Several years ago today John,
Mary Cate and I had the privilege of visiting St.
Peter's Basilica at the
We waited in line to see the
Sistine Chapel, and it was just breathtaking.
From the story of Creation to the Last Judgment the ceiling depicts the
intersection of the human and the divine. In Michelangelo and the Pope's
Ceiling, Ross King explains, how in a time when so many people were
illiterate, the frescoes, paintings and sculptures were the only Bible some
people could read. During the long and wordy worship, the people could keep
their attention focused on these scenes. And of course, the art was meant to
inspire the worship of the people with a vision of glory that transcended the
squalor of their daily lives. I can understand that. I don't know how anyone
could look at Michelangelo's Pieta, and not be filled with awe. Throughout our trip to the
So I understand what Simon Peter was feeling when he stood on the mountain top with Jesus, James, and John and Moses and Elijah. I said the same thing to John the day before we left: "Let's stay here! Don't make me go back down into that valley of e-mails and phone calls and duties that never end. Don't make me deal with Monday back at the office and problems that don't go away and sadness and fears I can't remove!" Because the truth is … the mountain top moments in our lives are few and far between. We spend much more time down in the valleys of our ordinary, everyday work.
We end the season of Epiphany today with the story of the Transfiguration. It was a proverbial "mountain top moment." Peter, James, and John caught a glimpse of Jesus' true identity. They were praying, and like most of us, they were about to fall asleep, when suddenly Jesus began to shine with another worldly glory. They saw Moses and Elijah, the two great figures of their spiritual history, representing the two major parts of their scripture, the law and the prophets. And they were overwhelmed.
We have all probably seen a
moment on screen that was also an example of transfiguration. In the Cecil B. DeMille
classic, “The Ten Commandments,” Moses descends from
In the Vatican Museum hangs Raphael's last painting, the Transfiguration, as he imagined the scene. Jesus hovers in dazzling radiance with upraised arms, flanked by Moses and Elijah, they are like three angels suspended above the hilltop. Peter, James, and John lie prostate with holy terror, while below a crowd stirs with slack-jawed awe. It was not only a moment of transfiguration for Jesus, but a moment of transformation for the disciples. They were surprised by awe. They were amazed and afraid at the same time. They didn't understand what it all meant at the time, but they understood it enough to want to hold on to it, to camp out on the mountaintop and live in that eternal glorious moment for as long as they could. Who wouldn't? And they would remember it for the rest of their lives.
The Celtic Christians spoke of "thin places" where God is so close to the surface you can almost see the face of God. You never forget those moments, those places. They usually catch you by surprise. Suddenly, you feel charged with joy or awe or ecstasy, and you know deep in your heart that God is with you, with you in grace and beauty. Marcus Borg, in his wonderful book, The Heart of Christianity, describes thin places as “the places where the veil momentarily lifts, and we behold God, experience the one in whom we live, all around us and with in us.”
A thin place is anywhere our hearts are opened. To use sacramental language, a thin place is a sacrament of the sacred, a mediator of the sacred, a means whereby the sacred becomes present to us. A thin place is a means of grace. It may be on a trip to Rome, or watching an eagle swoop across the Wisconsin River right here in Nekoosa … a conversation with a friend … an "aha!" moment while you're reading … the first time you hold your own grandchild … even one of those lovely moments in worship … when you have attended a thousand times before … sung that hymn a thousand times before … but suddenly, it's different. God is revealed to you. You see who God is and you see yourself in a new light … your own life as it really is. And you are never, ever the same.
I truly hope you've had an experience like that sometime in your life. I hope you've had several. And if you have, you know exactly what I'm talking about. You can't force them. They just happen. But you can put yourself in those places … and in that frame of mind … and in that quality of spirit where they are likely to happen. You can't control them, but they become the bedrock of your faith … the foundation on which you can build a rich and meaningful life. And you can't make those moments last, because soon, too soon, it's back down to the valley again, to the normal hum-drum of everyday life. But that doesn't mean the mountain top moments are any less real. You can't stay on the mountain top, but don't you wish you could?
Peter urged Jesus to let him
build some huts and hang around awhile, but Jesus wouldn't let them stay. He
had work to do, a journey to make to
Our reading today takes us back down to the valley with them, down to the demanding crowd, facing a helpless, desperate father with an epileptic son. They didn't understand seizures in those days, and they had no medicines to control them. They could only believe a demon had possessed this child. But they certainly understood the hard realities of life, down in the valley of human experience. I know you've had those kind of valley moments. I don't have to tell you what those are like. And I don’t have to tell you that I’ve had them too.
