Glory and the Cross

Sermon preached Sunday, February 11, 2024, Transfiguration Sunday, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

There’s a podcast that I listen to almost every week. It’s done by three professors at Luther Seminary and it takes a deep look into the scripture readings for the week in light of current events and the liturgical season. It’s helpful and enlightening and listening to the reflection of these preachers, scholars, and theologians has become a weekly habit of mine.

 

One of the things I appreciate most about this podcast is the honesty and frankness with which these individuals approach the text. There are no easy answers or pat explanations—and when one of them struggles with something, they confess that struggle to their listeners. As I listened to this week’s episode, I was reminded of a conversation around these lectionary texts that came up a couple years ago. One of the contributors made a point that I have come back to several times since.  

 

The transfiguration, he said, this incredible event on a mountain top where Jesus’ appearance suddenly changes, this event is easy to teach but can be terribly difficult to preach. It’s easy to teach because there is a clear set of events, with symbolism that connects them to Jewish history and beliefs. It’s easy to say, “Well, this event has similarities with Moses seeing God on Mount Sinai. Moses and Elijah are figures many believed had to return before the Messiah would begin to reign. Moses represents the law and Elijah represents the prophets—and both the law and the prophets are fulfilled in Jesus.” As long as we stay in the realm of historical and cultural context, I can talk about the Transfiguration for hours. Easy. 

What’s not so easy, however, is finding something to preach in this story. That is, what about this story actually has any bearing for you and me and how we live our lives when we leave the church building today? What is there here to preach? Knowing all the facts and the background is valuable, but it doesn’t necessarily tie-in to me; it doesn’t necessarily give me something to take with me; it doesn’t necessarily sink into my soul. In other words, I can really easily tell you why the transfiguration happens the way it does in our scripture…but I have trouble sometimes telling just why, exactly, it matters. Knowing what Jesus did is essential, but so is knowing what it means for me. 

 

Lent is bookended by two mountains, two hills, two raised places. This Sunday before Lent begins on Wednesday, we hear of this mountain of Jesus’ transfiguration. On Good Friday, there will be another raised place: a hill known as the place of the skull, Golgotha, where Jesus is crucified. We want the Jesus of today—we want the Jesus of transfiguration. 

 

We want the Jesus who gets the voice of God coming down from heaven, who’s clothes and skin change and become dazzling. We want the Jesus who shows, without a shadow of a doubt, who he is.  We want glory. We want Glory Jesus. What we get, however, is the Jesus of the cross, the Jesus who is mocked and tortured, the Jesus who is written off because he chooses suffering for our sake over military might.

The Jesus of the cross is the Jesus we need. This is the Jesus we are desperate for. This is the Jesus who leaves the glory and comes back down the mountain. This is the Jesus who hears our longing for wholeness and peace and healing and comes to bring all of it to pass. This is the Jesus who underwent death and suffering so that there will never be a place we can go where God has not already been.  It is through this Jesus that we see the true and whole glory of God revealed in the unexpected place of the cross. 

 

Transfiguration Sunday is about who Jesus is: the Son of God, the Chosen, prophet connected to Elijah and Moses…but that’s not all. Jesus is also the one who comes back down. Jesus doesn’t stay on the mountain.

 

We, as the church of this transfigured Jesus, are called to strike a balance between the “mountain” and the low places.

 

The mountain has its place. We all have ways of getting to a mountain top, a spiritual experience that connects us to God. For some people it is in worship, either our Sunday service or special services throughout the year. For others, it might be in private prayer or devotion. For still others, God might be closest when exploring nature, the wild and wonderful creation God has blessed us with. The place or time doesn’t matter, but we all need these moments of connection and renewal to sustain us in the rest of our faith journey. The mountain isn’t bad—in fact, it’s pretty great!

 

But we cannot stay there forever. There is work to be done in the world around us. We say that we are God’s hands and feet in the world, carrying out the mission of God. People are hurting and in need of healing and comfort. We are called to search out the broken in our world, in our lives, and witness to the love of God through our words and actions. And, during those times when we are the broken and we are the ones desperate for healing, others will bring the Gospel to us. So, we need to leave dazzling clothes of the mountain from time to time and get dirty in the world around us.

 

On Wednesday begins a journey to the cross. It will take us to the high of Palm Sunday and the deep low and lament of Christ’s passion. We walk it together. We walk it with Jesus. We walk it, and at the end we will gather at that second raised place and remember, at the foot of the cross, the words of God: “This is my Son, the Chosen, listen to him.” In that moment, the glory of God is revealed to all, even through the horrific, messy way of the cross. 

 

Amen. 

Why the Transfiguration Matters

Sermon preached Sunday, February 14, 2021, Transfiguration Sunday, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. 

There’s a podcast that I listen to almost every week. It’s done by three professors at Luther Seminary and it takes a deep look into the scripture readings for the week in light of current events and the liturgical season. It’s helpful and enlightening and listening to these scholars has become a weekly habit of mine.

