Month: February 2013

Lent 1C: The Long Journey Home

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OLD TESTAMENT:  Deuteronomy 26: 1-11
The Israelites have been traveling for generations.  The stories are all through the Torah, stories of loss and despair, stories of feeling like an alien, stories of out and out abuse from their captors, stories of wandering in the wilderness.  And, always, there has been a vision of home, a vision of where God is, a vision of where they belong.  And so this passage begins with what they know to be:  when they come to the land of promise, all will be right.  They will be home.
But as the passage continues, there is also a calling of what it means to be home, of what it means to be “settled”, of what it means to “possess”.  In essence, all of these promises and gifts that God gives come with a responsibility to give back.  The meaning of possession here does not seem to be holding but rather entrusting.  God gives and then they are called to give in return.  The gifts that we are given are not “ours” the way we think of “ours”; rather they are ours to use in forming the world into the vision that God holds for us all.
But the passage also lays out exactly what is to be offered to God.  It is not the leftovers.  It is the first of the fruit of the ground that is harvested.  Our modern slang would call it “off the top”.  (Yes, even before the federal government!)  And the directive is to take it and put it in a basket and offer it as a part of the worship of God.  The passage even gives the exact response to be offered:  “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor…etc.”  I suppose it is an acknowledgment that this land that has been given is not an inheritance the way we have come to think of the word.  It is not something that is “due”.  Rather, we realize that we are all immigrants, all searching for a place to be.  The word “wandering” can also mean “perishing”.  In other words, God has raised up the perishing and brought them home.  Isn’t that just like God?
As we begin this season of Lent, we are called to be aware of all that God has given us.  And we, too, are called to respond, to offer our first fruits in thanksgiving to God.  I think that we are also called to remember from whom and where we came.  The truth is, we are all immigrants, wandering Arameans if you will.  And God opens the doors and invites us home.  And we are called to do the same.  The doors are not ours to close.  We do not possess what is behind them.  Everything belongs to God.  
Notice too that the offering is not required immediately upon entering the land.  God is not standing at the door to freedom like some sort of holy ticket-taker.  Rather, the gift of home also comes with the gift of time—to possess, to settle, to plant, and to harvest.  And then, then, with thanksgiving and gratitude, God is to be offered the first of the harvest, the brightest and best.  It is a reminder that no one is expected to enter the door fully formed.  We are all living on that journey toward who it is God calls us to be.  Perhaps part of that journey is a patience toward others as they take the time to do the same.
And, of course, it is hard to read this without remembering that this promise of  land comes with the dispossession of others.  Land, of course, is a finite commodity on this earth.  But it really doesn’t say anything about displacement of the one that is there.  The assumption is that all of God’s children, both resident and alien, will reside together and in joy celebrate the great bounty of home that God offers all of God’s children.  We remember who we are, we remember the road that we traveled, we give thanks for all that God has done, and we welcome other journeyers in.  (Hmmm!  Sounds like Communion to me!)  “Eternal God, we give you thanks for this holy mystery in which you have given yourself to us.  Grant that we may go into the world in the strength of your Spirit, to give ourselves for others, in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord.”
a.      What is your response to this passage?
b.      What does the notion of being an alien mean to you?
c.       How do we define “possession”?   What would it mean for us to definine it as a “responsibility”?
d.      In what ways do we miss that feeling of gratitude for all that God offers us?
e.       What does “home” mean for you?
f.       What does this passage mean for us in this Lenten season?
NEW TESTAMENT:  Romans 10: 8b-13
In this passage, Paul is in the middle of explaining why the gospel does not amount to a betrayal of his own people or a denial of scripture.  He claims that this new way of looking at things, this gospel, creates something that produces right relationship and, subsequently, right behavior.  It takes further this idea of the commandments, “God’s law”, no longer being external “rules” but rather something that is indeed written on one’s heart.  The basis for righteousness, for Paul, is being at one with God.
Paul professes that acceptance of Christ as Lord leads to liberation.  Essentially, Paul has made the same claim before but, here, he is speaking of a more internalized relationship with God.  It is beyond just doing right and living right; it is being one with God.  At the end of the passage, Paul affirms the equality of all humanity before God, either Jew or Gentile.  Right-standing before God is a gift available to all humanity for the asking.  To stand approved before God (to stand justified) is simply a matter of faith.
