Spoiler Alert … Love Wins! Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On February 26th, 2017 Scripture: Matthew 17:1-9 If there had been such a thing as spoiler alerts, during the time when the Bible had been put together, they would have been sprinkled all over the text. The Bible simply isn’t a book to read if you’re looking for a surprise ending. If there’s anything worse than a spoiler alert during, say a murder mystery, telling the final score before the end of a sports game must qualify. Imagine if, during the first quarter of the Super Bowl earlier this month, someone leaned across the couch, nudged you on the knee and whispered “Oh, by the way … the Pats win.” The spoiler situation of the Bible is exaggerated by the order in which we read the stories, especially at this time of year. As we reach the end of the season of Epiphany today, we read a story that takes place toward the end of Jesus’ ministry. Next week, as we begin Lent, we will be rewinding the story to the beginning. So you can see, sometimes we even read the end before the beginning. In the case of this week’s reading, the story is to give us a hint of the end. It’s quite right for us to read this episode before we enter the darker period of Lent. It is a story that will perhaps sustain us, when events are troubling. Perhaps this episode also sustained the disciples who witnessed it, during their very dark days. It’s a story that, in the first quarter, leans across the couch, nudges you on the knee and whispers “Oh, by the way … love wins.” In the chapter preceding our reading for today, Peter, the disciple, has finally proclaimed that he believes Jesus is the Messiah. He is the long-awaited one from God, come to make all things right. At this proclamation, Jesus blesses Peter for his understanding, but he also begins to show the disciples what being the Messiah means. He reveals that he is heading for Jerusalem. And once he is there, he will suffer at the hands of the religious authorities, he will be killed and will be raised on the third day. This is not good news for the disciples, especially Peter. Naturally, he wants to prevent this outcome. But Peter is rebuked in the sternest terms by Jesus, who reminds them all that to follow him they must “take up their cross.” Six days later, Jesus brings Peter with James and John up on a high mountain. In that silent place, they are far removed for the day to day activities in the valley below. They are beyond the reach of the sounds of children playing, beyond bustle of the marketplace, beyond the bleating and braying of animals. As the wind whips their faces and the sun shines harsh in their eyes, Jesus is transformed. His aura and his body shine so brilliantly they can barely look, the light radiates right through his clothing. And then the vision expands to include Moses, the one who first received the law from God, and Elijah, the greatest of the prophets. Peter tries to move swiftly to capture the moment. He suggests that they build shelters for the three of them. But he is interrupted. A bright cloud overshadows them, and echoes the words that were heard at Jesus’s baptism. They hear, booming from heaven “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” The disciples are over-awed, overwhelmed and fall prostrate to the ground. It is the only posture possible in the raw presence of God. The next thing they know, Jesus is touching them on the shoulder, saying “Get up and do not be afraid.” The apparitions are gone. Jesus’ glow is back to normal. Just as quickly as it came on, this God-moment has evaporated. It was all that their mortal bodies could tolerate this side of heaven. They have seen the end of the story: far beyond the suffering in Jerusalem, beyond even the resurrection of Christ. They have seen Jesus’ coming in glory. It’s the punch line, where love wins. And so, it is curious, as they depart the mountain, that Jesus warns them to tell no one about the vision until he has been raised from the dead. God-moments, mountain top experiences, inevitably produce awe in us. Just recently I have been thinking of awe as a common experience among all people. Or at least among all people who are willing to entertain the holy, the spiritual, or the magnificence of the universe. Just a few weeks ago, when I was on vacation in Hawaii with my family, I experienced a communal awe-filled experience, on the peak of the volcano, Haleakala, in Maui. Fortunately, jet lag helped us to wake well before dawn, and begin the tourists’ pilgrimage to the mountain. A line of cars, headlights on, traced the winding road leading up. It was a strange meeting of ancient and modern, tour buses and rental cars ascending to witness this sight that has been blessing Maui since the island rose out of the ocean. By the time we arrived a large crowd of visitors was already assembled, shivering in the chilly air. Groups were chatting, and seeking out the best views, but the general mood was quiet. Occasionally a child whimpered or cried. And the folks all shuffled around, seeking out the higher ground, setting up camera tripods, and checking out selfies. Finally the moment arrived. Even though it was anticipated, it was indeed breathtaking, even awe inspiring. A park ranger began a traditional chant, the mountain is a sacred place for the native people. The myriad colors of the emerging sun’s rays reflected off the clouds that had settled below the peak like a veil. It was a staggering moment of beauty, coming forth from our amazing universe. It was something that all people could share: Jews and Muslims, Hindus and Buddhists, Christians and Atheists, Spiritual-but-not-Religious and people of earth religions. But, for me, one thing was missing, as the moment was over and people found their way back to their buses and cars. There was no hand on the shoulder, no “do not be afraid”, no touch of Jesus in the flesh. And so I missed being in church that day. I missed breaking bread and putting it into your hands. I missed connecting my eyes with yours as we smile, or laugh or weep together. I missed the handshakes and the hugs, the connections over coffee. I missed greeting one another at the door. I missed visiting a recuperating member’s home and finding two of you already over there, providing help and support. I missed the touch of holding hands with one of our elders in the nursing home, who can no longer speak. This is the distinction of our Christian faith, the thing we can lift up as our own. While the disciples receive a vision of the end of the story, Jesus cautions them not to tell about it. Perhaps the reason for that is that he doesn’t want the other followers to become distracted. The focus of his ministry over the coming weeks will be all about being in the flesh. Jesus will touch and heal the sick, Jesus will teach through stories and parables of everyday life. Jesus will ride a donkey and overturn tables in the temple. He will break bread for the disciples, share a cup of wine with, and finally he will be taken to the cross. None of these things will be done by a transformed and radiant Christ. All of these things will be done by God-in-the flesh Jesus. And that is how we will know what love-wins looks like. And so, it is the in-the-flesh, gathered community that most often brings God close, in the world. It is the meeting of hands and eyes, of breaking bread, and eating together. That is how we will get to the time and place where love wins. That said, I seek out and actively practice solitary spiritual practices. Most days, I begin with a routine of yoga stretches,Taizé chants and study of scripture. A bizarre combination, I know. I visit my spiritual director once monthly, where we find the presence of God in the silence. I need these God-moments to sustain me, just as much as the ones that come from communion with one another. What God-moments sustain you? The Bible passage has already told us the story’s end, but it has not told us how we will get there. And so, next week we will begin our journey with Jesus. It will be with Jesus in the flesh and blood, laughing and weeping, rejoicing and suffering. We’ll walk alongside him, as far as we are able. But, I suspect that we will reach a point when it is too much for us, and then Jesus will go on alone. We’ll meet him again on the other side, on Easter morning. So let’s say our last alleluias for the risen One among us and the glorified One who we will see at the end of all things: Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! And when the going gets tough, remember -- spoiler alert ---- love wins! Let all the people say, Amen
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
If you enjoy a sermon or have a question, please leave a comment. If you would like to quote any of my material in your own sermons or writings, please use appropriate attribution. I look forward to hearing from you!Archives
April 2022
Categories |