One of the things I appreciate most about this podcast is the honesty and frankness with which these individuals approach the text. There are no easy answers or pat explanations—and when one of them struggles with something, they confess that struggle to their listeners. This past week, one of the professors made a point about this morning’s Gospel text that I had felt for a long time, but had never been able to articulate.

The transfiguration, he said, this incredible event on a mountain top where Jesus’ appearance suddenly changes, this event is easy to teach but can be terribly difficult to preach. It’s easy to teach because there is a clear set of events, with symbolism that connects them to Jewish history and beliefs. It’s easy to say, “Well, this event has similarities with Moses seeing God on Mount Sinai. Moses and Elijah are figures many believed had to return before the Messiah would begin to reign. Moses represents the law and Elijah represents the prophets—and both the law and the prophets are fulfilled in Jesus.” As long as we stay in the realm of historical and cultural context, I can talk about the Transfiguration for hours. Easy.

What’s not so easy, however, is finding something to preach in this story. That is, what about this story actually has any bearing for you and me and how we live our lives when we leave the church building today? What is there here to preach? Knowing all the facts and the background is valuable, but it doesn’t necessarily tie-in to me; it doesn’t necessarily give me something to take with me; it doesn’t necessarily sink into my soul. In other words, I can really easily tell you why the transfiguration happens the way it does in our scripture…but I have trouble sometimes telling just why, exactly, it matters. Knowing what Jesus did is essential, but so is knowing what it means for me.

Lent is bookended by two mountains, two hills, two raised places. This Sunday before Lent begins on Wednesday, we hear of this mountain of Jesus’ transfiguration. On Good Friday, there will be another raised place: a hill known as the place of the skull, Golgotha, where Jesus is crucified. We want the Jesus of today—we want the Jesus of transfiguration.

We want the Jesus who gets the voice of God coming down from heaven, who’s clothes and skin change and become dazzling. We want the Jesus who shows, without a shadow of a doubt, who he is.  We want glory. We want Glory Jesus. What we get, however, is the Jesus of the cross, the Jesus who is mocked and tortured, the Jesus who is written off because he chooses suffering for our sake over military might.

The Jesus of the cross is the Jesus we need. This is the Jesus we are desperate for. This is the Jesus who leaves the glory and comes back down the mountain. This is the Jesus who hears our longing for wholeness and peace and healing and comes to bring all of it to pass. This is the Jesus who underwent death and suffering so that there will never be a place we can go where God has not already been.  It is through this Jesus that we see the true and whole glory of God revealed in the unexpected place of the cross.

Transfiguration Sunday is about who Jesus is: the Son of God, the Chosen, prophet connected to Elijah and Moses…but that’s not all. Jesus is also the one who comes back down. Jesus doesn’t stay on the mountain.

We, as the church of this transfigured Jesus, are called to strike a balance between the “mountain” and the low places.

The mountain has its place. We all have ways of getting to a mountain top, a spiritual experience that connects us to God. For some people it is in worship, either our Sunday service or special services throughout the year. For others, it might be in private prayer or devotion. For still others, God might be closest when exploring nature, the wild and wonderful creation God has blessed us with. The place or time doesn’t matter, but we all need these moments of connection and renewal to sustain us in the rest of our faith journey. The mountain isn’t bad—in fact, it’s pretty great!

But we cannot stay there forever. There is work to be done in the world around us. We say that we are God’s hands and feet in the world, carrying out the mission of God. People are hurting and in need of healing and comfort. We are called to search out the broken in our world, in our lives, and witness to the love of God through our words and actions. And, during those times when we are the broken and we are the ones desperate for healing, others will bring the Gospel to us. So, we need to leave dazzling clothes of the mountain from time to time and get dirty in the world around us.

On Wednesday begins a journey to the cross. It will take us to the high of Palm Sunday and the deep low and lament of Christ’s passion. We walk it together. We walk it with Jesus. We walk it, and at the end we will gather at that second raised place and remember, at the foot of the cross, the words of God: “This is my Son, the Chosen, listen to him.” In that moment, the glory of God is revealed to all, even through the horrific, messy way of the cross.

Amen.

The Mountain Top

Sermon preached Sunday, February 23, 2020, Transfiguration of Our Lord, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

I can’t think about Transfiguration Sunday without thinking about mountains. There are lots of mountains I’ve driven up or lived on in my days of working as a summer camp counselor, but there is always one in particular that sticks out to me.

Several years ago, I was in Phoenix for the ordination of a really good friend and seminary classmate.  There were several of us in town and we were looking for something active to do since all we had been doing so far was getting in as much Mexican food as we possibly could. The was a nearby trail that this friend hiked pretty frequently, so we got up early and piled into a car.

We drove to the mountain and parked, got out and began to hike. We continued to talk on the way up, sharing stories from our time apart and reminiscing about times we’d had together. We discussed our future hopes and dreams for our ministry. It was a comfortable hike, not too strenuous. It was sunny, but not hot and there was a pleasant breeze from time to time.