The problem that Paul is countering is that most saw goodness as achieved by obeying the law.  They saw their standing as progressed by merit.  They could not grasp “perfection” in the sense of Christ.  You can actually sense Paul’s frustration.  His passionate belief in the Gospel and in Jesus Christ as Savior comes through.  But you also get a sense of a certain frustration.  He truly believes that the Gospel is open and inclusive of everyone and, yet, he is frustrated that he doesn’t seem to be getting the response that he desires.  And yet, he never gives up on the notion that Israel is special, chosen.  He cannot imagine that God would ultimately abandon God’s covenant people.  God will not just quit loving God’s children.  It is apparent that Paul’s image of God is of a Creator who is loving and caring toward all of Creation. 
Paul is clear that if one professes to be a Christian, than one must openly confess the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  And yet, this confession comes without shame.  That’s a hard thing for us to fathom.  After all, our society thrives on shame.  We do not do a good job of letting things go—either ours or others.  Paul is calling us here to let the shame go and experience joy instead.  The notion of God’s love and generosity being open and available to all is a pretty bold statement when you think about it.  Many in this world would take exception to that.  So does that mean that we are all equal before God’s eyes?  Probably not.  Perhaps we need to get out of ourselves.  This is not a statement about us; it is a statement about God.  We don’t make our salvation happen; God does.  God is at work in us—ALL of us.
This Salvation thing is a hard notion to grasp. So, we don’t have to DO anything?  We don’t have to rack up a certain number of points for God to acknowledge our membership is this little club.  We just have to ask; we just have to desire God; we just have to confess and believe or believe and confess.  (If you notice, Paul, or possibly Paul’s translators, reversed the two.)  Maybe it doesn’t matter.  Maybe that’s the whole point.  God desires that we confess not for God but for us; and we need to believe or there’s really no point to this at all.  I don’t think it matters which comes first.  (After all, God created both the chicken and the egg!)  The point is that it’s offered to all.  God comes to each of God’s children in God’s own way.  So whatever we confess and whatever we believe that brings us closer to God is probably the whole idea.  The passage is a reminder that Jesus did not come to straighten us out on the rules but to invite us home and show us what that meant.  Now THAT is something in which I can believe!
a.      What meaning does this passage hold for you?
b.      Why is it so difficult for this world to see Salvation as inclusive?
c.       What does confession mean for you?
d.      What does belief mean for you?
e.       How, then, should we look at the “written law”?
f.       What does it mean to you to profess your “witness”?
g.      What doesthis mean for you in this Lenten season?
GOSPEL:  Luke 4: 1-13
In the chapter prior to this reading, Jesus was baptized.  The Spirit of God has entered him and he is ready to begin his ministry.  It is a reminder of our own baptism and our own calling into God’s work.  The writer of Luke then goes into the forty day temptation of Jesus in the wilderness.  It says that he was led by the Spirit, the very essence of God.  It is his first act of ministry—to become a sojourner, to go to God in prayer, to take a good hard look at his life and his calling.  Then Jesus departs into the desert, the place of wildness and wonder.  Think about all the stories of wilderness—Israel passing through the wilderness toward liberation.  In the same way, Jesus is liberated from the world and we with him.  Preparing for this liberation is a journey and involves struggle.  For some the struggle is overwhelming.  But God is leading us all.
During Lent, we often focus on the temptation (the “devil” part of the story). Jesus is tempted where he is most vulnerable.  He is tempted to guarantee having what he needs, to shift attention away from purpose.  He is tempted to possess. Think about how famished Jesus really was. All Jesus has to do is say the word and he would have what he so desperately needs.  Then, he is tempted by his desire of affirmation by God, the desire to impress.  We all want to be liked; we all want to be validated.  After all, he was just beginning his ministry…this would be a guarantee that they would LIKE him.  Finally, he was tempted with the desire to be in control or to have glory or recognition.  Think what Jesus could do if he had control and glory.  Think how much more powerful his ministry would be.  Henri Nouwen says that the temptations are to be relevant, spectacular, and powerful.
