Going Through the Door

Going through the Door

Last Week of Epiphany

February 26, 2017

Rev. Dr. Jennifer Oldstone-Moore

In my recent sermons, I have said Epiphany—the inbetween season after the anticipation of Advent, the joy of Christmas and before Jesus turns to Jerusalem and the Passion—is the time when we hear Jesus’ game plan. We’ve heard the Sermon on the Mount for several weeks, Jesus’ plan for how to bring the Kingdom: to find the Third Way, to live the Beatitudes, love enemies, learning how to pray, seeing what it will mean to follow Jesus in his stunning ministry of healing and challenging the authorities of the day. He tells his followers not to worry about the future, to trust in the providence of God, to be salt and light to the world. And now, in the Transfiguration, we are at the pivot, the door hinge, the place between the plans and the execution of the plan. Jesus and his followers head into Lent—they will go down the mountain and set off in the direction that leads to Jesus’ Passion and the disciples’ disappointment, devastation, and terror.

This pivot point, the Transfiguration, is such an interesting and compelling moment of complete, mind-bending, fear-inducing clarity. Before the Transfiguration, Peter has told Jesus that he believes Jesus to be the Messiah. And now the three disciples, Peter, James and John, see Jesus for who and what he is, dazzling in white light, conversing with the men who represent the Law and the Prophets—Moses and Elijah.

I don’t know what to make of this scene, how to explain what is going on. And apparently Peter also doesn’t know how to make sense of it, because he starts babbling. He babbles on about how they should build some tabernacles up on the mountain, one for Elijah, one for Moses, and one for Jesus. Maybe—but why? Nobody comes up here: the whole point of being up in the mountains is that they are away from the crowds. Maybe Peter wants to mark the spot, the way Jacob did when he slept on a stone for a pillow and dreamed of a ladder of angels. But whatever Peter is about, it seems at best irrelevant and maybe kind of pathetic. And it does seem that he is on the wrong track because he’s interrupted mid-babble—“while he was still speaking”—by a booming voice from a bright cloud that says “This is my Son—LISTEN to him!!!” Peter is scrambling to do the right thing. What he gets pretty close to a smack down, almost literally, because the voice is so terrifying that he and James and John fall face down onto the dusty earth.

This is the hinge moment, the pivot. This is the moment when those big ideals of the Sermon on the Mount come in to terrifying focus. It seems that this moment of transfiguration makes them realize that they are in for much more than they could have imagined or hoped for or even dreaded. In fact, that is what they will find out. When they pass through that door, when they head down the mountain, they will find out that they had had absolutely no idea.

I think that the pivot, the hinge, is that moment between promises made to the self in the hope of what they mean, and then the price of enacting them.

As I thought about this pivot point I thought about my friend Rick. Rick is someone everyone loves—he has such a gentle, and attentive demeanor, he moves easily with so many different kinds of people, he is the kind of person who somehow knows everyone in the community because he’s goes to what seems like every community event, and he hangs out at the local coffee shop and talks to and gets to know everyone, and he is encouraging and hopeful. He also has a tremendous appetite for social justice. He speaks out in newspaper columns and at the City Commission, he knows his representatives and keeps in touch with them, he proposes legislation to the City Commission and then puts the pressure on them, he shows up, he cares. I admire him so much, because he puts into action all the things that I think I should be doing. And I try to follow his example and do so in a sort of hobbled, tentative way.

Last year, as I became more and more alarmed at the outrageous claims that are being made about Islam and Muslims—claims that are based on fear and ignorance—I decided to put together a Wittenberg event that would be open to Springfield that would talk about the fear of Islam—Islamophobia—and would outline ways for us to build bridges in our community. As I prepared this event, I felt a growing sense of fear in doing something so public that had the potential to make some people very angry at me. When I received angry mail, I got scared. The fear made me wonder whether I was really cut out for this work, so I asked Rick how long, in all the social gospel work that he had done, had he stopped being afraid to be out there in public, pushing issues that challenge authorities, giving a name and face to the public that would make him a lightning rod for anger and pushback.

I thought that if Rick told me that he wasn’t afraid, it would be a good indication that he’s doing the work he should be doing. I thought it would explain that I’m different from him, and that I’m not made for this activist work in the public eye, that my role is simply more private. I should leave this work that scares me to people like him, and I can go back to doing the kind of work that I’m comfortable with and do well.

But Rick said that he never got over being nervous and afraid. That after years of doing this work, and being so well respected and so widely liked and supported in the community, he still felt that gnawing fear when he spoke out about issues that are important but contentious. That fear is part of the work, not excuse from the work. So today, whether I read about Peter’s natterings on the mountain top when Jesus’ glory has been revealed to him, and when he goes on about building tabernacles, and then when he goes down into the dirt when the Holy One tells him, “LISTEN to him” I thought, “That’s me.”

What I really want to do is to do the things that I do well, to mark special times and places, to be with great people, and pleas—I’d rather not walk into Jerusalem and all that that will mean. I think that Peter is realizing the enormity of what he has signed on to—this is about more than giving this great guy Jesus his due, it’s more than recognizing Jesus’ greatness. It is also about going into the unknown and possibly into the dangerous, it’s about turning from the anticipation and the joy and facing the path that goes down the mountain to Jerusalem.

Sister Joan Chittister, another hero of mine, says that a transfiguration is what happens when we change ourselves to change the world. She says “Religion does not call us to the rational. Religion calls us to the Beatitudes.” Religion calls us to Jesus’ master plan that turns the world upside down. I can hear the Beatitudes, the “blessed are the these and those” and all the impossibilities of that game plan of Jesus. And away from the crowds and actually having to do anything, I’m ready to build memorial arches or whatever is needed. But please don’t make me reach out to my enemy and love her. Please don’t make me come face to face with someone who taunts and then ask me to show mercy to him. Please don’t tell me that before I can make offerings to God I need to go sort out matters with my angry brother or sister. That’s enough to make me go face down on the dirt, or carpet, or linoleum, or whatever and hang on for dear, fearful life. Don’t make me go down that mountain and put into practice what you just said!

But that is what Jesus does, and we follow Jesus. And somehow, this is the path that leads to new life, and to abundant life. It leads to the hardships of the road, and to the trials of Jerusalem, but also to resurrection. At this pivot point of the work of Jesus, let us stand for one spellbinding moment at the top of the mountain with Jesus and realize not just who he is, but what that means for our lives. And let us not be afraid, knowing that when his disciples were face down on the dirt, the next thing that happened is that Jesus came and touched them and told them “Don’t be afraid. Come on. Let’s go.” And these three disciples—Peter, James and John—are the same three whom Jesus asks to keep vigil with him in the Garden of Gethsemane. And they fail him! They try, but the fall asleep. Twice. These three disciples—Peter, James, and John—are the same three disciples at the foot of the cross who flee in terror, watching everything they’d hoped for and everything they care about be destroyed. These three disciples—Peter, James, and John—are the same three who meet the Jesus on another mountain—this one after Jerusalem and the Passion—when they encounter Christ risen. And it is these three disciples—Peter, James and John—who themselves have martyrs’ death after Christ’s ascension, martyred for their work in spreading the Gospel to all people.

Let us prepare to walk boldly into Lent and boldly into our lives of being peacemakers and healers and speaking truth to power and looking out for those who are at a disadvantage. In the words of Wendell Berry,

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Practice resurrection.

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