So what
happened, there on the mountaintop? What
does it all mean?
Peter, John and James certainly saw something: a glorious vision. Jesus’s clothes gleamed, and Moses and Elijah
appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. And
then came the voice from the cloud. The experience was mystical, and it was spiritual. It’s
no wonder Peter was reduced to a babbling fool.
In
retrospect, it seems that what happened on that mountain was that the three
disciples were given a brief glimpse of their master in his exalted and
spiritual reality. It was as if a veil
had been lifted temporarily, and just for a moment, they were permitted to see
what was beneath it. Even in the
anything-but-ordinary string of events that constituted life with Jesus of
Nazareth, this event, the
Transfiguration, was rather extraordinary.
Jesus’s followers knew him as a
man with remarkable gifts: one who healed the dying, cured the lame, drove
out demons, and mastered nature to his will.
Yet for all that, Jesus generally seemed to be a gifted man, but still a man: someone who, had he worn
trousers, would have put them on one leg at a time. He slept, he ate, he got dirty – he was, for
all his gifts, a person like the disciples in many ways.
And the
disciples were not wrong about that. But
on top of the mountain, Jesus was revealed, for just a moment, in all his meaning,
in all the weighty implications of his coming among us: as the culmination, the
beginning, the turning point of everything – history, reality, our lives. Moses and Elijah represented the entire 1,000+
year tradition of Jewish religious thought and experience: the laws, the
prophecies, the covenants, the escape to freedom, the rise and fall of kingdoms, the diaspora – the
multiple threads of that whole great history suddenly, on that mountaintop,
were gathered together, in that dazzling instant, and woven into a beautiful
garment foretelling, prefiguring, preparing for the coming of the anointed one,
Jesus of Nazareth, who is nothing less than the Son of God. In the person of Jesus, everything that led up
to him is now fulfilled: the law of Moses, the prophecies of Elijah and Isaiah and
the other great prophets, the covenants between God and his people. All these are now fulfilled, and all these
are now transformed. Jesus himself is
the new law, the new covenant. He is
himself the priest, the prophet, the king.
History itself has come to its end, and then raced off again in a new
and unexpected direction in the person of Jesus, like a river that suddenly
changes its course, or beams of light that suddenly bend.
Well, easy
for me to say. I have the advantage of
2,000 years of fruitful reflection on this amazing incident, the
Transfiguration. As for Peter, James and
John in the immediate wake of the overwhelming event, it’s clear that they were
equal parts bedazzled and confused.
Even with
our 2,000 year advantage, though, we’re left to ask: why did Jesus do
this? Why did he bring these three
disciples to a mountaintop to let them get a peek at his fullness?
Let me
propose two answers to that question.
One, I think, is that God knew that Jesus’s followers - among whom we number ourselves - needed
that glimpse. Because it’s all too easy
for us to forget the full reality of Jesus.
We have a tendency to try to tame Jesus, to domesticate him, to make him fit the comfortable and unreformed
habits of our everyday lives. After all, it’s hard for us to change. It would be oh so much easier if Jesus would
just be so good as to accommodate us, rather than the other way around. We’d like Jesus to be like a nice house pet,
a friendly dog, who is there to give us occasional non-judgmental affection
rather than demanding love. The great
Yale theologian from the last century, H Richard Niebuhr, once parodied our wished-for story of salvation: “A God
without wrath brought men without sin into a kingdom without judgment through
the ministrations of a Christ without a cross.” That tale, my friends, is the
ultimate in fake news. And we know that,
don’t we? This Jesus who is showing us his
dazzling spiritual true self on the mountaintop today is the same Jesus who is
inexorably marching toward the cross, and telling us that the way to bliss with
him is through that very same cross.
Every fiber of our being tells us to shun the cross, but instead we must
embrace it. We must embrace it. Seeing Jesus in his spiritual glory, with
Moses and Elijah, helps us keep the full story of Jesus, the true reality of
Jesus, including its implications for us, in front of us.
The second
answer to that question, “Why was Jesus Transfigured?” is that we need to
consider the possibility that transfiguration may be in our future, too. You
know, God became man so that man might become God. Isn’t that clever? It’s not mine: three great doctors of the
church, Sts. Irenaeus, Athanasius, and Thomas Aquinas, all said variations of
that: God became man so that man might become God. Jesus came among us in order to share his
divinity with us. He left us the gift of
the Eucharist to continue to share himself with us that way – to allow us to
share in his divine life.
Life with
Jesus makes possible spiritual realities that we can’t even imagine. Jesus once
told us that if only we had the faith of a mustard seed, we could move
mountains. Well, my friends, there are
mountains to be moved in this world. I
know many of us are still upset about the school shooting in Florida. Let’s not lose sight of the fact that there
were at least 26 people shot, including 5 killed, in Chicago last weekend. What extraordinary event caused 26 people to
be shot? Nothing extraordinary. That’s roughly the typical weekend toll in
our city, weekend after weekend. What
can we do to end gun violence? The easy
answer is, Nothing. But maybe if our
faith were just a little bit stronger, we could do something to curb or even
end shootings in schools, in neighborhoods, in city streets, in parks. “Be not afraid”, we were told over and over
again by Jesus. Let’s not be afraid to
lift the veil from the spiritual power that Jesus gives to each of us. Let’s
not be afraid to try to move a few mountains.