The truth is that Jesus was human and was tempted by typical human temptations.  It is what we all want.  Fred Craddock says that “temptation indicates strength”.  (Boy, I am strong!)  And, yet, we are often uneasy with the whole idea of Jesus being tempted.  After all, he was Jesus.  He should have been above all that, right?  Each temptation invites Jesus to turn away from trust in God in a different way.  So maybe this wasn’t about the temptation at all, but was rather a lesson in trust, in perseverance, in resistance of those things that will surely get in the way of our lives.  There is an emptiness in all of us that must be filled.  We are met each and every day with offerings of things with which to fill it.  Jesus affirmed that, yes, we would be met with these temptations, and, that, yes, God’s deepest desire is that our emptiness be filled with God.  To be Christian or, actually, to be human, is to realize that that emptiness will never be filled without God.  It is that for which it is made.  And, really, what good would Jesus have really done us if he had been above it all, if he had never be tempted at all?  Where would we be then?  Jesus did not come to be a superhero above all that comes about; Jesus came as a human—as a you, as a me.  Jesus came not so that we would be perfect but so that we would see what we were missing.  After all, being relevant, or spectacular, or powerful are really overrated.  Relevancy is short-lived; “spectacularness” is hard to maintain (after all, don’t you sometimes just want to go around in your warm-ups with no makeup?); and, as Lord Acton would tell, us, “power corrupts”.  Jesus wasn’t showing us how NOT to be tempted; Jesus was just putting relevancy, spectacularness, and power in their proper places.  Because, after all, when they’re gone, God is still waiting for us to return home.
But looking at it this way, the desert becomes the threshold through which we journey.  It is a time for preparation, a time for readying oneself to claim who God calls you to be—God’s beloved child.  And the only choice one has is to repent, to turn around, to change, to turn toward God. 
Now, our version of the wilderness is sometimes very difficult to grasp.  In our world of perfectly manicured lawns and perfectly coiffed houses, we usually do everything in our power to avoid wilderness in our lives.  Wilderness means to us some sort of deprivation and, thus, a loss of power.  We do everything we can to see that our lives stay exactly where we want them.  We take a pill when we have a pain.  We use cosmetics so that we won’t look our age.  And who of us would ever be caught without access to a telephone?  The wilderness is the thing that we are always trying to avoid.  The wilderness does not fit into our carefully thought-out plans.
            Jesus did not see deprivation but, rather, an emptying of himself before God.  In fact, if you think about it, Jesus’ baptism propelled him into the wilderness.  Maybe that’s our problem.  Maybe we missed our wilderness.  Maybe we missed our emptying.  This emptying brings us in touch with what we really need—and nothing more.  Without our pills and our cosmetics, our cell phones and our online calendars, we are vulnerable.  Thank God!  For when we are powerless, when we are vulnerable, where do we go?  We look to the only place we know.  Because even we, who are normally so in control of our lives, must look to the compass if we do not know the way.  And there, we become acutely aware of God’s ever-presence.  It is only when we have truly emptied ourselves that God can fill us with God and there we are nourished and fed by those things for which our souls truly hunger.  From this we can grow in God’s spirit.
That’s what Lent is—it’s a pilgrimage through an intentional wilderness.  These forty days are our emptying time—the time when we strip all of our preconceptions away and meet God where God is—right there with us.  We do not walk this road alone.  God is always there.  And when we are tempted to once again take control, God will still be there.  Lent is the time when we allow God to work on us that we might burst forth on Easter morning in radiant bloom.  It is a time of journeying toward home.
a.      What meaning does this passage hold for you?
b.      What does temptation mean for you?
c.       Are you bothered by the notion of Jesus being tempted?
d.      What does this say to you about your own Lenten journey?
e.       What is uncomfortable about this whole image of the wilderness?
f.        What does the wilderness image mean for you?
Some Quotes for Further Reflection:
Not only is another world possible, she is on her way.  On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing. (Arundhati Roy)
At the center of the Christian faith is the history of Christ’s passion.  At the center of this passion is the experience of God endured by the godforsaken, God-cursed Christ.  Is this the end of all human and religious hope?  Or is it the beginning of the true hope, which has been born again and can no longer be shaken?  For me it is the beginning of true hope, because it is the beginning of a life which has death behind it and for which hell is no longer to be feared…Beneath the cross of Christ hope is born again out of the depths.  (Jurgen Moltmann)
The promised land lies on the other side of a wilderness.{Havelock Ellis}
Closing
Those of us who walk along this road do so reluctantly.  Lent is not our favorite time of year.  We’d rather be more active—planning and scurrying around.  All this is too contemplative to suit us.  Besides we don’t know what to do with piousness and prayer.  Perhaps we’re afraid to have time to think, for thoughts come unbidden.  Perhaps we’re afraid to face our future knowing our past.  Give us the courage, O God, to hear your word and to read our living into it.  Give us the trust to know we’re forgiven, and give us the faith to take up our lives and walk.  Amen.
 (“The Walk”, from Kneeling in Jerusalem, by Ann Weems, p. 21)