The father shouts at Jesus: "Teacher! I beg you to see my boy, my only child! Suddenly a spirit seizes the child. He shrieks and convulses. It mauls him and it will not leave him. He tells Jesus, “I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not." And Jesus says, "You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?"
Huh? That's sure a curious response for Jesus to make to this desperate father's plea. So let's come back to this in just a moment.
First, I want you to notice what Jesus does. The father asks Jesus to see his son. A lot of us don't want to see the people who are hurting around us. There are too many of them. And we feel helpless. What can we do? It only drags us down. It's depressing. So we turn away, we refuse to see. But Jesus sees. Jesus sees this father's desperation. Jesus sees this boy's sickness. And Jesus sees our pain, too. The Lord does not turn away from our struggles and sorrows. "Bring your son here," Jesus tells him. And Jesus heals him.
Luke says, "And all were astounded by the greatness of God." I think that's what happens when we are willing at least to see someone's pain. We may not be able to heal them like Jesus could. We may not be able to do much to help, but if we will at least see, then they are no longer alone, and that does help. If we will only love them in the name of Christ, and do what we can do, then I think some level of healing always takes place, and "all are astounded by the greatness of God." I have seen this and know that it is so … because it has happened to me.
But what about that strange, initial response of Jesus? When he says, "You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?" Clearly, he's not talking to this desperate dad. He's responding to the comment made by the boy’s father, "I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not." That's what galls Jesus. That's what raises his hackles. The disciples have just been with him on the mountain top. They ought to know. But they don't know. And they won't see this sick boy and get him the help he needs. That's what irritates Jesus.
What does Luke want us to see in this story? What does this movement from the mountain top to the valley say to us … about us? I think it says the One who meets us in those glorious moments on the mountain top is the same One who walks with us in the valley days of our lives. I think it wants us to remember those moments in the “thin places” where we know God is near and trust that the same God is near when we are facing hard times. I think it suggests Christ reveals himself to us not just for our own benefit, but so that we might show his glory to others … that the real test of our spiritual experience is not how "religious" it makes us, but how much it makes us available to care for others. I think Luke wants to tell us those “now and then” epiphanies should give us the courage and the faith and the insight to see people in pain and bring the presence of God to them in healing ways.
Because, truth be told, the world doesn't need our mountain top stories of spiritual ecstasy and personal glory. Have you ever tried to explain one of those awesome experiences to somebody, show them your mental pictures? Words fail. They get glassy-eyed and you end up saying, "You had to have been there." In the end, it's not your stories of awe that people need, but the person those stories have made you. The world doesn't need our high, holy moments camped out in the sanctuary. It needs the glory of God's love down in the trenches where people strive. It needs the touch of Christ from people who know God is near when they cannot see God or feel God except through us. We need those moments with God to enable us to carry the glory to those who sit in darkness. So the proof of our worship is not how often we come to church or how emotional we feel when we are here or how inspired we are by music and teaching and preaching or how happy and well-adjusted our faith makes us, but who we are and whom we see and how we love when we leave this place where we know God is near.
Then, a funny thing happens. As we live out of the memory of those epiphanies, our eyes are opened. We begin to see God revealed in the valley, too … in the ordinary moments … and even in the hard places of our journey. We recognize what Mother Teresa called "Christ in his most distressing disguises." And then, it isn't so long and it isn't so far between those experiences of divine disclosure. As Thomas Merton observed,
Life is this simple. We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and God is shining through it all the time. This is not just a fable or a nice story. It is true. If we abandon ourselves to God and forget ourselves, we see it sometimes, and maybe we see it frequently. God shows (God's)self everywhere, in everything - in people and in things and in nature and in events. It becomes very obvious that God is everywhere and in everything and we cannot be without God. It's impossible… The only thing is that we don't see it.
You don't have to go to
Look at your life this week. Be a tourist in your own home town. Open your eyes and be ready for those surprising epiphanies and thin places where God is very near. Open your eyes. Open your heart. You'll see. You'll see.
May we pray?
All gracious God, Thank you for revealing yourself to us in glory now and then. Let us remember those moments of glory in the hard times when it's hard for us to feel you near. But teach us to see your presence in the hard times, too, and even more to see those around us who need your love in us. Make us your agents, carriers of an infectious spirit of faith and hope. Lord, show us your glory and make us shine for you, in Jesus' name. Amen.
Mary Anne Biggs, Pastor
Nekoosa United
Nekoosa