Springwood Presbyterian Church: Whitsett, NC

Mark 9: 2-9

II Corinthians 3: 15 - 4: 3-6                                                                             2-22-09

Summit Meeting

There’s no Blue Ridge Parkway on this mountain to make the climb easier—no road at all.  It takes all day to reach the top: a day that begins before dawn.  You clamber over rocks, slip on loose sand, grab onto the low shrubs for support on the steepest grades.  As the sun gets higher, the heat bears down like a heavy wool blanket.  Go easy on the water in the goatskin flask—there’s none to replace it till you get back down.

Higher and higher, into a fogbank—blessed coolness at last!--but your companions have disappeared into the mist.  Fear catches in your throat for a moment, then you croak, “Where are you?”  His voice comes clear: “Here, beside you.”  He stays near, leading you up and up some more, finally out of the fog into the late afternoon sunlight on the barren crest of the high mountain.  The four of you gratefully breathe in the cool, clean air.

And then a dazzling light—brighter than the sun itself—shone from him, and suddenly Elijah and Moses were there, too, talking with him.  It was as if a door opened into heaven—he is that door, and through him, God’s glory floods the earth.  And you will never be the same.      …

From earliest times, people have gone to the mountains to seek God.  Sometimes, God calls them to the mountain.  When Moses and Elijah experienced failure and discouragement, God summoned them to the mountain and gave them new strength for ministry.  Now Jesus faces growing hostility from his enemies.  His disciples are confused and weary.  He needs renewal, and so do they.

And so do we.  Grieving deaths from wildfires, tornados, plane crashes, war, murders in our own county of people we don’t even know--hurting for friends who’re suffering--fearing for ourselves in this dismal economy--confused by changes in the culture, we need the same kind of assurance Peter and James and John received: that God is--that God is in charge—that God is with us.  So it’s good to step away, go to a quiet place where there’s nothing to distract us from God’s presence, and get a long-range view of the world and our own problems. 

And like Peter, we might yearn to stay right there, basking in the lovely glow of God’s glory.  But this sermon might be titled “Gravity,” because what goes up must come down.  Jesus led the disciples back down, back to the work of building God’s kingdom.  That work hadn’t taken a vacation while they were away.  In fact, the moment they reached level ground, folks surrounded them, clamoring for Jesus to heal a boy with epilepsy. 

Our work is where the people are: in the world, where we meet pain and pettiness, squabbles and complaints, and the glorious opportunity to touch the lives of others with the mystery and marvel of God’s transforming love—and where we, too, are touched and changed as we encounter Jesus—yes, on mountains, graced with a moment like Peter and James and John had, but also in the plains and valleys where we live, where we meet him in other people.

We dare not let even the church become so comfortable that it keeps us from seeing—and addressing—the pain of the world.  A friend sent me an email this week with some “bulletin bloopers.”  One announced the upcoming installation of a new pastor, but a typo made it read his “insulation” at the church.”  May that not be the case for us!

English has lots of words that begin with “trans”: transcontinental, transmit, transfer, even transfats!  In each case, “trans” means something crosses over, or changes, from one thing or one place to another.  This passage is called “the transfiguration,” because Jesus’ physical appearance underwent a startling change before the eyes of his three disciples.  His changed appearance, though, only made plain what he was, at core--what was within him: the glory of God. 

Though Peter and James and John looked no different when they reached the valley floor, their lives were changed forever because they had seen the truth of who Jesus is.  Still, their transfiguration didn’t stop there.  It continued to progress and mature over the course of their lives as they followed Jesus even when they didn’t understand him--as they experienced fear when he was arrested--as they grieved his death--as they rejoiced at his resurrection--as they carried on his work and learned they were empowered to do the things he had done.

For us, mountaintop moments--special retreats or times of simply sitting by a quiet lake or watching a sunset, being struck with awe and wonder; even more, those occasions that happen any place we experience God’s comfort or have a clear sense of God’s guidance or really believe that God loves us--these are  starting places of our transfiguration.  These are times we can look at the world from the long view: the perspective of faith that sees God at work, redeeming the forces of death and fear.

The change isn’t, however, a Kodak moment we can hold on to, take out and look at, put on the mantle for others to admire.  It’s not a fixed point, but more like an ongoing video of our life, happening bit by bit over time as we become more and more alert to beholding signs of God’s presence in our lives.  We live into our transfiguration not in those mountaintop moments, but here, where opportunities and obstacles meet, as we hold onto to the vision God shows us of the world as it might be—as we hope and pray and work for the world and its people to be transfigured and remade God’s way, as we consciously change the way we live, as we strive for justice and right relationships. 

As we move into the season of Lent this week, ask God for the transformation you need—be it transformation of attitude, or of action, or of faith—so that each of us, and Springwood through us, may completely and utterly trust in God’s vision and God’s guidance into the future.