Transfiguration C: Unveiled

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OLD TESTAMENT:  Exodus 34: 29-35
According to tradition, the Book of Exodus is known as “the Second Book of Moses”.  The major themes of Exodus are identified as liberation, law, covenant, and presence.  The presence of God is exceedingly important.  God’s presence is seen as life-giving glory being concretely present in the world.  The assumption is that God yearns to be present, but that requires a community of generous faith, emptied of the worldly culture around it, which gives it best skills, disciplines, and goods for the housing of the holy. 
Now…some background…in the understanding of this early community of faith, God was not to be seen.  God was the great I AM, one whose name could not be said, one whose power could not be beheld, one whose presence could not be seen. (It is in some way a better way to think of God—“lost in wonder and awe”– than the way we often view God as a great vending machine ready to tend to all our needs!  After all, it seems that it would be harder to take the great I AM for granted!)  But here, if one saw God, one died…But here God was and here Moses was actually talking to God!
So Moses goes up the mountain.  (Now remember too that for these ancient Israelites, the mountain was a source not only of grandeur, but also of divine revelation.  Mountain tops were sacred places.) And there he has his encounter with God.  Now keep in mind their understanding of seeing God. Their assumption would be that Moses was going to die.  And so when Moses shows up bearing two giant tablets and shining like they had never seen before, they were afraid. 
Well once Moses gets them calmed down and gathered around him, he tells them the story.  He tells them of these great tablets, the sign of God’s covenant, the very foundation for who they are and what they will become.  The truth is, there might be some question about whether or not Moses was actually shiny.  The Hebrew word is queren, which often means “horn”.  (Some scholars even surmise that Moses was so burned and scarred by this encounter with God that he appeared to have horns.)  Either way, this tangible mark of God’s Presence may have just been too much.  So Moses dons a veil, perhaps to protect the people and maybe so they would actually listen to what he had to say.  So, in essence, he is hoping that the veil will somehow filter and aid understanding for the people.  But he also understands that when he encounters God, he is called to remove all impediments that might exist.  He is called to unveil himself completely before God.
The Hebrews understood that no one could see God and live.  They were right.  No one can see God and remain unchanged.  We die to ourselves and emerge in the cloud.  We, too, probably don’t want “all of God”.  We’d rather control the way God enters and affects our lives, showing up when God’s Presence is needed or convenient.  But remember the words of the Isaac Watts hymn:  “Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were an offering far too small; love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.”
My soul, my life, my all—I think that would mean unveiled.  Maybe Moses’ act of donning the veil was as much to show the people the difference between their life and an encounter with God.  But, in case you missed it, remember what happened when Moses did fully encounter God.  Remember that the sacred and the holy could not help but become part of him.   It is true.  One cannot encounter God without being utterly and profoundly changed forever, perhaps in some odd way even scarred.  And sometimes that’s a lot for this world to take.
You will also notice that Moses did not just remove the veil before God but also before the people when he was teaching.  He wanted them to encounter what he had, to see what he had, to become what he had become.  Encounters with God are not solitary events.  We are not changed by ourselves on the mountaintop; rather, we are transformed in community where we can see the face of God in each other.  Religious encounter is a continual conversation between the Creator and the created.  Otherwise, we might as well just put on a veil and go about our business.
  1. What does this passage mean for you?
  2. How would our understanding of God change if we thought of God as the “Great I AM”?
  3. What keeps us from realizing that God’s presence changes everything in our lives rather than merely affirming who we are?
  4. (OK…this is an odd question)…Do we really want as much of God as God is willing to share with us?  Do we really want a God that is “so amazing, so divine” that a relationship with that God “demands my soul, my life, my all?”
  5. How veiled do we live our lives?  What stands in the way of our “unveiling”?
NEW TESTAMENT:  2 Corinthians 3: 12-4:2
This passage from the letter that we know of as Second Corinthians is actually more than likely part of a compilation of five or six letters that Paul wrote to the community at Corinth.  And many of these writings are defending Paul’s theology and understanding of the Gospel against a band of “super-apostles” that have infiltrated the church and community.  Paul tells the Corinthians over and over to remain faithful, to stay on track, so to speak and in this passage that we read, he uses the account from Exodus of Moses in the desert encountering God.  It’s also one that can easily be construed into some sort of anti-Semitic statement as well.  Without looking first at the Old Testament passage, one might take Moses’ act of veiling as some sort of act of deception before God.  So taken out of context, there is a portrayal of Moses and the covenant given to him in a negative light.  And yet, none of Paul’s writings have ever discounted the former writings.  They just depicted that they weren’t yet fulfilled; in other words, that they weren’t complete.  Paul contends that these writings alone cannot bring one to God.
And as Paul points out, the glory brought to Moses’ face was fleeting.  Perhaps it was misunderstood.  Perhaps the veil was a way of shielding glory from those who would not understand.  For that matter, the donning of a veil by one who does not fully see can become a way of closing one’s eyes to the needs of the world, of creating for oneself an understanding of God as personal and private. 
But for Paul, the coming of Christ equates to a removal of that veil, a more permanent expression of the glory of God and one that is inclusive of all.  It instead opens Christ to the whole community.  It is not discounting or dismissing the former things; it is clarifying and bringing them into permanence and a broader offering.
And as Paul says, we are all unveiled.  We are mirrors of God’s mercy and grace.  We are all changed, transformed by the grace of God through Jesus Christ.  Perhaps Moses’ encounter could be considered just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak, a precursor to show what we would all someday become.  We all seek transformation, of course, but transformation comes through our relationships with both God and our brothers and sisters.  We become what others see in us.
In a sermon on this passage, Richard Gribble tells this story:
One magnificent, moonlit night, a fisherman climbed the wall of a private estate to partake in the bounty of its fish-stocked pond. He moved with stealth and upon reaching the banks of the pond observed with keen awareness that there was no activity in the bungalow below. All the lights were out. With a sense of confidence, he envisioned his fishing needs taken care of for the full week. Thus, he cast his net into the pond making the light splash. The master of the house remarked to his wife from his deep stupor, “Did you hear a sound outside?”

