Transfiguration Snapshots

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
February 22, 2009; Last Epiphany, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Mark 9:2-9) – Six 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, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then 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." He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.

As 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.
_____________________________________________________________

It was a strange day. There had been a dark mood around the disciples for about a week, since Jesus had exchanged some sharp words with Peter. One moment he was praising Peter for his insight, "You are the Messiah." The next moment Jesus called Peter "Satan" and started talking about death and rejection and how everyone must deny themselves and lose their lives. That was six days ago. It had settled over the little group like a cloud.

On this day, Jesus took three of them on a hike, away, up a mountain by themselves. And there, in the thin air, they saw something strange. They saw Jesus enlightened, as it were. Surrounded by light; infused by light. And a different kind of cloud overshadowed them. A cloud of divine presence that said, "This is my Son, my Beloved; listen to him." They didn't say anything to anybody about it. But the images stayed with them.

For those of us in the post-resurrection church, we can say that what happened to Peter and James and John was that they got a brief glimpse into the true and deeper reality of Jesus. For just a moment, they looked at their friend and saw him as he is. Later Paul will use this language: "the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God." (We just heard that from Second Corinthians.) For a snapshot of a moment, these three disciples saw that light.

We have no record of it, but I hope they saved the image of that snapshot for later when things got so dark. They needed that picture when they looked upon the bitter reality of seeing the life broken out of that same body dying in slow anguish on the cross. Maybe one of the reasons their eyes were able to see him resurrected was because the image of the risen Jesus was more real to them than that final image of the crucified Jesus. Of course he was risen; they had seen that light in him before.

Transfiguration snapshots are important. We all have them, don't we? We have in our memories snapshots of our loved ones. Moments when they have caught our attention, when they looked particularly effused with light, when they appeared so beautiful and happy and free. In my memory and imagination I have images of Kathy like that, but since she's here, I won't embarrass her. Instead I'll embarrass my daughter Allison, she's not here. I think I've mentioned before of a moment on a soccer field, when she was maybe seven. The other players were herded around the ball somewhere toward the goal. But in the middle of the field, Allison was running with pure exuberant freedom, her hair flying behind her as she took long, gazelle strides celebrating the joy of running and being. So alive, so energized, so present, so happy. I carry the snapshot of that memory with me.

And lest I freeze her in the past, as an adorable little child, I have another, more adult image. I wasn't there, but I have in my visual memory a photograph of Allison. She's a college student at Ole Miss, standing confidently at a podium with her African American friend Jada, telling a packed auditorium how important it is for sports fans at that school to stop waving the Confederate battle flag and singing "Dixie." Same energy and intensity as the girl on the soccer field; different setting.

And my son Gray. There's a picture of him as a tow-headed child, head cocked, gentle smile; and the memory of him on my shoulders clapping his hands over his head singing "Born to be Wild" at his first outdoor rock concert. And a grown-up glance at him, tall and energized, talking adult-to-adult in animated conversation with one of our friends at a party in our house where he cooked a gourmet meal for us all.

We all have these family portraits in the gallery of our memory scrapbook. They capture the light and life of our beloved at moments when we see them in their particular transfigured glory. These are true images. Glimpses of their true self, the light that emanates from them when we see them as they truly are, beautiful beings created in the image and likeness of God.

It is especially important to recall and treasure these images and assert their reality in those other moments – when they are not so enlightened, when the dark clouds obscure their light, when sadness and suffering and folly seem more real than their glory.

A few days ago I looked on my father-in-law in his coffin. I can see that image in my mind's eye. I know it is real. He is dead. But there are other images of him that are so much more real and alive. As we looked through family pictures, we recalled old times. I found myself surprised at a picture of Kathy's mom Claire, late in her life, when emphysema made dark circles below her eyes. I had forgotten that she once looked that way. The picture reminded me. But my stronger, transfiguration image of her is from our family vacations at the beach, bending over from the waist, straight-legged, finding another sea shell washed up from the sea. She loved to do that. Contented, peaceful, with almost childlike joy.

Transfiguration images are healing. Sometimes when I talk to someone who is haunted by a sad or hurtful memory, I'll invite them to imagine Jesus physically there in the scene, bringing strength and light and enfolding love into their tragic moment. After all, Jesus was there. See him. Let him be there for you. For some it works better simply to let the remembered moment be filled with divine light and presence, God's light and presence loving you through the pain, upholding you and bringing healing and resurrection to the burden of your own remembered cross.

It can help to pray with images. To see someone who is weak or ill and to imagine them transfigured like Jesus on the mountain, filled with light and resurrection life.

Sometimes imagery helps when someone is angry or mad at you. Look below their words or their body language and see them as they truly are, a beloved child of God, infinitely loved and able to bear God's light, even though right now there seems to be a pretty thick cloud over that light. Clouds can pass. When someone really pushes my button, sometimes I'll remind myself that they had a mother, and their mother loved them. I don't know why, but that seems to help me. Maybe because my mother loved me, even when I wasn't very lovable.

It can help to pray transfiguration prayers for those with whom we are angry, or even those we hate. It helps me to think that Osama bin Laden had a mother, and his mother loved him. He too is a child of God who has been hurt, and now acts out his hurt in such damaging ways. For a little while I can imagine him healed, infused with divine, maternal light; quiet and peaceful once more; able to bear and reflect God's light again. How relieved I would be if he could embrace that deeper reality; and as I pray, I also realize that I will be relieved at his capture or death if he is unable to embrace that light.

I think that organizations and offices have a transfigured being. What would they look like if they were following their true calling with energy and enlightened reality? Nations have an inner being. How can this nation live into its truest identity and potential? Imagine that, see that, remember that.

In our teaching ministry here, in the Servant Leadership basic course and elsewhere, we teach about the process of dismantling our attachment to our false self and reconnecting with our true self, the person God created us to be. At the center of our being, where we are most truly ourselves, we are one with God, for we are created by God for God. Every person is created in the image and likeness of God. God is love. We are created by love, in love, for love. As Killian Noe tells street addicts in her remarkably successful rehabilitation program, "what is most true about each of us... is that we are loved and that God's love abides in us... Just as surely as a peach pit is at the core of every peach, love is at the core of every human being." (from Finding Our Way Home, p. 13-14)

To see with transfigured eyes is to see this loving divine reality exploding throughout creation, including within ourselves. For a moment, Peter, James and John saw Jesus as he really is.
And they treasured that memory. To see yourself as you really are would mean to look upon yourself infused with light, infinitely loved by God, at peace, secure and joyful. Can you hear the voice that comes from the divine cloud and speaks every time you look into the mirror? "This is my child. My beloved. Listen."
___________________________________________

The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.

For information about St. Paul's Episcopal Church and it's life and mission, please contact us at
P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373
More sermons are posted on our web site: www.stpaulsfay.org
Visit our web partners at www.explorefaith.org