Sermon: "Mountaintop Experiences," February 28, 2021
The Transfiguration, Jesus MAFA, Cameroon, 1973
Preacher: Rev. Scott Agur
Scripture: Exodus 34:29-51, Psalm 99, Luke 9:28-43
Today’s guest preacher is the Rev. Scott Agur. Scott has served the United Church of Canada in Ontario, Alberta and B.C. in 35 years of Ordained Ministry. He has been married to Bev since 1972, and they have a son and a daughter and two grandchildren. He attends Comox United and is an active member of the Strathcona Sunrise Rotary Club, singer in the Celebration Singers Community Choir and a singer and cast member of the Beach Street Players drama group. He has also been a member of the Comox L’Arche Society, serving on the Board of Directors.
In the Gospel passage for this week, Peter, desperate to capture the spirit of the moment and reluctant to return to the mundane, grasps at a spectacular vision....He has stumbled into the sublime. He wants to harness this experience. He wants for this episode to make a difference in his life and in the lives of his friends: for this event on the mountaintop to shift the axis of power and to do nothing less than to rearrange the cosmos.
Just prior to today's gospel reading, Jesus gives a serious commission to the disciples. It's powerful. Peter would have remembered it:
“You who wish to be my followers must deny your very self, take up your cross—the instrument of your own death—every day, and follow in my steps. If you would save your life, you will lose it, and if you would lose your life for my sake, you'll save it.”
In this frame of mind and heart, they climb Mount Tabor.
Jesus is praying. As he prays, his face changes and his clothes become “dazzingly white”. Moses and Elijah appear to Jesus and to the disciples. Today's text tells us “....that they appeared in glory and spoke of the prophecy that Jesus was about to fulfill in Jerusalem...”
Typically, the disciples, have fallen asleep and miss this part...But suddenly they awaken and see Jesus “in glory” and the two people standing next to him.
The disciples make a suggestion that three tents be set up on the mountain and that Jesus, Moses and Elijah each occupy a tent. They try to convince Jesus that this could be a permanent arrangement and that all could remain on the mountain, having amazing and cosy conversations with Jesus, Moses and Elijah.
But a cloud appears and overshadows them. Suddenly, the confidence of the disciples is lost and they “grow fearful”. A voice speaks from the cloud and says:
“This is my Own, my Chosen One, Listen to me.”
The voice then goes silent.....Moses and Elijah disappear from view, leaving Jesus standing with Peter, John and James.
In today's reading from chapter 34 in the Book of Exodus, we again climb a mountain, this time with Moses as he climbs Mount Sinai. In another time, I climbed Mount Sinai, or, rather, sat on a camel and rode to the top of Mount Sinai.
I was journeying with twenty other pilgrims who were spending six weeks in Israel and Palestine to deepen our spirituality and to live together in community. We rode in the darkness when it was cooler for us and for the camels.
It was a hard ride for us on top of ill-tempered and remarkably flatulent camels pulled by locals who frequently yelled at or swatted the animals. Along narrow trails we rode on the sure-footed camels until we reached the summit and tried to gather in prayer and silence....It was a messy place, however, strewn with debris from other pilgrims and remarkably crowded. Not exactly a pristine, silent place to commune with God. But we were there, on the top of Mount Sinai: “Sinai”, with all the context conveyed by that mesmerizing word.
So, we have two different mountain-top experiences, but some common traits are shared by both. On a mountain top, we have the opportunity to enter into a time of deep reflection, contemplation, or, if one is on a religious quest, an encounter with the divine and an encounter, certainly with oneself. There, in that place, with all of the distractions of our busy lives: our cell phones and schedules ..all, shut down...we enter into a focused time with ourselves and with God. We empty ourselves out, as one would empty a glass of water...and we await the influx of God's Spirit......Back in our regular lives, we persist in trying to understand our mountain top experiences and, indeed, our valley moments throughout our lives. They arrive, unannounced, changing us in irreversible ways, if we pay attention.
But too often, our response is like that of Peter, babbling absurdities because we cannot understand the significant, meaningful moment. When Peter does finally quit talking nonsense, a cloud appears, envelopes them, and the voice of God gives instructions to each of them.
What is the mountaintop to you? What are your mountaintop experiences?
What does all of this mean to you?
On one hand, we want our little egos to bask in Jesus' power and glory. But today's gospel reminds us that Jesus' mission was not to make a big deal of himself or to elevate his followers to positions of power, authority and prestige through identification with him. It was rather to point through and beyond himself to God and to God's coming reign on earth, and to invite his followers to find their voice in bearing witness to this transforming, redemptive God......
High on the mountain, in a moment of numinous splendor, Jesus was indeed clothed in the dazzling light of God—but only briefly, and to a select few.
