February 3, 2008
(Last Sunday after the Epiphany)
Come Down from the Mountain
by The Rev. Dr. Kenneth Malcolm
Exodus 24:12-18 • Psalm
2 or Psalm 99 • 2 Peter
1:16-21 • Matthew 17:1-9
(From
The Lectionary Page)
One of the great gifts the gospel witness gives us is that each gospel presents different pictures and perspectives on Jesus life and ministry. Mark dwells on Jesus' suffering, Luke focuses on the prophetic nature of Jesus, John on the Divinity. The gospel of Matthew we read from today uses these dramatic sweeping images to establish the strong relationship between Jesus and Moses and the tradition of ancient Israel. In doing so the focus stays firmly on what has been, what is, and what might be.
This scene of Transfiguration which parallels the Old Testament reading for today, is a profound, dramatic, and unexpected moment in the life of Jesus, and it serves as the central pivot for this gospel.
The Transfiguration points backwards to Jesus’ baptism, just as our sacred calendar in Epiphany points back to the Baptism of our Lord only a few weeks ago, and it points forward to the Crucifixion, in the same way we look forward to Lent and the promise of the Cross. In the baptism, the transfiguration, and the crucifixion of Jesus, we are presented with moments when the cosmic and created worlds collide. They are the sign-posts in this gospel which lead us to the gift of resurrection.
Jesus’ decision to go to the Jordan and be baptized by John was not an easy one. Weeks, months, maybe even years of listening to God, of wrestling with God, with ideas, with identity come together in this moment. I imagine that he suspected what it might mean, but I don’t think he knew anymore than you or I would know. He believed, he listened, he had faith so that he might understand.
Standing waist deep in Jordan, with the stories of his faith swimming in his head, the push of the crowd, the chaos, the smells, the noise and then underwater -- muffled silence, refracted light, long enough to long for breath and all at once back in the world. And these words, “This is my Son, I have delighted in choosing him.”
Jesus’ encounter with the divine presence in his baptism serves to affirm his call, and mark the beginning of his ministry.
The Transfiguration narrative mirrors the baptism sequence but represents growth and a widening picture of Jesus. This time Peter, James and John are with him.
Matthew tells us, “His face shone like the sun and his clothes became dazzling white.”Moses and Elijah appear with him.
A vision of Divine Glory if there ever was one.
Here they stand with Jesus. This man, this tired and threadbare prophet, as dirty and sore as the rest of them. Jesus who they met on the road, Jesus whose family and friends they knew, Jesus their companion and leader Transfigured /Transformed into the Christ the Anointed One right before their very eyes.
The Holiness of the man Jesus, shinning through the humanity. With Moses and Elijah no less.
We have all had mountain top experiences – literally and figuratively. Joe knows my natural inclination is to head to the mountains, climb the highest one I can find and do a little theological navel-gazing. The tops of mountains are holy places. I’m convinced of it. It might be the altitude, or the cold, or the effort involved in reaching them but for me, and for people throughout the ages they have been places to meet the Divine.
I have a picture in my office of a small log cabin church The Chapel of the Transfiguration. The church is in the foreground and the soaring Grand Tetons are in the back. Both for me represent holy places. Places we want to linger, to dwell, to stay. They are places set apart for holy things.
Writers for ages have poked fun at Peter for wanting to build dwelling places for Jesus Moses and Elijah on top of that mountain. But I identify with Peter I sympathize with Peter. He has just been witness to the heavenly vision. The Glory of the Lord radiating all about him. It is as if he has been invited back into the Garden of Eden, to the Glory of Creation. To walk in the cool of the evening with Moses and Elijah and Jesus.
The temptation to remain is overwhelming.
We don’t know, but I imagine James and John had already started looking around for wood when the voice of God pours into the created world, “This is my Son, My Beloved, Listen to Him.”
The history of the church’ efforts to “listen to Jesus” is an uneven one at best. If we as individuals are tempted by a vision of heavenly glory, then of course we as a church would be tempted as well. But to leave Jesus on top of that mountain is to deny his humanity and replace his vision and mission and ministry with our own. Theologians throughout the ages have long troubled with this notion of mountaintop Glory. Luther found it abhorrent; Kierkegaard lamented it; Hegel and Nietzsche lambasted it as a ‘slave morality.’ Barth equated it with the anti-Christ and Bonhoeffer deplored it (preachingpeace.org).
This theology of Glory is dangerous. If we leave Jesus on the mountain with the prophets of old we deny his humanity and we deny gift of resurrection. And if we do that, we deny Jesus power to work in and through us in the world. We are left waiting for Jesus to come again (in power and great Glory) and clean up this mess.
But God says, “Listen to Him.”
On those three simple words this gospel story turns on this pivot toward Jerusalem and the Cross. Listen to Him.
But Why? And How? If we were to read a few verses further in Matthew the why becomes clear: the disciples’ role, our role is to participate in the restoration of a fallen world. And you can’t do that from a mountaintop.
You and I know, the vision, mission, and ministry of Jesus is in the world. We are called by Jesus to Love one another as God loves us. To love our neighbors as ourselves. These verses are so familiar that it is easy to move right through them without realizing the radical counter-cultural nature of that charge.
If we listen, we hear a vision of love, hope, faith, belief, a vision of restoration. Catholic theologian John Dominic Crossen calls this eschatological vision, “The great Divine Clean-up of the world.” If we listen to Jesus we are called to participate in the, “Great Divine Clean-up of the world.” To participate in the renewal of Creation.
Out in the streets, across the country and across the world. We are called to pray, to teach, to feed, to shelter, to love.
At the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin our chapel does not have any crosses inside the building, but behind the altar outside a floor to ceiling window is an enormous bronze Trinitarian representation of the Cross. The message is a deliberate one. The cross is out there because the people are out there. We are called to mission out in the world.
But how?
We have to slow down, take a deep breath and bring our world into focus. We have to listen. I think that is why mountains are places people have always found God. Because they are remote, because they are isolated, because as we gaze out over the vast empty space, our perspective is changed so radically that it becomes almost impossible to only think about ourselves.
How are we even to hear the voice of God in the chaos of the world today?
Toward the end of his life Gandhi, spent more and more time in silent prayer. Everyone assumed that his life was the result of a dramatic supernatural visitation. When a reporter asked him he laughed. “No,” he said. Then how do you know what to do? “I listen to God. I listen to God. I pray. I wrestle with God every day, usually God wins.”
We as Christians are the assurance to a lonely world of the Presence of God today. Our call is to participate and to play our role in salvation – to come down from the mountain and enter the maddening frenetic dance of love that is God...and to take others with us if we can.
When we bring our hopes and fears to the table to be sanctified, we renew the story. When we come to this table we bring our desire and it is transformed into love, we bring our longing and it is transformed into illumination, we bring our ideas and they are transformed into bread and into wine. Heavenly food for a scared journey.
From this table, go out into the world, love the people and invite them to this table as well.
