Practicing Transfiguration
Matthew 17:1-9
Click here to view the full sermon video, titled "Practicing Transfiguration"
Maybe you’ll agree with me—
the story of the Transfiguration
is just weird…
even spooky!
Jesus’ appearance transformed;
that bright shining light;
the cloud overshadowing everybody;
the voice coming out of the cloud.
Don’t you think that’s weird?
Our contemporary fact-finding minds
don’t know what to do
with all of that.
If Peter, James, or John
could only have taken
their phones
up on the mountain,
then we would have
pictures of the event…
probably video!
But of course,
Peter and James and John
had no phones.
So, all we have is
this ancient text—
this story about
a strange God thing
that happened
on a mountain.
It’s interesting to notice that
this is not the first story in the Bible
about a strange God thing
that happened on a mountain.
You remember Moses on Mount Sinai
receiving the stone tablets
of the law to give to the people….
When Moses first
went up the mountain,
he and God had to have a little conference
to decide how
this would all work out,
because here was the situation:
you couldn’t see the face of God.
It was too overpowering.
You would die.
Drop dead on the spot.
So here was the arrangement:
Moses would not see God’s face.
Instead…
(Pay attention to this!...
This is one of the best parts of the Bible!)
What God decided to do was to pass by,
and allow Moses to catch a glimpse of…
well, …
of God’s
backside.
Honest.
That’s what it says.
Well anyway,
even that “subdued” glory of God
was so magnificent,
that Moses’ face shone with it—
even after he came
down the mountain!
So, the writer of Matthew expects us
to know that story.
Matthew expects us to understand—
that’s the kind of glory of God
that is revealed
on the mountain
to Peter and James and John.
They saw
the glory of God
in their teacher, Jesus.
Most of us haven’t seen…
No, wait….
I’m guessing none of us have seen
faces “shining like the sun”
in the way the Bible describes
Jesus’ and Moses’ faces shining
with the glory of God.
And I doubt many folks around First Presbyterian
report on hearing voices
coming from the clouds.
But earlier,
I used the language
“a God thing” for a reason.
That’s what we sometimes say
about our religious experiences, isn’t it?
It was “a God thing.”
When something happens
that was so amazing
and glorious
and perfect…
that it made us tingle,
and shudder a little bit,
and step back in awe….
It was a “God thing.”
Maybe it was something
that a small child
said or did to mend your heart,
or the way you suddenly knew
that God was speaking to you—
calling you to do something
new and different in your life
and you did it
and it clicked.
“A God thing.”
It was a God thing—
the way the mountains
were watermelon colored
and the music was playing
on the radio
and my broken heart
was knit back together.
We know about
such shimmering moments.
Maybe they aren’t quite as dramatic
as the Transfiguration,
but still,
they touch us
with divine glory.
Peter wanted to capture the moment,
build some dwellings so that
this time
would always be accessible to him.
But these times
can’t be preserved, can they?—
can’t be laminated,
can’t be stashed in a box
so that we can go back to them
and touch them.
Peter and James and John
had to go down the mountain,
into the valley of everyday life
where people were hurting
and needed to be healed,
where there was work to be done,
where the journey ahead
was to the cross.
“Listen to him,” the voice had said.
“Listen to him.”
Well, that’s very easy
when the world is shimmering
and the puzzle pieces all fall into place
and God is clearly in heaven
and all is right with the world.
But what about
when the shimmering,
warm fuzzy feeling is over?
What about
when life seems dull,
and we come to worship
and everything seems flat,
and we pray
and nothing happens?
Well, that’s when we are called
to practice Transfiguration.
We train our eyes
to notice divine glory.
We train our ears
to hear the voice of Jesus.
I heard a story a few years back about how
two friends
were walking down the sidewalk
of a busy city street
during rush hour.
There were all sorts of noises
in the city—
buses rumbling,
car horns honking,
feet shuffling,
people talking.
And amid all this noise
one of the friends
turned to the other and said,
“I hear a cricket.”
“No way,”
her friend responded.
“How could you possibly
hear a cricket with
all this noise?
You must be imagining it.
Besides, I’ve never seen a cricket
in the city.”
Her friend stopped
for a moment,
then led them both
across the street
to a big cement planter
with a tree in it.
Pushing back some leaves
she found a little brown cricket.
“That’s amazing!”
said her friend.
“You must have
super-human hearing.
What’s your secret?”
“No secret;
my hearing’s
just the same as yours.”
Then she reached into her pocket,
pulled out some loose change,
and threw it on the sidewalk.
Amid all the noise in the city,
everyone within thirty feet
turned their heads
to see where the sound of the money
was coming from.
“See,” she said.
“It’s all a matter of what you’re listening for.”
It’s all a matter
of what you’re listening for.
We train our eyes
to notice divine glory.
We train our ears
to hear the voice of Jesus.
"Earth's crammed with heaven,”
writes Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
“And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pick blackberries."
Every common bush afire with God,
But only those who see
recognize that it is holy ground
and take off their shoes.
Lent begins this Wednesday.
What if, instead of giving up beer or chocolate,
we vowed to practice Transfiguration this Lent?
Maybe we keep a journal.
Maybe we sit and listen to the silence,
listen to the noises around us—
feel the gift of breath
moving through our lungs.
Maybe we pray as we walk in nature.
Maybe we read a passage of Scripture each day
and listen for the voice of God
speaking to our lives
through it.
Maybe we volunteer for something new,
watching for God to appear
through new people
and new places.
We train our eyes
to notice divine glory.
We train our ears
to hear the voice of Jesus.
We practice transfiguration.
And as we practice, we begin to know…
that Jesus
is not only standing
on the mountaintop in glory.
He walks alongside us
on the busy streets of our lives.
He speaks to us
in the voices of our children,
in the voices of our church family,
our friends,
and yes, even our enemies.
He calls us back, again and again,
from our foolish ideas,
from our need to win the day,
from our desire to be right.
He speaks to us in a small voice,
softer than a cricket’s chirp
in the bustle of a city sidewalk,
and he calls us back, again and again, to his table,
where he welcomes us,
pardons us,
feeds us
and blesses us.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