His wife remarked, “My dear, it sounded like a net falling into the water.”

In seconds, the owner sprang out of the stupor and visualizing his pond completely devoid of fish yelled, “Thief! Thief!” The servants of the house, hearing the master yell, scrambled outside toward the pond.

The fisherman gathered the net as swiftly as he tossed it and scrambled to find a safe hiding place. The workers’ voices were near and the fisherman’s desperation knew no bounds. His eyes caught a glimpse of a smoldering fire and he got an idea. He gathered some ash and rubbed it over his arms, body, and face. He quickly sat under the nearest tree in a posture of one in meditation. When the servants arrived at the scene and saw the man in meditation they asked for forgiveness and continued their search. Finally, they reported back to the owner telling him that there was only a sanyasin, a holy man, in the garden.

The owner’s face lit up and asked to be taken to the site of the sanyasin. Upon seeing him, he was overjoyed and demanded that the holy man not be disturbed. The fisherman’s fear turned to joy and then to pride thinking how smart he was to outwit the entire household. He sat under the tree until the shades of dawn began to sweep across the night sky. As he was preparing to leave he saw a small procession of people approaching; they had heard of the holy man. Now he could not leave under any circumstance. These people had come from a neighboring village and with total devotion had brought offerings of food, fruit, silver, and gold to invoke the blessings of the holy man!

At this very moment the fisherman realized that if by assuming the role of a holy man he had received so much respect and goodwill, how much more respect and goodwill would be received if he truly was a holy man. So the fisherman who was truly a thief turned in his net and became a true man of God.

It might have been quite by accident, but the fisherman experienced conversion in his life. He was transformed from a thief into a holy man through the action of others. The love, respect, and deference demonstrated toward him changed his heart. He realized he had been deluding himself to think others might respect him for his wealth, but he came to realize he could be held in high esteem by demonstrating kindness and those qualities that label people as “holy.” (From “Transformed to Christ”, a sermon by Richard Gribble, available at http://www.sermonsuite.com/free.php?i=788032987&key=phUtka1qfKtdnmf8, accessed 4 February, 2012.)

