Transmogrified

Transfiguration

Mark 9:2-9

²Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, ³and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. ⁴And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. ⁵Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” ⁶He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. ⁷Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved listen to him!” ⁸Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.
⁹As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

Transmogrified

 

Let us pray:

As we eat at this table, Lord

Be our host.

As we are washed in this font, Lord

Bless these waters.

As we head into Lent, Lord

Walk with us.

When we’ve long buried the Alleluias

When we’ve sung our last hymn

When there’s not breath in us to sing again

Give us your breath

Your hope

Your life.

As you are the giver of all things.

Transform us.  Transfigure us.

In the name of the one transfigured today

Jesus the Christ

Amen.

 

Where do you meet God?

 

Can you describe it?

 

Has it even happened before?

 

Have you ever had a moment in your life where you’ve had such clear direction, where you’ve seen such a clear vision of what is to happen, of what is true, of what is real, that you know it’s been a moment where you have, if just briefly, encountered the Divine?

 

The Celts called those moments “thin places,” where the human and the Divine met, even if just briefly.  It was those places in this world where something special happens.

 

You see, the problem with “thin places,” or “thin moments,” is that they’re difficult to experience, and even more difficult to talk about and express.  They defy explanation, and when you attempt to do so, you sound more like you’re describing a fantasy tale, a dream, or a psychedelic trip, than anything else…

 

And here we have this Gospel text for us today.

 

It sounds like fantasy, a dream, a trip.

 

Jesus takes three of his disciples up on a mountain, the place in Scripture, by the way, where people would go to meet God: Moses met God on a mountain; Elijah met God on a mountain.  And now Jesus takes three of his disciples up on the mountain.

 

In Scripture, a mountain is code word for “a thin place.”

 

And where were they going?  What were they doing?

 

I have to imagine they were going to pray.  Jesus often took time away from the hustle and bustle of the travel to pray.  And this time he takes Peter, James, and John with him.

 

And while they’re there, while they’re presumably in prayer, Jesus “transfigures” before them.  Face shining.  Dazzling clothes.  And Moses and Elijah appear on either side of him.

 

Suddenly what was ordinary prayer becomes extraordinary revelation as Jesus stands between Moses, the giver of the law, the embodiment of what pointed to the past, and Elijah, the seminal prophet, the one who spoke of the future.  Jesus stands between them, absorbing the guilt of the law, absorbing the anxiety of the future, embodying once and for all God’s love for humanity shown unmistakably, if just for a moment!

 

And if that’s not enough, even the voice of God is heard: “This is my Son; listen to him.”

 

And then it is gone.  The “thin place” has become ordinary again.  A simple mountain.  A simple rock.  A simple 160lb Jewish guy.  And simple disciples wrestling with what they heard, did, saw…didn’t see.

 

It sounds mythic; and it is.

 

And I don’t use the term “mythic” to mean “untrue,” by the way.  Reality is sometimes much too heavy to be supported by mere prose.  Sometimes our encounters with God must include poetry and story because simple forms of conveyance are just not enough.  Hence why, in here, we sometimes use banners and processions, candles and darkness.  Sometimes we can’t convey the presence of God without taking ourselves out of regular space.

 

We need stories.  We need mythic language.

 

That’s the only way to express “thin places,” sometimes.

 

But here, we have some “thin places,” too.  Some mythic places.

 

Like this table where we say the impossible: that this bread and wine are ways we touch and feel God, where we experience the feast of the Kingdom of God.  And yet it’s a scrap of bread and a sip of wine at best.

 

Sounds mythic.  Someone throwing a feast and all anyone gets is a scrap of bread or a sip of wine?  Absurd.

 

It is.

 

Or that font, where we’ll wash Benicio today.  And we’ll call it the only bath he’ll really ever need, where he is washed clean of all that this world tries, and will try, to make him: greedy, power-hungry, full of his own desires rather than looking after the desires of God and his neighbors.

 

Sounds mythic.  We must bathe regularly to be clean!  No one can wash just once.

 

And yet, if it is a Divine washing, it need only happen once.  At a thin place.

 

And why do we have thin places in this lifetime, places where we meet God, if just for a moment, just for a second?

 

Because this life is full of other “thin places,” not where we meet God, but where our patience is thin, our hope is thin, our grace given to others is thin, our outlook is thin, or when we feel our life is thin.

 

There are thin places all around us:

 

Those days between summer and fall where you don’t quite need a jacket, but it’s too cold for short sleeves.

 

Those moments just before and just after the birth of a baby.

 

Those moments just before and just after the death of a loved one.

 

That moment just before and just after you realize this relationship won’t work…or this relationship will work, and you’re scared out of your mind.

 

That moment when you’re waiting in that room designated for waiting at the hospital as surgery begins, is in process, ends.

 

Or that moment when you’re on the table yourself.

 

And in these moments, we need those times when we’ve touched the Divine, if just for a second, to remind us that in thin places, in thin moments, God has embodied true love in Jesus Christ, absorbing the guilt of the past, absorbing the anxiety of the future.

 

And in today’s Gospel, these disciples need that, too.  Because they are heading to a place where there hope will be thin, their patience (especially Peter’s) will be thin.  They’re heading to a little hill outside of Jerusalem where Jesus will be strung up on a cross.

 

Little do they know that that hill, too, is a thin place.

 

In fact, we’re heading there, too.

 

After this Sunday we’re heading into Lent, beginning with Ash Wednesday this Wednesday, and we’ll end at the cross on Good Friday.  And Lent, these next five weeks, is a time of year where we practice entering into the thin places of life where we’re thin on hope, on love, on patience.

 

It is a time of introspection, a time when we’re tempted to be gripped by the guilt of the past or the anxiety of the future.  A time when we put away the joyous “Alleluia” in exchange for a more contemplative tone.

 

And so we echo Peter today when he says to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here.”

 

It is good for us to be here.  To hear this mythic story once again.  To see this Jesus transfigured before us.

 

It will feed us, remind us of the God who makes himself known in the thin places of life.

 

And that word, “transfigured,” I don’t know if it’s adequate enough, mythic enough.

 

I’m going to use the word “transmogrified.”  Fans of Calvin and Hobbes will recognize that term, but it’s just strange enough that perhaps you’ll remember it more as a marker, as a word note, as a beacon to remember this Jesus that we’ve glimpsed today in this text, and that we will glimpse today at that font, and that we will glimpse today at this table.

 

And maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to take this experience with us as we go to our work, to our homes, to our relationships, to those places of high anxiety or high guilt.

 

And maybe, just maybe we’ll recall the voice of God today that says, “This is my Son; listen to him.”

 

And maybe, just maybe we’ll do that, and we’ll head to the quiet place, perhaps our own thin place, for a time of prayer, carrying this Jesus, transmogrified today.

 

But, enough talk.

 

It’s time for us to head together into our own thin places.  The font, for Benicio’s baptism.  This table, for a feast beyond all feasts.  And yes, of course, a time of prayer.

 

And may those thin places be places where Jesus is transmogrified for us, as food for the journey, as washer who makes us clean, as God who walks us through times when we are thin on everything: patience, hope, love.

 

Amen.

 

 

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Posted in Sermons for Time After Epiphany