The Transfiguration

Matthew 17:1-9

 

        I have preached 39 sermons on The Transfiguration. I have nothing else to say on this text mainly because I have said nothing new on this text in 39 years. A friend of mine shared she didn’t like the text because it talks about going up on a mountain and having a heavenly vision. Since she has never had such an experience this story makes her question her ability to revel in the mysteries of faith. I am not sure of the logic of such a statement but I told her to preach on Exodus. Why should her congregation suffer through a sermon Liz has no zeal to write?

        You are probably wondering the same thing. This will be the ninth sermon on the Transfiguration I have preached from this pulpit. Raise your hand if you remember any of the previous eight. That’s what I figured. How can such a memorable text become so forgettable?

        The Book of Matthew was written nearly 50 years after the death of Jesus. The person who wrote this gospel was not the tax collector turned disciple whose name the book bears. Truth is we have no idea who wrote this gospel. Much of what we find is an embellishment of the Gospel Mark, written twenty years earlier. We have no idea who wrote Mark either. After 2,000 years it hardly matters. What we do know is four distinctively different gospels were written with one specific goal in mind. The earliest theologian of the Christian Church was Paul. He did a marvelous job of interpreting the teachings of Jesus. Some might suggest he even did some elaboration along the way. What Paul did not do was tell the story of Jesus. In Pauline literature there is no mention of the parables. Paul does not speak of the heritage or birth of Jesus. Paul proclaims the death. He interprets the resurrection but he says little about the life of this man called Jesus. Inquiring minds wanted to know. The writers of Mark, John, Matthew, and Luke took it upon themselves to tell the story of Jesus to a people thirsting for details about this Judean they now claimed as their Lord. Their stories are different. The details on similar stories are often in conflict. Each explains the crucifixion and the resurrection from a radically different point of view. One story Matthew, Mark, and Luke al agreed on is this strange story that none of us can seem to remember.

        Jesus and three disciples went to the mountaintop. In this vision, dream, or piece of literary imagination, the readers of the synoptic gospels are given an incredible clue.  Jesus is greater than Moses and Elijah combined.

        Ever been to the mountaintop? Stuff happens up there we rarely experience down here in the valley. Going up the mountain is no place to go if you just want to confirm what you already believe. Going up the mountain is no place to venture if you are overcome by fear. Mountaintop experiences are hindered if we lack imagination. But then why climb the trail if you are convinced there is nothing new worth discovering?

        Some of you may remember the story I am about to tell but I feel it is worth sharing one more time. When I was younger, and had longer hair, I was often asked to lead retreats for young people. One such gathering happened at a Junior High Presbytery retreat deep in heart of Big Bend. 70 or more 12-14 year old gathered near Ft. Davis, Texas with me, some additional adult leadership and ten high school kids who made up the Presbytery Youth Council. The theme of the retreat was Imagining God. Behind the ranch was a hill not quite big enough to be called a mountain. On a clear day it took about twenty minutes to reach the top. That evening I dazzled the kids with songs, role plays and small group activities. Then I announced we were going up the mountain to see God. It was now pitch dark but I had prearranged for the Sr. High youth to hike up the mountain and mark the trail with flashlights. I asked the Jr. High kids to pair up and follow one of the high school kids. I was instantly besieged by the adults.

        “You can’t take kids up the mountain in the dark.”

        “Somebody will fall.”

        “Some of them will be afraid.”

        “We don’t have insurance for this.”

        “I am not taking my group.”

 

        I said to them, “You can stay here if you want, but some of your kids have already started the climb. You don’t have to go but trust me, your kids will be safe.”

        70 Junior High kids started up the mountain. Four or five adults stayed at the camp. There were four or five others cautiously started up the trail. They complained all the way up. Thirty minutes later we were all at the top.

        The noise was overwhelming. Look up the definition of chaos in a dictionary and it will be accompanied by a picture of 70 Jr. High kids. Somehow I managed get their attention. My first command was to turn off flash lights. That was a mistake. They all screamed. I held my flashlight under my chin until they all calmed down. An adult behind me helpfully remarked, “Well this is a disaster.” Having gone too far to turn back I said, “I am going to share a word from the Psalms. Then I want you to quietly look into the sky.” I turned off the flashlight and of course some kids screamed. When they calmed down I said, “My God, how majestic is Your handiwork. When I look at the heavens, the work of your fingers, who am I?” Then I said, “Look at the stars and the moon for 30 seconds.”

        That lasted for about five seconds before bedlam broke out. I turned my light on a second time. When calm was restored I turned off the light and said “My God, how majestic is your handiwork.” Again someone hollered only this time a fellow traveler said, “Shut up. Look at the stars.”

        30 seconds turned into a minute. One minute turned into five. Silence, magnificent silence became so loud it was deafening. I had other stuff planned but God had taken over. We were transfigured. All I could say was, “Amen”.

I instructed the kids, when they were ready, to quietly climb down the mountain without the help of flash lights. The stars and the moon were shining so brightly no other assistance was needed. When we safely and quietly reached the bottom I gathered the group around me said, “Across the field a bonfire will soon be been lit. Pair off, walk toward the fire, and talk about what you saw.”

        On the walk across the field three or four adults asked to have a word with me. They were still fuming. None of them had climbed the hill. None of them had experience the transformation. None of them could possible understand what had happened. As I walked toward the fire I said, “Ask your kids what they saw.”    (stop)

For most of us Transfiguration Sunday is just a little too bizarre. Did those disciples really see Moses and Elijah? Maybe the writers of the gospels made up some fantastic tale in order to make a point? It no longer matters to me. One dark night in West Texas me and a bunch of young friends discovered hanging out with God was never meant to be rational, or explainable, or even safe. In the midst of chaos, we saw the light.                                Amen