Luke 9:28-36 - Intro
In this week's
gospel reading, we encounter one of the most remarkable events in Jesus' life -
the Transfiguration.
It is an
experience that three out of the four gospel writers record,
with the details
in each of their stories being nearly exactly the same.
Additionally,
each of these gospel writers places the Transfiguration immediately after Jesus
makes his first prediction of his impending death
and before he
and the disciples begin winding their way to Jerusalem and the events that
await them there during Holy Week.
But for all
its drama and power, the transfiguration seems to play a very limited role in
the rest of Jesus' ministry or in the disciples' immediate understanding of who
Jesus is.
Even today,
the church seems less comfortable talking about the miracle of the
Transfiguration than it does other events in Jesus' life.
Perhaps this
is because we, like Peter, James and John, have trouble comprehending the
meaning of this event.
It’s
confusing, it’s unexpected, and it has super natural overtones that we can’t
easily explain or relate to an experience that we might have today.
If we place
ourselves in the story, we might try to capture the moment that Jesus
transforms before our eyes, just as Peter did.
Peter suggests
they build dwelling places for the prophets – we might whip out
our smart phone and record it all on video so we can relive the experience over
and over again – so we might better understand it.
The gospel
writers have done that for us – recording the events for posterity so we can
read about it thousands of years after the fact.
But perhaps this
is one of those experiences that we must have for ourselves.
A direct
encounter with God – and with Christ –
that inspires
us, strengthens us, and leaves us in awe –
so we’re
better prepared to carry God’s presence into the world.
Luke 9:28-36
Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him
Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray.
And while he was praying, the appearance of his face
changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.
Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him.
They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure,
which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.
Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep;
but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood
with him.
Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master,
it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for
Moses, and one for Elijah” —not knowing what he said.
While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed
them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud
came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”
When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they
kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.
The Rev. Maureen R. Frescott
Congregational Church of
Amherst, UCC
March 3, 2019 – Last Sunday
of Epiphany – Transfiguration
Luke 9:28-36
“Thin Places”
If
you wanted to be or feel closer to God, where would you go?
Would
you seek out a church or a chapel –
where
light trickles through stained glass windows,
the
smell of burning candles or incense fills the air,
and
a crucifix or a simple empty cross holds your attention,
helping
you to focus on being in the presence of the Divine?
Would
you hike out into the woods –
where
sunlight filters down through a canopy of branches,
the
sound of calling birds and buzzing insects fills the air,
and
the smell of fresh pine needles and decaying leaves both grounds you and
heightens your sense of connection to the earth and its Creator?
Or
would you climb a mountain –
in
much the same way that Moses, Elijah, and Jesus once did –
seeking
to move closer to God by ascending upwards,
where
the air is thinner, the trees huddle safely below the summit,
and
nothing but the sound of the wind, the damp mist of the clouds, and a glorious
view of the distant horizon, stands between you and the heavens?
These
places where we encounter the Divine – or feel a sense of closeness to
something greater than ourselves are often called THIN PLACES.
Thin
places are described as geographical or physical locations where the veil
between this world and the eternal world is thinner or more permeable.
They’re
places where people may describe having a heightened sense of spiritual awareness,
where the energy is palpable or even visible,
where
the feeling that one is moving between or simultaneously occupying two worlds
leads to a sense of awe, clarity, and connection that is difficult to duplicate
or describe once the moment has passed.
Thin
places are often described as being magical or mystical or sacred in nature.
In
June of 2017, when I was on sabbatical, I had the opportunity to travel to the
island of Iona, which lies off the western coast of Scotland.
If
any of you have ever traveled to Scotland or Ireland, then you may have visited
some of these thin places.
Places
that often have their roots in ancient spiritualities:
Pagan
burial mounds that rise up from the earth,
Celtic
crosses standing in the midst of ruined abbeys,
deliberate
arrangements of primeval stones standing alone in grassy fields,
their
original meaning and purpose having been lost to time.
The
tiny Island of Iona has become a pilgrimage of sorts for those in search of
thin places.
The
island is only 3 miles long and 1 mile wide, and can only be reached by taking
two ferries and enduring a sketchy drive across the Isle of Mull.
I
say sketchy because the road between the ferry ports is essentially 35 miles of
single-track.
Meaning
its only wide enough to fit one car.
At
varying points along the road there are passing places where one vehicle can
pull over to allow another coming in the other direction to pass.
It’s
a 50 mph dance that the natives have down pat –
but
when you’re fresh off the plane, and still getting used to the steering wheel
being on the other side of your rental car,
navigating
the road to Iona can be an other worldly experience in itself.
There
were several times where I was sure I would soon be in the literal presence of God.
Iona
is a magical place.
It’s
best known for its historic Abbey and monastery,
which
stand upon the ruins of the original buildings built by the Christian monks who
landed on the island in the year 563.
That
particular community of monks has been credited with bringing Christianity to
Scotland - and the Abbey at Iona, despite its remoteness,
was
known to be a center of learning in its time, producing some of the worlds most
beautiful and intricate illuminated manuscripts.
