach someone and get others to see what we saw and felt, but making that connection feels impossible – because capturing the sublime feels unachievable.
This is the Transfiguration. A mystery so profound there ae hardly any words to describe the experience. A transcendence so extreme that three disciples become lost in glory and in wonder.
It begins with Jesus wanting a place to pray. A private place. A still and calm place. He and the disciples have been traveling and healing, teaching and feeding thousands. It is time for a rest. And so Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a mountain to pray, to reflect, to breathe.
But still calmness was never in the cards, because as prayer begins, so does the unbelievable – Jesus is amazingly changed, transfigured before them; he begins to shine and glow – he becomes an illumination – dazzling, blinding, stunning.
And there next to him, as clear as day, appear the very prophets who had come closest to knowing God – Moses and Elijah – and they too begin to gleam, shine, and glitter.
It was stunning, transcendent, and absolutely mind-blowing.
And then Peter, being Peter, does a very Peter thing. And he does what most of us would do. He wants to pause and take a picture.
Everyone stay right there. I’m going to build little houses, so this never ends. Don’t move. Stay still. And on three … one, two …
But before a picture can be snapped, a selfie taken:
A cloud came and overshadowed them;
and they were terrified as they entered the cloud.
Then from the cloud came a voice that said,
“This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” [ii]
Luke is a Gospel of Voices.
Three months ago, we began hearing heavenly voices. First, it was the angel Gabriel saying, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard.”
Again Gabriel to Mary, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus.”
And another angel, this time to shepherds, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.”
At Jesus’ baptism, a voice from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved Treasure; with you I am well pleased.” And now on a mountain peak, with a voice announcing to all have ears to hear that this is indeed the very Son of God and that it would be in our best interest to listen to him. Listen.
Christ is in his glory. His holiness shining through his humanness, his face so incandescent, that it’s almost beyond bearing. [iii]
How do we respond?
Do we say, “that is so interesting,” “remarkable,” or “unlike anything else.” No. Because that’s a completely mediocre way to tell of the amazing and incredible.
How do we, standing on this side of the resurrection, and in the midst of a nation full of folly and recklessness; madness making itself known every day, how do we hold onto the wonder of faith?
And when we are panicked. Are you panicked? And when we are frightened. Are you frightened? And when we are horrified. Are you horrified? How do we hold onto the joy of faith?
How, in a society filled with idiocy, how do we hear the voice of God directing and guiding us?
Well, it’s not through the explosion, boom, or din of a tantrum, but in the Voice of the Upside-Down Kingdom, where God’s power is in the tender and loving words:
“This is my Son, my Cherished,
my Beloved, my Adored –
I give you a Savior –
attend to him, hear him, listen to him.”
It’s Gospel Medicine my friends, Gospel Medicine.
On the edge of Lent, our incandescent Lord gives you his hand and walks you off the mountain top and back into the valley – to assure you that God’s glory is alive and shines in every drop of our humanity and works for the good and worthy; the faithful and the valuable.
And holding his hand, back down the mountain we go, where we in turn, hold His hand back, squeezing tightly, to show that we will stay beside him as he heads to all that is waiting for him in the hills and valleys of Jerusalem and Calvery.
But this time, having lived through such an experience, this time, rather than not knowing what to say; not having the words, we know the words:
In life and in death we belong to God.
In a broken and fearful world
the Spirit gives us courage
to pray without ceasing,
to witness among all peoples,
to Christ as Lord and Savior,
to unmask idolatries in Church and culture,
to hear the voices of peoples long silenced,
and to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace.
In gratitude to God,
we strive to live holy and joyful lives,
even as we watch for God’s
new heaven and new earth,
praying, “Come, Lord Jesus!” [iv]
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come, Lord Jesus.
ENDNOTES
[ii] Adam H. Fronczek. “Transfiguration – Luke 9:28–36,” February 14, 2010, fourthchurch.org.
[iii] Frederick Buechner. Whistling in the Dark: A Doubters Dictionary. New York: Harper Collins,1993.
[iv] “A Brief Statement of Faith.” Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), Office of the General Assembly, 1990.