Nourished by the bread of life, we can feed the hungry. We can bring about an end to gun
violence. We can bridge the divisions in
our society and build a new kingdom of unity and love. All we have to do is let God go to work on
us. He wants to Transfigure us. Let’s let him.
Good one, Jim. I have always loved the Transfiguration accounts. But wonder why the event is absent, except for a vague allusion, from John's gospel.
ReplyDeleteI wish our pastor had preached on the Transfiguration. He didn't; he preached on the OT reading about Isaac and Abraham. Which is in the running for my least favorite story in the entire canon of Scripture. Of course I understand about it prefiguring the sacrifice of Christ, etc. And that we can't superimpose the 21st century on OT times. But the idea that Isaac belonged to Abraham to sacrifice, and that God acted in an abusive manner to both of them, I can't accept. That story for me is a symbol only. And I put myself in Sarah's place, if Abe had gone through with it, he'd better not even bother coming home.
Katherine - yep, I understand. Over at the Pray Tell blog, Rev. Edward Foley, Capuchin's homily for the same Sunday wrestles with some of your qualms, juxtaposing that first reading with the school shootings.
Deletehttp://www.praytellblog.com/index.php/2018/02/25/ed-foleys-homily-for-the-second-sunday-of-lent-cycle-b/
He's brilliant; I wish I would have had that text in time for yesterday morning, I would have followed the medieval tradition and just read his instead of my own.
I suppose a key takeaway in that first reading is that God doesn't insist that Abraham sacrifice his beloved son, and yet God was willing to do so himself (and his son willingly took it on), for us who are far less deserving. Paul riffs on that latter point, although not in yesterday's lectionary selection, in that passage from Romans where he says, "while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Indeed, only with difficulty does one die for a just person etc."
I'd have a difficult time even sacrificing the ram. I guess it's good to be confronted from time to time with the reality of sacrifice and its centrality to our faith.
A lot of times, I preach about what I'm wrestling with. I've always seen the Transfiguration as a little strange and sort of a one-off - it's a little different than the other recorded miracles. I suppose the conventional view (and often there is nothing wrong with conventional views) is that its importance lies in the appearance of Moses and Elijah. In that sense, it's of a piece with the story of the road to Emmaus, in which Jesus interprets (or reinterprets) for his two followers everything in what we know of as the Old Testament.
DeleteIn turn, that relationship between Judaism and Jesus (and the Jesus movement that eventually became Christianity) is fraught with peril for a homilist. The area I live in happens to have a large Jewish population, and there are Jewish folks and/or people of Jewish heritage who attend our masses at least from time to time. (One thing it took me a long time to figure out is that it's really naive to assume that everyone at a Catholic mass is Catholic.) The reality is both simple and complicated: Judaism and Christianity are not the same, yet because the latter grew from the soil of the former, there is shared heritage (the most obvious of which is the Jewish scriptures). Difficult to touch on these topics in a homily format in a way that both tells the truth and doesn't gratuitously offend anyone. But with so many Catholics and Jews living side by side in our community (not to mention marrying one another), it doesn't seem right to always avoid these topics. Avoiding difficult topics is a huge problem in Catholic preaching - it's right up there with Catholic preachers saying idiotic and untrue things. On the latter score, I don't exempt myself; regarding the former, I do try to touch on what I think is on people's minds.
"...of a piece with the story of the road to Emmaus."
DeleteOf course! Why did I never think of that before? Go with it next year, or when Emmaus comes back. Real good.
What's it about the Transfiguration? Our two deacons split up preaching on it at all the English Masses; none of the three priests took a shot at it.
Just my random musings:
ReplyDeleteTransfiguration imagery shows up in a lot of medieval hagiography, saints seeming to shed a light from within or have a light shine upon them, especially at death.
In the mystery play, The Harrowing of Hell, Jesus's coming is preceded by a light that grows brighter as the hope of those to be released grows. The souls of Adam and Eve and the prophets are transfigured in that light.
I think our views of God are hardened off in childhood. The Unitarian God expects perfection, but he's remote and stern, certainly not going to help you. As the incarnation of God, Jesus has never been a fuzzy house pet, and the Transfiguration story makes that clear. The light blinds, confuses, and frightens the disciples.
I have always wondered if Peter, in suggesting tents for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, wants to hide the light by building tents. As a child who grew up knowing I was a sinner in the hands of an angry God, I think Peter DID know what he was saying. I understand the urge to avoid standing naked in God's glare.
