Matthew
17:1-9
Sometimes it can be almost as much
fun to read a play as to go to see one, especially when the playwright becomes
creative with the stage directions.
Maybe the most famous stage direction in English is in The Winter’s Tale by Shakespeare:
“Exit. Pursued by a bear.” My favorite, though, is in Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw, the
play that was the basis for My Fair Lady. Shaw gives the direction to the main
character: “Her face becomes radiant.” I
can just picture a leading lady trying to get that right, staring into a mirror
and smiling a dozen different ways until she is radiant, instead of just
ordinarily beautiful or joyful. Some
things cannot be acted. There’s a level
of authenticity in a person that eventually finds its way out, and tells who
they are in all of their complexities and richness.
The Transfiguration was one of those
moments in Jesus’ life when the disciples who were with him got a glimpse into
the depth of his being, and it left them in awe, not quite knowing what to do
with that. Peter and James and John were
three of the disciples with whom Jesus seems to have felt closest, or maybe the
most at ease. They were the ones that he
would ask later to go with him to the Garden of Gethsemane and stand watch
while he prayed. They were the ones
around whom he could be himself the most easily. This time, though, they saw what being
himself could mean.
“Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and
led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And
he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his
clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly
there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him.” [Matthew 17:1-3]
If,
as we say, you know someone by the company they keep, who was this friend of
theirs, this teacher of theirs, who one second was the familiar, if respected,
rabbi and the next had begun to glow and was talking to the greatest leaders of
their people, one of whom had been dead for over a thousand years and the other
of whom had been taken to heaven in a fiery chariot?
When I was in college, I took a
course on twentieth-century American and English poetry. Among the students there was an older man who
generally didn’t take part in the discussions but who paid close attention. We were about four weeks into the course and
studying a poem by Dylan Thomas.
“The force that through the green fuse
drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through
the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.”
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.”
After
somebody said something about Thomas dying young, this quiet man spoke up and
said,
“I went drinking with him a couple of times.” What? Who was this? What was he doing in a roomful of undergraduates like us?
“I went drinking with him a couple of times.” What? Who was this? What was he doing in a roomful of undergraduates like us?
I can imagine Peter and James and
John having exactly that kind of reaction, but stronger; not that it was about
to get any less intense. Peter tried to
take hold of the moment by suggesting that they somehow commemorate the moment,
building a makeshift shrine. The
experience was about to go totally out of control, though.
“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.’ While
he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the
cloud a voice said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to
him!’ When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were
overcome by fear.” [Matthew 17:4-6]
The
voice and the words are familiar from earlier in Matthew’s gospel.
“And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he
came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the
Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is
my Son, the Beloved, with whom I
am well pleased.’” [Matthew 3:16-17]
Only, this time, the
voice adds one sentence: “Listen to him!”
[Matthew 17:6]
Going back to that college classroom, we did listen to
what our classmate had to say. Dylan was
a notorious alcoholic and drank himself to death. When we heard firsthand from someone who told
us that he watched it happen, that Thomas seemed aware of what he was doing to
himself, and that he almost forced the drink down his own throat, it brought
alive lines like
“The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.”
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.”
So if a moment like that
helps me, at least, understand the death of a poet, how much more would a
moment like the one on the mountaintop have led Peter and James and John to
listen, listen deeply and intently, to the words of life that Jesus spoke and
to try to absorb every lesson that he offered to them.
And how about us?
When we hear Jesus’ words, do we just hear them? Or do we listen? Do they carry for us the announcement of
freedom that Moses gave to God’s people?
Do they ring with the authority of Elijah and the prophets, calling us
“to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk
humbly with your God”? [Micah 6:8]
Jesus said, right after
they came down from that mountaintop,
“I tell you, if you have faith the size of a
mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it
will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.” [Matthew 17:20]
When we face the serious
challenges that we face as individuals or as a church, do we take Jesus
seriously?
There are mountains that need some moving, if you haven’t noticed. I’m going to speak pretty generally here,
since I don’t know this community all that well, but I think it’s pretty safe
to say that we are all in the midst of a whole vortex of competing loyalties
and alternative ways of living right now that are stirring up our everyday
lives. All kinds of problems that have
been hiding under the calm surface for years and years are sticking their noses
up like sharks waiting for a feast. The
idolatry that puts country before God, the greed that cannot take a Sabbath
break or give one to the worker, a lack of respect or even minimal concern for
the sick or the elderly, the willful disregard of truth and actual
encouragement of false witness, bragging about adultery and laughing at
covetousness – everything that those ten commandments Moses brought down from
Mt. Sinai forbids – those are being held up as normal and tolerable. That needs to change.
That is not a political statement, by the way. It’s religion. If you want the Ten Commandments in
courthouses, be prepared to abide by them.
And the conflicts that we’re seeing now outside those courthouses and
capitols? They are nothing compared to
the clash between Elijah on one side and on the other side King Ahab, Queen
Jezebel, and the prophets of Baal. (Go
back to I Kings and read about it.)
There is a vision of greatness that comes in the life, death, and
resurrection of Jesus that is like no other.
It is the vision of God’s own self living among us, humble and yet
majestic, sinless and yet forgiving, strong and yet gentle, determined and yet
peaceful. It is Jesus, at once human and
divine, who shows us the way that sinners like us who should fall back in fear
at even the thought of facing the Lord instead hear him say,
“Get up and do not be afraid.”
[Matthew 17:7]
Hold onto that whenever any other voice
should try to speak. Hear instead the
words of the letter to the Hebrews:
“You have not come to something that can be touched, a blazing fire,
and darkness, and gloom, and a tempest, and
the sound of a trumpet, and a voice whose words made the hearers beg that not
another word be spoken to them. …But
you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly
Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in
heaven, and to God the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made
perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator
of a new covenant. …Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be
shaken, let us give thanks, by which we offer to God an acceptable worship with
reverence and awe.” [Hebrews 12:18-19,
22-24a, 28.]
Amen.