SunFeb222009
Scripture: MARK 9:2-9
You know something about my life in the last couple of months so I won’t belabor it. Just before Christmas, my father came close to dying, only to last for a while longer. Finally, on January 3, he died. Then, a couple of weeks later I got pneumonia, followed in short order by blood clots in both lungs. I can’t be sure, of course, but I’m guessing the death and grief and illness are not unrelated.
So, after my being gone from church for several weeks, what should happen as I return but I’m confronted with the fact that yesterday would have been my father’s 88th birthday. And tomorrow would have been my parents’ 58th anniversary.
As many of you know better than I, anniversaries of death, and especially first anniversaries, are hard.
I think you’ll forgive me if I tell you this morning that I’m tired and I’m sad, and that I’d be happy for a little relief. There’s nothing I’d like better than a little pick-me-up, a little honest-to-goodness, all-natural, God-induced high. Truth be told, I want to be Peter, James, and John up on the mountain, changed “from the inside out” (The Message).
And I wouldn’t be surprised if many of you feel the same way, what with all the emotional, physical, political, and financial pressures that plague us. Illnesses and stresses and tension are all around us, and precarious economic problems are no small part of it. A man told me just days ago that, because of dramatic losses in his business, he has to lay off five accomplished employees this week. He’s dreading it. And he’s not at all atypical. I think it’s fair to say that he, too, would like to join Peter, James, and John, that he too would like some dramatic transformation that changed him “from the inside out.”
What’s not to like, after all, about an unequivocal appearance of Jesus right there in the middle of the challenging and difficult journeys we lead? Who wouldn’t benefit from the unmistakable reassurance and comfort those early disciples get up there on that mountain? And yet, when it comes right down to it, who does this actually happen to? Who gets such visitations?
To be frank, my guess is that more people have some sort of extraordinary encounter with God than we know. There’s that moment in the middle of the night when the deepest sort of peace descends. There’s that instant in the midst of the dreadful commuter traffic when everything comes clear. There are those shocking and unbidden tears as we sit with our child, when the richness of God’s presence could not be more apparent. These moments have probably happened to many of you. They’ve turned around pain and confusion. They’ve “set all your commas straight” and made you laugh and lightened the load.
These things have happened to many people here this morning. But whom have you dared tell? Who would believe such a thing? Who wouldn’t think you were slightly nuts? My colleague Martin Copenhaver recounts the story of a man telling his pastor he was convinced he’d heard the voice of God, and he knew he’d never be the same again. When the pastor asked if he’d be willing to share the experience with members of the congregation, the man replied, “Are you kidding? I haven’t even told my wife” (To Begin at the Beginning, p. 255).
The Protestant church has generally not been particularly good at encouraging this kind of talk. We’ve done a fabulous job with morality and ethics, and we’ve become extremely adept at organizing and operating our local churches, says UCC minister Tony Robinson, but at the same time we’ve often neglected the spiritual dimension (Changing the Conversation, p. 33). So when people have these numinous experiences, these encounters with a holy power beyond them, they haven’t known what to do with them, and they have figuratively hidden those experiences under a bushel. If, like Peter, James, and John, you’ve had a transforming mountaintop experience, it’s likely that you’ve kept it to yourself. Wouldn’t it be great if you could talk about it with fellow travelers here at Federated? Those moments are rare and beautiful and full of God. They are central. And we have to share them.
At the same time, though, it’s also true that many people don’t ever have such experiences. The Bible understands this. Just look at this morning’s story. Who gets to go up on the mountain with Jesus, after all? Not Andrew. Not Levi. Not Philip or Bartholomew or Matthew or Thomas or Thaddeus or Simon or Judas. Three quarters of his closest followers, not to mention countless other adherents then and now, don’t get to have this fabulous proof. Just Peter and James and John. The favored ones. The pretty boys. The ones for whom everything seems to go right.
Mark’s gospel knows that not everyone is as privileged as those three. Plenty of seekers are never favored with that kind of unambiguous reassurance. We muddle along, hoping for a vision, pining for proof, aching for the kind of certainty that must have blanketed the favored three up there on that long-ago mountain. What we have, most of us, though, is mere hints, or nothing at all. It can be immensely frustrating. As a Roman Catholic priest once wrote:
I ask no Mt. Sinais, no Tabors,
No cloud by day, no fire by night,
Just one unambiguous touch
lasting one beat of my heart
(Fr. Kilian McDonnell, cited in Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 1, p. 445).
“Just one unambiguous touch lasting one beat of my heart”: that’s all we ask. That’s not too much, is it?
The thing we most remember about this story, of course, is the phenomenal experience those three had up there on that mountain. But you know what’s funny? They didn’t stay there long. They wanted to—Peter says to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” (9:5). ‘We can just stay here forever, form a nice little club, be filled with assurance and peace!’
That’s not the way it’s to be, though. No tent for Jesus and the others. No isolated home in a gated community, “far from the madding crowds.” No, instead they’re to go back down the mountain, back into the familiar routines of their lives, with no supernatural beings present, no undoubtable proof available. Back down the mountain they’re to go, carrying with them whatever light they’ve known in that special moment. They’re not to cling to this light, or gush over it, or protect it in some private quarter. In fact, they’re not even to talk about it with anyone, at least not right away. Instead, they’re to let this light shine into the shadows of their everyday lives, “from the inside out.”
And this is, of course, the way it’s to be for us, too. Those of us who’ve been privileged to experience fantastic grace are privileged also to pass it on. And those of us who haven’t, or who think we haven’t, are invited to pass on the glory about which we’ve heard.
