February 23, 2020
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois
Exodus 24:12-18; Matthew 17:1-9
Moses had a lot on his plate. A host of people had followed
him out of Egypt, away from slavery, and toward the Promised Land. Yet here, in
the desert, they suffered. They needed guidance, instruction, they needed the
laws and commandments of God. Moses went up on the mountain to receive the
tablets of stone, and he received something more, as well. “As he came down
from the mountain with the two tablets of the covenant in his hand, Moses did
not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God.”
(34:29) The light of God remained with him as he led the people of Israel to
their new home.
The disciples had a lot to worry about. Just a few days
before, they had been told by Jesus of the coming journey to Jerusalem, the
suffering he would undergo at the hands of the elders and chief priests and
scribes, the imminence of his death, and they naturally were deeply troubled.
Peter had even tried to convince Jesus to take some other path, saying, “God
forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” (16:22)
We, too, try to avoid pain and suffering, even if we know it
is for the best. I don’t think anyone really enjoys going to the dentist, or
getting their blood drawn. We avoid emotional pain, too, putting off hard
conversations, avoiding certain topics at the family gathering.
It may seem that, in a turbulent and troubling world, the best
way to keep from being hurt is stoicism, to shut away emotion, to be
indifferent to pain and pleasure. If you keep everyone at a distance, don’t get
involved, and build walls around your heart, you won’t have to suffer. Don’t
risk feeling wonder and you won’t risk feeling heartache. You may not experience
any pain or anger, but you won’t know joy and happiness either. Your ability to
feel emotions, like the use of muscles, will atrophy.
We each know the pain of loss, the suffering of friends, the
illness of a child, the career that has fallen apart, the relationship that has
soured. We can choose to smother the pain, to elude the suffering. But what
will we lose? Do we dare risk the pain of weeping in sorrow if it means we will
be able to cry out in joy when we celebrate?
Jesus isn’t a safe person to be around, if you want to be a
stoic. How many people were overwhelmed with joy at the healing touch, cried
out praise for being set free from evil spirits, and reached out with trembling
hands to touch his? How many times were the crowds filled with awe? When he
chastised the authorities, did it stir up their anger? Jesus brings out our emotions,
fills our hearts to overflowing, and makes us hunger for justice, mercy, and peace.
If we walk the road with Jesus, if we look with his eyes and
hear with his ears, we can’t remain stoic. If we follow the story of the first
disciples, we can’t help but be moved by their experience. The amazing joy and
grace and kindness that caused them to follow him on the dusty roads of Galilee.
The crushing pain of the capture, trial, and crucifixion. The overwhelming joy
at the resurrection. If we push down our feelings, we might not cry on Calvary,
but we certainly won’t be struck with awe on the mountaintop. If we don’t open
our eyes when it is dark, we will never know that light that shines in the
darkness.
When J.R.R. Tolkien wrote his masterpiece, The Lord of
the Rings, he had known darkness and terror. He had served in the trenches
of the First World War, and he understood the power of evil. Yet, he also knew
the power of goodness, of hope, and of light. In the story he wrote, Frodo and
his companions are charged with destroying the One Ring of power by taking it
into the land of the evil Sauron. They know some of the suffering and fear that
they will face. The journey will become very dark for Frodo.
The Fellowship has lost their leader, Gandalf, and they recuperate
in the land of the elven queen Galadriel. She knows the darkness they face,
perhaps better than any other. She offers the companions gifts to help them on
their quest. Galadriel’s gift to Frodo was light. “She held up a small crystal phial:
it glittered as she moved it, and rays of white light sprang from her hand. ‘In
this phial,’ she said, ‘is caught the light of Eärendil’s star, set amid the
waters of my fountain. It will shine still brighter when night is about you.
May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.”[1]
Frodo would face many terrors on the journey to Mordor, and
in one terrible moment he and his friend are trapped by the giant spider,
Shelob. In their darkest moment, the gift of light would embolden them, give
them courage to face the monster, and guide them to their journey’s end.
Peter, James, and John were not stoics, but they weren’t masochists
either. Faced with terrors ahead, they sought a way out, to avoid the suffering
to come, not understanding that what was to come must be. As Jesus was
transfigured before them on the mountain, they tried to hold on to this one
amazing moment, to remain in the light of God’s power. Peter said to Jesus,
“Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings
here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” (17:4) Do we really have
to face the future, the suffering we know is coming?
It was in that moment that God was fully present. In the voice
from the cloud they heard the reassurance of God: “This is my Son, the Beloved;
with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” (17:5) Yes, you must face what is
coming. You must go back down the mountain and face the trial, the suffering,
and the crucifixion. But this moment is the gift that I give to you, my presence,
my light, shining through Moses, Elijah, and Jesus. My light shining in you. In
all the chaos to come, the death, the loss, the fear, the confusion, I will be
with you. In the bewilderment, the amazement, the hope, and the challenges to
come, I will be with you. My light shines with you, and my light does not go
out. I care, and I love you, and I won’t ever let you go.
We don’t get to meet Moses, Elijah, and Jesus on the mountain
top. We don’t get to see, as Moses did, the appearance of the glory of the Lord, like a devouring fire on the top
of the mountain. The dazzling light of Galadriel’s gift doesn’t shine for us. But
when we face the world that is below the mountain, when we face the world with
the suffering and fear of the cross, the world that may break us, we are not
without the light of hope. The light that shone from that mountaintop can shine
in our own experiences of transformation, hope, and grace. We may find the light
in a sanctuary or a hospital room, on a mountain trail or the sidewalk, in a
moment where when the sacred and the holy overcome our fears and give us hope.
We can choose to shut out the light, to ignore the emotions,
to carry on with stoic resolve. Or we can remember that the light shines even
in the dark places, that love and hope can lift us up, and we are not alone.
What happened on the mountain was God’s way of preparing the
disciples for the journey they faced. They would go together, companions, a
fellowship encouraging one another with memories of the light as they traveled
the dark paths. The experience of knowing the true nature of Jesus, the divine
light that shone from him through them, would be enough to sustain them through
the crucifixion to the resurrection, and beyond.
As we enter the season of Lent, whether you take more time
for reflection, sacrifice luxuries, or take on a spiritual discipline, I
encourage you to experience your emotions more deeply. I entreat you to look
for the light of holiness that shines even in the shadows. Remembering the
transfiguration can sustain us as it did the disciples, knowing that Jesus
shines a light for us when all other lights go out. We can’t avoid the sorrow
and the struggle, but we can endure more than we know with the assurance that
God cares, God loves us, and God has given us a light that remains.
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