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| "Transfiguaration" A. Bouts 1451 Fitzwilliam Museum |
“This is my Son, the
Beloved; listen to him.” (Mark
9:7)
The Feast of the
Transfiguration has always been a tricky festival for me. What do you do with
“Shiny Jesus?” I was thinking this year I’d just let my Assisting Minister,
Pastor Natt from the Lutheran Church of Liberia, tackle this one, but Pastor
Natt has to work his secular job this Sunday. So, I guess I’ll have to dig into
this very unusual text (Mark 9:2-9) one more time.
If we back this story up
a little, we find Jesus and his posse have been doing their thing around the
village of Bethsaida just north of the Sea of Galilee and were on their way to
Caesarea Philippi on the Mediterranean coast, a journey of some 55 miles or so
as the crow flies. (I suspect their itinerary had less to do with a desire to
go to the beach and more about a need to go around the neighborhood where the
Samaritans lived in order to avoid any possible unpleasantness caused by
religious differences.) On the way, Jesus asks the rather touchy question about
who the disciples think he is. Good old Peter finally blurts out that he thinks
Jesus is the promised Messiah. Jesus affirms this, but warns the boys that
being the Messiah is going to lead to some pretty nasty business—rejection,
abandonment, and crucifixion. He further informs them that no small amount of
sacrifice is going to be required on their part, too. But, he goes on to assure
them it’s all going to be groovy in the end—the Son of Man will be raised, and
those who lose their lives for his sake will actually find their lives.
Six days later, Jesus
takes Peter, James, and John—his best buddies—on a little prayer retreat on top
of a high mountain. What strikes me about Mark’s telling of this tale this year
is that Jesus’ “clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could
bleach them.” This isn’t some ancient Clorox commercial. The white garment has
special significance. In the book of Daniel God appears on his throne dressed
in dazzling white.[i]
I guess seeing Jesus similarly turned out might’ve been meant to suggest Jesus’
divinity. In the book of Revelation all the souls before the throne of God are
wearing white robes, some are martyrs who have “washed their robes and made
them white in the blood of the Lamb,[ii]” which seems rather
counter-intuitive to me as a laundry instruction, but there you are.
We still use the white
robe on special occasions. Think of baptismal gowns, First Holy Communion
dresses, confirmation gowns, wedding gowns, and the alb worn by pastors. We don
the white as a symbol of God’s purity (given to us by grace, not any purity of
our own), but each of these moments when the white gown is worn is only a
milestone on a journey. It’s never the end, just a new beginning.
Mark tells us that Peter
and the other two were “terrified” by the sudden change in Jesus’ appearance
and the mysterious presence of two long-dead Jewish prophets. (I’d be too,
wouldn’t you?) But Peter’s response to all of this divine glory is to suggest
pitching tents and hanging out on the mountaintop. He doesn’t quite get that this
moment isn’t the end—it’s the start of a new chapter in Jesus’ ministry. It’s
the start of the chapter that leads to the cross. Peter likes seeing the glory,
but he’s not too crazy about what must come next.
Both the special guest
stars in this gospel story have “mountaintop” tales of their own. God, through
Moses, led the children of Israel out of slavery in Egypt and through the Red
Sea. In return, the Almighty expected a little more obedience from them. He
called Moses up to Mount Saini and gave him the Ten Commandments. You’ll remember
when Moses first came down from the mountain with the tablets of the Law there
was all that nasty business with the Golden Calf. Moses, in a rather unbecoming
fit of temper, smashed the tablets.[iii] He then, after a little punitive
slaughtering of the chief idol-worshipers, had to go up the mountain again to
have another chat with God and, presumably, asked the Lord to cut him a
replacement set of tablets. When he came back down, he was glowing like an
all-night taco stand. He was shining so bright the other Israelites had to put
a vail over his face.[iv] But this isn’t the end of
the story. Poor Moses had to go on for
another 40 years, leading a bunch of recalcitrant cry-babies through the desert.
The glory on the mountain with God was just a promising chapter, but there was
lots of pain to follow.
Ditto with Elijah. He’s
the prophet who come along during the reign of Ahab and Jezebel. He’s dealing
with a whole nation of God’s people who have driven the bus into the ditch. Ahab
and Jezebel have the folks worshiping foreign gods, and Ahab is as crooked as a
dog’s hind leg. Elijah has the difficult task of bringing a corrupt nation back
to God. He does this by challenging the priests of Baal to a contest on Mount
Carmel[v]. His moment of mountaintop
glory comes when God vindicates him by nuking his sacrifice with a bolt from
Heaven while the prophets of Baal stand around with their mouths hanging open. Elijah
is victorious and gets to indulge in a little punitive slaughter of his own. Unfortunately,
Queen Jezebel just can’t get used to the idea that she lost the contest, so she
puts a hit out on him and forces him to flee to the desert in frustration and
despair.
Wouldn’t it be great if
the mountaintop, white robe moments lasted forever? Alas, they don’t. You may
find yourself feeling comfortably close to God one minute, and then lost in the
wilderness of this world the next. You may do everything right and still get
treated like a criminal. You may find yourself recognized by some for who you
are and who God wants you to be, but then be misunderstood and rejected by
others. The challenge of faith is to find the glory in the not glory.
It sounds pretty
simplistic, and I guess it is, but it all comes down to listening to Jesus,
doing what he says, and knowing there’s one more garment of dazzling white we’ll
wear someday.
I’ve appreciated your
visit this week. Do come again.
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