The thing is, I suspect that those of us who think we’ve never experienced such a thing may have come closer than we’ve ever acknowledged, even perhaps to ourselves. In some manner or other, we too have glimpsed the glory of that mountaintop, we too have been changed “from the inside out,” and we too have something to share.
Let me tell you a little about that radiance, and begin with the light glowing here at Federated Church. On this day of our annual meeting, what do we see here? For as long as most people can remember, we have seen Spirit overflowing—in our music, in the remarkable outreach that works its way into broken places, in our superb staff, in the incredible lay leadership that graces this place. I think, this morning, especially of Martine Scheuermann and her incredible leadership this last year—one in a string of so many who have led this church so ably over the years. We’ve seen that Spirit, too, in the searching and studying and praying and caring that set this church apart. We may minimize it or pass right over it, but we do so at our peril. These are unmistakable signs of the presence of God. And slowly they transform us “from the inside out.” Do we have new and exciting opportunities to expand on these gifts? Of course! That’s the joy and the challenge of following Jesus. But the invitation to a new future should never call into question the abundant gifts that make this place special.
Let me speak more personally, though. As I said—to say the least, I have not found the last couple of months to be overly full of mountaintop experiences. Death and disease have a way of knocking you down and stealing your thunder. As I look back at the valley, though, it’s also true that I see signs of that transfiguring light remaking me even in the midst of the day-to-day drudgery. First, what an utter joy that Mark Simone’s latest tests have shown no sign of the lymphoma that has dogged him! The word “remission” has a sweet sound to it, doesn’t it? Not everyone is blessed with such favorable news, of course, because death is an inevitable part of life. When people do find healing, though, they are the beneficiaries of the healing power of God that is at work in everyone. As do you, I rejoice in the good news that blesses Mark.
I have been blessed in other ways, too. Though I have not been able to read anything very serious recently, in anticipating its forthcoming movie I have been able to read Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons. I have delved a little into a couple of books that shed light on the church and its ministry. I have watched some amazing movies—Crash, Breaking Away, Singin’ in the Rain. I have talked with my mother every day since my father’s death, and we have supported and cared for each other. Every day I have received heartfelt notes and cards from so many of you, including a noteworthy one from the What-a-Life group. And two weeks ago, what should be delivered to my door after worship but the biggest, fanciest, most beautiful card I have ever seen, signed by more of you than I could count. You can not imagine what that has meant to me. The light of God has shined in the care and love that you have showered upon me: transfiguration!
Then, in the midst of this sad weekend of my father’s birthday yesterday and my parents’ anniversary tomorrow has come another beautiful sign of light and love. It suddenly dawned on me a couple of days ago that twenty-four years ago this very day, on Feb. 22, 1985, I met Mary. She and I were invited to a friend’s house for a dinner party, a blind-date set-up. I remember meeting this cute, short young woman at the door as I arrived. She had a bright smile on her face and a little spot of green paint on one of her shoes. So, for me, this day symbolizes light and love, right there in the midst of those two days of loss and sorrow and death.
It goes without saying that not every moment of Mary’s and my marriage has been idyllic. We have had our share of fights. We have yelled at each other and hurt each other and let each other down (one of us more than the other, I might add!). We have not always done what the other needed. Just a few weeks ago, in fact, at the lowest point in my recent struggles, I came downstairs one morning white as a ghost, quite dizzy, and with clammy skin. Mary was afraid I was having a heart attack, I think, and she found herself almost passing out. She had to sit down and put her head between her knees, and then go to the couch to lie down. This was supposed to be my issue, not hers. Finally she said to me with a laugh, “Is either one of us able to call 911?”
And since then we have died laughing about that moment. What a gift! What’s so clear to me is that I have been blessed beyond belief by Mary’s fortitude and resiliency, by the depth of her faith, and most of all by the enormity of her dedication and affection. It’s a sublime and fabulous gift, one which, when I take the time to look at it, is a sure sign of the grace and power of God, a light shining in the depth of my shadows, a transfiguring going on in me “from the inside out.”
God has shined in the lives of all of us with glory and power. And it’s our role to reflect that light wherever we go. The light that changed Jesus “from the inside out” has shined, as well, in our lives. And as we get changed “from the inside out,” we can shine that same light for others. [FLC: Just as in the video we saw earlier, in which each person kept silently passing light on to the next person, if we let it, the light of God shines through us and onto others.]
And so often this shining happens in the most everyday places. Maybe you’ve heard about the basketball game a couple of weeks ago between two rival high schools in Illinois. As it happens, one of Madison High School’s players lost his mother a few hours before the game was to start. She died in the hospital of cancer at 39. The coach had been with Johntell Franklin when his mother died. Then, the coach rushed off to the game, because Johntell said that his mother would have wanted it to be played.
The game began two hours late. In the middle of the second quarter, who should walk into the gym but Johntell. The game stopped so his teammates could greet him, while his opponents at their great rival, DeKalb High School, applauded. Of all things, Johntell said he wanted to play in the game—again, his mother would have liked that. The problem was that his coach hadn’t submitted his name as an active player before the game began.
After a protracted discussion, the referees wouldn’t budge on the rule that said that, if Franklin entered the game, DeKalb would get two technical foul shots, to penalize the Madison team for playing an ineligible player. So Darius McNeal, DeKalb’s best foul shooter stepped to the line for his two free shots. And what should he do, but, instead of shooting, he rolled the ball across the end line. And then he did it again, effectively refusing to benefit from his opponent’s tremendous loss (The Plain Dealer, Feb. 18, 2009, p. D2). It was a vivid gesture of sportsmanship and care. And it was a radiant sign of the light of God shining there in that gym. Not competition, but compassion was central—a powerful witness to the grace of God. And it’s a nudge to us all: the light of God has shined in our midst, “from the inside out.” Let’s let it shine all around!