  1. What does this passage mean for you?
  2. What does the concept of transformation mean for you?
  3. What gets in the way of your seeing that come to be in your own life?
GOSPEL:  Luke 9: 28-36 (37-43)
The Greek for “transfigured” is, here, metamorphormai, or “to undergo a metamorphosis”.  In our terms (think of a butterfly), that means a change in form or character.  The writer of the Gospel known as Luke starts the story by saying that Jesus went up on the mountain to pray.  But he took with him his friends.  And it was there, there on the top of the mountain, there with his friends, that Jesus was changed.  Jesus glows with a transcendent glory reserved only for heavenly beings, which implies that he belongs to the divine world.  The Gospel writer depicts Jesus as being together with Moses and Elijah in a scene of transcendent glory, showing Jesus in continuity with the fulfillment of God’s work portrayed by the Old Testament.
It makes the point that the disciples were tired, indeed that they were “weighed down”.  But they stayed awake.  They probably thought that they were dreaming at first.  I mean, really, you’re exhausted and filled with that thin mountain air and then you start seeing things that you can’t explain.  Peter’s response seems odd to us, almost as if he misses the whole point. (And probably makes us a bit uncomfortable with our own reaction!)  It sounds like he’s trying to control or contain the Christ.  But keep in mind that it was a response from his Jewish understanding.  He was offering lodging—a booth, a tent, a tabernacle—for the holy.  But he needed only to listen.  That is the proper response to such incredible holiness.
And then the cloud comes.  It says that they were “overshadowed”, veiled, really, when you think about it.  And of course they were terrified.  I mean, remember, they were Jewish.  They understood that if one saw God, he or she would die.  And here they were.  Something was happening—this thick cloud all around them.  They couldn’t even see the ground below.  And Jesus all lit up like nothing they ever say.  Surely they were going to die.  And then the voice…”This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him.”  Sure, what else are we going to do?
And somewhere in the depiction, Moses and Elijah drop out of sight.  Jesus is there alone.  In Old Testament Hebrew understanding, the tabernacle was the place where God was.  Here, this changes.  Jesus stays with them alone.  Jesus—not Moses, not Elijah–IS the tabernacle, the reality of God’s presence in the world.  The disciples descend down the mountain into the world, full of pain and suffering and injustice.  But God’s presence remains with us.
In the Old Testament passage that we read, Moses descended the mountain with the law; in the depiction of the Transfiguration of Christ, Jesus descends with his own life and body given unto all.  Fred Craddock describes the account of the Transfiguration of Christ as “the shout heard round the world”, the glorious announcement of what happened in Bethlehem years before.  It IS the final Epiphany.
It says, though, that the disciples descended from the mountain.  That is the key.  We are not called to some sort of removed piety.  We must return to the world.  The rest of the passage shows that there is work to be done.  But it also says that they were silent about the whole thing.  After all, really, what do you say after that?  The Transfiguration leans directly into Lent.  Jesus descends and walks toward Jerusalem.  And the disciples go with him.  The Transfiguration leads us to Lent and at the same time gives us a taste of Easter glory.  There is something about this that would never have been understood until it was placed in the context of what was to come next.  Jesus has gone onto Jerusalem.  Our response must be to follow.
  1. What does this passage mean for you?
  2. What does this depiction of God’s presence mean to us?
  3. In what ways, then, should we see the presence of God, or Jesus, differently?
  4. What effect does that have on how we view our own practices of faith?
After a person is baptized in an Episcopal Church, there is a prayer said for the newly baptized, which concludes like this:  “Sustain them, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works. Amen.”

The gift of joy and wonder in all your works.  We’ve lost many things over the years. Joy and wonder are two of them. It’s just so hard to conjure up wonder. As a parent, one of the parental goals I have for myself is to raise two girls with a sense of wonder. So, I take them to museums and cathedrals, and point out the intricacies and nuances of what they’re seeing. When I speak of God to them, I not only tell them that Jesus is their friend and with them all the time (which is good), but also that he made the sun, the moon and the stars. And manatee. And flamingos. And Cheetos.  OK, I definitely leave out the Cheetos…

As a priest, I try and conjure up for the parish I serve similar awe of the power of God, the minute and amazing details of the scriptures, and the movement of the Holy Spirit through the history of humanity and the Church.  Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I don’t. I’ve had too many experiences of taking youth into a grand nave of a wondrous, storied, cathedral or abbey… only to find them more interested in looking at their shoes and incoming text messages.  Those moments hurt my heart.