Today,
thousands of people flock to the tiny island every year in search of a mystical
experience – including Christians – both Catholic and Protestant - and those who might call themselves
“spiritual but not religious” –
in particular, those
who embrace a more new age interpretation of Celtic spirituality, where
nature itself is the source of the divine.
But
while Iona’s reputation as a divine and scared place has come to be romanticized – the
story of its origin is decidedly more human.
The
twelve missionaries who founded the monastery at Iona were led by St. Columba,
an Irish monk, who it turns out had less than mystical motives for establishing
such a remote community.
Columba
fled his native Ireland after he was accused of copying the Gospels – which
monks did all the time, in fact that was their job –
but
Columba allegedly made a copy for his own personal use instead of sending it
off to be kept in an official library or church. A huge no-no.
Rather
than face punishment for this crime, Columba piled 12 of his closest colleagues
into a round boat made of whicker and rawhide known as a coracle, and let the
currents carry them across the sea to the coast of Scotland.
According
to historians, the first island the monks encountered was deemed unacceptable
by Columba because he could still see Ireland in the distance.
So
they set off again and landed on the much more remote Iona.
Columba’s
uneasy relationship with his homeland is reflected in the name for first hill
he climbed on Iona, which is called “The Hill with its Back to Ireland.”
As
a monk, Columba displayed some other eccentric idiosyncrasies.
He banished women and cows from Iona,
claiming
that “where there is a cow there is a woman, and where there is a woman there
is mischief.”
He
also reportedly banished snakes and frogs from the island.
How
he accomplished this feat is not known. (historic.uk.com)
Ultimately
St. Columba chose Iona as the home for his monastery not because it was a place
of mystical beauty, as we see it today,
but
rather because it was a harsh and barren island –
windswept
and rainy and frigidly cold for most of the year,
where
even the sturdiest of seeds struggled to take root.
The
howling gale force winds, the crashing sea, and the frequent lightening storms
reportedly terrified Columba and his monks.
To
them this was a thin place.
A
place where the unpredictable and chaotic nature of God and God’s Creation had
you quaking in your boots in fear and awe.
Peter,
James, and John had a similar experience on top of the mountain where they
witnessed Jesus’ transfiguration.
Just
a few days before, they had listened to Jesus telling them that he was destined
to suffer and die in service to God.
Everything
they understood about the promised Messiah from their faith,
and
everything they had hoped and dreamed would happen under the leadership of this
master teacher and healer was in the process of crashing down around their
feet.
Yet
as they struggled to comprehend what Jesus had told them,
he
unsettled their minds even further, by inviting them to come with him up the mountain,
where they would see him transformed before their eyes.
The
disciple’s first instinct was to claim this as a thin place – a sacred space –
as Peter suggested building dwelling places for each of the prophets,
perhaps
so they could hold onto this image of Jesus – alive and glowing –
and
not descend down the mountain into the world where their teacher was destined
to suffer and die.
But
in this thin place they then had a very close encounter with God.
Who
spoke to them saying, “This my son, my Chosen, Listen to him”.
After
being jolted by this glimpse behind the Divine veil, they followed Jesus down
the mountain, where he continued to teach and heal,
and
continued to teach them how to do the same in his absence.
When
we come off the mountain, or leave the island,
or
step out of the woods, or the sanctuary,
we leave
the thin places behind, and move into the thicker places –
the
places where it’s not as easy to see or hear or feel God’s presence.
But
hopefully the encounter we have with God – on the mountain, or in the woods, or
in the sanctuary – is transformative enough to stay with us –
to allow us to see and hear and feel God
everywhere we go.
John
Harvey, who served as the leader of the Iona Christian community from
1988-1995, ended up following in St. Columba’s footsteps,
in
that he did not seek to reside permanently in the thin place where he
encountered the closeness of God.
Just
as Columba left the island to bring the Christian faith into the hills and
valleys of Scotland, John Harvey left Iona and established Christian communal
homes in some of the poorest communities in Scotland’s inner cities.
Not to
convert people but to serve them.
Harvey
says, “Jesus didn’t come to set up
a church when he said ‘Follow Me’. He didn’t say ‘Worship me.’ The point is
you’re not supposed to stay in one place; you’re supposed to be on the move.”
In
the same vein, UCC minister and theologian, Walter Brueggemann urges God in
Christ to move off the mountain and move off the pages of scripture - and move through
us, with the follow prayer:
“Listen up, you Majestic Sovereign, and move off the page to the trouble of the world, move to the peace negotiations, and cancer diagnoses, and burning churches, and lynched blacks, and abused children. Listen to the groans and moans, and see and hear and know and remember, and come down! Be your Friday self, so that your world may be Eastered.”
We
may not fully comprehend the Transfiguration,
but one way to make this story
relevant is to move it off the page –
bring it down from the mountain -
and take it with us into the world.
Look
for the thin places,
even in the thick places.
Look
for signs of God in the world.
And
where God is not easy to find,
be the presence of God that others desperately need
to see.Thanks be to God, and Amen.
John Harvey quote is from Love of Country: A Journey through the Hebrides by Madeleine Bunting.
Walter Brueggemann quote is from Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth: Prayers of Walter Brueggemann