Jean - I've seen suggestions that the thing about the tents was a reference to the Feast of Booths or Feast of Tabernacles. Some translations have Peter saying, "Let us build three booths ...". The Jewish holiday is Sukkot. Not sure that's what Peter meant, but it's an interesting connection if so.
Deletehttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sukkot
I wish I could remember where I read this, but one commentator wrote, "Peter always tried to put his best foot forward, and it always ended up in his mouth."
DeleteJim, sounds like my ignorance is showing. Did not know about the tents in Jewish lore. As a good Jew, that sounds entirely like what Peter was doing.
DeleteTom, yes, Peter was impulsive, literal, and kinda slow on the uptake.
Tom and Jean - yes; part Nigel Bruce's Dr. Watson, part Sam Gamgee.
DeleteAlthough he's a new man, in more ways than one, in Acts.
Jean - to your comment about Jesus as distant and stern: part of my view almost certainly is shaped by my era: as someone who was a child during the '60's and into the '70's, I am definitely a product of the butterflies-and-balloons, hippy-dippy Jesus era. Joy is like the rain.
DeleteIf I'm not mistaken, next week's Gospel is the cleansing of the temple. That's a picture of Jesus as stern, even temperamental. But our parish almost never would hear that one, because we do the "A" cycle Gospel readings (the Woman at the Well for this coming Sunday) every year on that weekend of Lent, as we have RCIA in-flight every year. A different portrait of Jesus than the guy using a scourge to drive out the money-changers.
You don't HAVE to have year A reading with catechumens. This coming Sunday we'll have the year B readings in spite of the presence of the catechumens among us. The bishop will take them aside before Mass and give them a catechesis about the Samaritan woman, but the readings at Mass will be the cleansing of the temple. That' s what the bishop decided.
DeleteJim, I too live in a neighborhood and community with a majority Jewish population. I have learned a lot about Jewish customs etc simply by daily interactions. The "tents" were never a mystery to me. I just assumed they referred to Sukkot traditions.
ReplyDeleteOne thing on my to-do list has been to ask to attend the joint bible study that is sponsored by a local Lutheran church and a conservative Jewish congregation. Perhaps there is something like this in your area. Or perhaps you could initiate a joint bible study with a local Jewish congregation.
Or maybe a joint book study of one of Amy Jill Levine's books. She spoke at Georgetown recently, but, unfortunately, I was not able to attend the talk.
From the Vanderbilt University website:
Amy-Jill Levine is University Professor of New Testament and Jewish Studies, Mary Jane Werthan Professor of Jewish Studies, and Professor of New Testament Studies at Vanderbilt Divinity School and College of Arts and Science; she is also Affiliated Professor, Centre for the Study of Jewish-Christian Relations, Cambridge UK. Her books include The Misunderstood Jew: The Church and the Scandal of the Jewish Jesus; The Meaning of the Bible: What the Jewish Scriptures and the Christian Old Testament Can Teach Us (co-authored with Douglas Knight); The New Testament, Methods and Meanings (co-authored with Warren Carter), and the thirteen-volume edited Feminist Companions to the New Testament and Early Christian Writing. Her most recent volume is Short Stories by Jesus: The Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi
Anne - I love the idea of joint bible study. I'm ashamed to admit that I'm not aware of anything like that in this area. Something to look into ...
DeleteVery interesting. At my church the priest preached on our being disfigured by sin but transfigured by taking on the face of Christ. With a little aside on baptism.
ReplyDeleteI was the lector for the first reading, which I enjoyed very much. I tried to read it with a level voice but was carried away by the drama in spite of myself. "Abraham! Abraham!" -- Oh, the urgency! I love that text. Abraham who was crazy-obedient, who did not know where that would lead, but who was willing to follow through anyway, trusting God and being willing to lose it all -- his son, his only, the one who gave meaning to his life -- for the sake of obeying God's will, trusting that somehow God would make some good come out of it even if he could not see it. And then He did.
Of course I would never do that, because if I heard the voice of God telling me to kill someone, I would assume that I misheard. In fact, maybe Abraham did mishear? And God's messenger hurriedly came to the rescue before it was too late, congratulating him for his obedience but quickly telling him to go get himself a ram instead?
Claire, I love that you got carried away :-). And I love the disfigured/transfigured contrast.
DeleteI agree with you re: assuming I must have misheard. It would be pretty rare for me to hear God speaking clearly to me at all.
My favorite Transfiguration homily was given by a priest who told a story about his time working for the Park Service during summers while he was in college. He and a coworker were given the task of clearing fallen branches from a mountain road. The day was clouded and rainy, and it was cold, wet, and miserable for the two young men. Nevertheless they continued working their way up the road, until they were high enough in altitude to emerge above the cloud cover. Suddenly they were bathed in brilliant sunlight, and were looking down on luminous clouds. The priest said it looked like heaven to him, and he felt the presence of God. They ate their lunch and dried out a bit. Then they had to descend the road again, and go into the rain and mud. But he said for the past 50 years he has not forgotten that transcendent moment.
ReplyDelete