We had a clergy day a few weeks back with Mike Gecan, the author of “Going Public.” He talked about going into his child’s Kindergarten class and seeing a bulletin board illustrating what the students wanted to learn in school that year. Most of the statements were like, “behave,” “learn to sit still,” “follow the rules,” “listen to the teacher better.”

One child said “I want to know why the ocean shines like fire.”  Holy smoke.  I mean HOLY smoke! Now that the kids mentions it… I want to know why the ocean shines like fire too.  There’s a kid who has the gift of joy and wonder in all God’s works.

We can say a lot about the Tranfiguration. And given it’s prevalent use in the lectionary from year to year, we get to say a lot about it.  But, if there’s ever a “WOW” moment in Jesus’ earthly ministry, this is it. Jesus took his three chosen disciples up on a mountain to do many things. One of them, was to blow their sandals off.  And, whatever shortcomings they have, and however paltry Peter’s words are, they at least do the appropriate thing and fall on their faces before the Presence of the Glory of God and His Son.  This is an intimate encounter, for only a few, on an un-named mountaintop. And so, I have to believe that this isn’t just a historical tale of one of Jesus’ afternoon excursions, but is a model of Christian life.

We are to look around and search for those places and events where God knocks our socks off. And we’re to fully soak in the WOW of the moment. And maybe even fall on our faces.  It reminds us of God’s power and glory and splendor. And it reminds us of our appropriate, faithful, response: worship.  And, once we experience wonder – and help others do the same – maybe we can put the incoming-text-message-machines down… and experience joy too.  Why does Jesus shine like fire? Let’s see for ourselves, and invite others along.  When is the last time you let God blow your socks off? (From “A Garden Path”, a blog by R.M.C. Morley, available at http://www.rmcmorley.com/a-garden-path/2011/02/last-epiphany-a-shining-like-fire.html, accessed 1 March, 2011.)

Some Quotes for Further Reflection:
People only see what they are prepared to see. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
All over this magnificent world God calls us to extend [God’s] kingdom of shalom—peace and wholeness—of justice, of goodness, of compassion, of caring, or sharing, of laughter, of joy, of reconciliation.  God is transfiguring the world right this very moment through us because God believes in us and because God loves us.  What can separate us from the love of God?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  And as we share God’s love with our brothers and sisters, God’s other children, there is no tyrant who can resist us, no opposition that cannot be ended, no hunger that cannot be fed, no wound that cannot be healed, no hatred that cannot be turned into love, no dream that cannot be fulfilled.  (Desmond Tutu, God Has a Dream)
Change your ways, give yourself a fresh coat of paint, convert yourself.  Do all this, and you’ll find the cross before it finds you. (Thomas A’ Kempis, The Imitation of Christ)
Closing
Let’s go up the mountain.  Let’s go up to the place where the land meets the sky where the earth touches the heavens, to the place of meeting, to the place of mists, to the place of voices and conversations, to the place of listening:
O God, We open our eyes and we see Jesus, the months of ministry transfigured to a beam of light, the light of the world, your light. May your light shine upon us. We open our eyes and we see Moses and Elijah, your word restoring us, showing us the way,
telling a story, your story, his story, our story. May your word speak to us.  We open our eyes and we see mist, the cloud of your presence which assures us of all we do not know
and that we do not need to fear that. Teach us to trust.  We open our eyes and we see Peter’s constructions, his best plans, our best plans, our missing the point, our missing the way.  Forgive our foolishness and sin.
We open our eyes and we see Jesus, not casting us off, but leading us down, leading us out – to ministry, to people. Your love endures forever. We open our ears and we hear your voice, ‘This is my beloved Son, listen to him!’ And we give you thanks. Amen

(Prayer by William Loader, 02/2001, available at http://wwwstaff.murdoch.edu.au/~loader/TransfigurationPrayer.htm, accessed 1 March, 2011)