Finally, we approached the top and our conversation came to an end, as if we had somehow telepathically agreed to stop talking. We stood in a line and looked out over the wild desert. It was one of those moments when everything seems perfect, when time seems to stand still.

It was quiet, with wind rustling the brush. After a few moments, someone said something along the lines of “What an awesome Creator we have.” And we all agreed. What an awesome Creator we have!

There’s something about that moment. Something about being on that mountain. There’s something about being on any mountain. It’s what they call that “mountain top experience.”

What is it about the mountain top? It’s important. It’s transcendent. The mountain top pulls us away from the everyday distractions of work or school, or troubled relationships. It pulls us away from the constant barrage of Facebook updates and twenty-four-hour news cycles. We are met with a grand expanse of creation—and the great power and imagination of our Creator.

The mountain-top has the unique ability to make us feel both greater and smaller at the same time. We feel as if we can see everything, almost as if we can touch everything…and we also realize that things that look large up close appear tiny and insignificant from far away. The mountain-top experience is something we can’t explain, but it’s a terribly precious and profound way to encounter God.

On Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, we begin Lent, which is almost a symbolic climb. Throughout Lent, we journey with Jesus through his ministry and his passion and, eventually, to his crucifixion. During Lent, we climb the hill of Golgotha with Jesus; we climb, expecting to find Christ at the top that mountain.

The Bible is filled with stories of finding God at mountain-tops: Moses’ experience with burning bush and the Ten Commandments are probably the most well-known examples. There’s the story of Abraham binding Isaac, among others. But this morning, we hear another familiar story about a mountain.

Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a mountain and—all of a sudden—his clothes turn to a brilliant, blinding white and his face begins to shine like the sun and—even more amazing!—the voice of God comes and claims Jesus as the beloved, Son of God. It’s incredible, so much so that Peter wants to build dwellings and stay. And who can blame him? I’d want to stay!

But they don’t stay. And that’s perhaps the best part of this story. Jesus and these three disciples don’t stay on the mountain, they come back down.

Something amazing had happened there. Something life-changing occurred at the top of that mountain. The disciples encountered God and had a mountain-top experience…but then they left. They came back down the mountain; they came back with Jesus.

It would have been easy to stay up there. They were separated from the rest of the world and could have avoided lots of trouble. It would have been easy to let the rest of the world go on while they enjoyed the transcendence of that space. But Jesus doesn’t choose the easy peace of that transcendence. Jesus comes down, even knowing that coming down will eventually lead to his death.

Because Jesus doesn’t want to stay up, to stay separate, to stay in that “holy place.”

Instead, Jesus comes down and the whole world becomes holy. Jesus comes down and makes the entire world a place where we can encounter Christ, where we can encounter God.

Where do you encounter God? I imagine that the answer is different for everyone. It depends on your personality and what you treasure, but there are certainly some common responses to this question.

Some people encounter God in nature, like I did with my friends on that hike, or like campers and counselors alike do when they go to camp. Being surrounded by the wonderful trees, rocks, water and creatures that God created reminds us of how much God loves us, of how much care God put into our world when it was made. Everything works together in remarkable unity and incredible complexity.

Still others, myself included, encounter God in the arts. Sometimes a painting can capture a message or an emotion that words can’t express. Sometimes music is able to move beyond notes on a page and transport the listener to another place, perhaps allow the listener to feel a direct and vital connection to God. There’s poetry and literature, too, which uses our limited vocabulary to speak expansive and overarching truths.

We can also encounter God in our relationships: our families, our friends, co-workers, classmates—these are all ways in which we can be delighted by God reaching out to us. We may even be surprised by the unsuspecting ways we can be the hands of God reaching out to others.

And we can of course encounter God in scripture. Some people read their Bible daily, use it as a sort of “spiritual food” to nourish their day-to-day lives. Others enjoy delving deeper into texts in communal study, finding new ways to apply these important stories to their lives. And, most importantly, we gather together every week and hear the scriptures proclaimed.

Every Sunday morning, we come to this place and hear prayers, songs and sermons, but we also hear these divinely inspired words spoken aloud. We hear them, we don’t just read them. They become alive for us in this place. They are proclaimed as good news for us, not just for the people who wrote them, or heard them in the time they were written, but for us, here and now, in this time and place. In these words, we encounter God—or, maybe it’s better to say that God encounters us.

And that encounter reaches a new level at the table, when we receive the bread and wine, Christ’s own body and blood. Christ meets us here and sustains us for the road ahead.

That mountain-top experience I described at the beginning shouldn’t be discounted. It’s real and important and can have a deep and lasting impact on people. It’s that special blend of seeing vast expanses of God’s good creation and that unique ability to make us feel both greater and smaller than we are—this same feeling can happen when we hear the Word of God.

Today, Jesus comes down the mountain:  the entire world is made holy and God can meet with us anywhere God chooses. Every place can be a mountain top.

Amen.