The heavenly mystery was unveiled, only to be veiled again on the cross—and to be revealed again, not in the glorious light of a resurrection appearance, but in an empty tomb with a solitary human figure announcing his resurrection and return to Galilee.....
What do your hear as you reflect on these passages?
Do today's passages compel you to recognize mountain top experiences as well as the eventual return to the valley below?
Are you tempted sometimes to stay on the mountain and not come down?
And when you do come down can you let go of that mountain top experience to the point where you can be of some earthly good as a follower of Jesus?.........Hard questions, eh?
The thought that our experiences in life are linked with God's story unfolding in the world can be reassuring, but it can also be terrifying. We may even experience a faith moment without recognizing it at first. Still others of us may be able to report hearing the voice of God, but, out of fear, not feeling comfortable sharing our experience with the faith community, remaining silent....
Perhaps we are like Peter, desperate for an enduring transfiguration. Perhaps we are desperate for God's presence to settle upon us, upon our lives, our neighborhoods and our world: a permanent transformation of society, the liberation of the world from all of that which threatens it.
Perhaps we want nothing less than the transfiguration of all things with the eternal goodness of God's life—starting with us, in our hearts and our lives, as we dwell in the power of God and prepare to take this redemption to the world.
But Peter soon learns that he controls nothing when it comes to God. The vision does not stay......
So Peter and the others follow Jesus down the mountain, a return to the unspectacular life they know—the day-to-day of discipleship, love for neighbors and strangers, the struggles of life and the confrontations with the authorities—which will lead them to yet another hill to climb, called Golgotha.
But God's presence can change our lives.Transfiguration is an invitation to return to our communities and to our lives with renewed attention and patience, awaiting the luminescence of the mundane. We are called to attend to the present and to wonder at the ordinary; to let Jesus' life astonish us with the sacred. And so it is good for us to be here—right here where we are, for this too is holy ground......even in the midst of a pandemic.
It's been a difficult year. Physical isolation has meant chronic loneliness for many, which is only compounded by feeling alone in one's way of seeing the world while masked, distant and wary of human contact.
Yet, in this fraught, painful time, what we need, I suggest, is more intensity of feeling, not less. We need to practice what American pastor and civil rights leader, the late John Lewis described as a the “...politicization of tenderness: a regard for the humanity that wants our well-being so much that we are willing, we are called to confront their fears, our fragility and paranoia, so that we might love to death all that robs them of love and harms those they think cannot love.”
I would suggest also that our masks have unmasked us. Those of us who wear them diligently, as irritating and uncomfortable as they are, telegraph our trust in their medical efficacy and our conviction that we are responsible to and for one another.
But the unmasked have also been revealed. They tell a different story. They tell a story of arrogance, ignorance and frankly, an unChrist-like way of living life in a demanding and deadly time.
The pandemic has created a few bright spots with respect to our use of time. For years, I have been observing our Canadian love affair with busyness. A jam-packed life has acquired certain social status. We've linked busyness to personal importance. But this year, limited travel, expanded opportunities for working remotely, and more than enough social isolation have stripped a “busier than thou” attitude from a lot of people. Outscheduling one's neighbor has ceased to be a competitive sport. Perhaps this is a good thing.
Maybe the point on which to conclude is that faith communities can become safe places for both members and seekers to explore the various ways that the identity of Jesus is being revealed. In the midst of the extreme demands of COVID-19, we open our hearts to God for a sense of God's love and the support of God's community. In the stark restrictions of these days, we are, nevertheless, drawn to one another and to God. We seek one another in a new kind of identity, behind masks and at a distance but from the vantage point of our open hearts and our sense of being loved by God. Hopefully our eyes “sparkle” as we interact.
As we climb our particular mountains and inhabit our particular valleys, let us do so with a mind to the person on our right and on our left. As we stride forward, let us do so with the confidence borne out of a belief in a God who loves us more deeply than words can ever express.
As we reflect on a God who reveals himself in the ordinary things of life, in this case, in the breaking of bread, let us hear the words of the poet Angela Alaimo O'Donnell:
“You hand me the loaf, I tear off the heel,
dip it in the blue dish of olive oil--
this ritual performed at every meal
gladdens my heart. This is the real
presence of joy these days of pandemic.
The world's gone insane. People are frantic.
They talk of the news, the news, the news.
Terrible deaths.
Bleak crucifixions.
Lives once well ordered now lack direction.
Better to sit here. Just me and you.
To set on our table olives and wine,
to savor the taste of sweet grapes and brine,
to raise our glasses and toast the poor dead,
to mend the world and to break our bread.”
Let us respond in silent prayer.......Amen.