LIGHT ONE CANDLE

 

Scriptures:     II Corinthians 4:3-6

Mark 9:2-10

 

            What are we to make of this Gospel story of the transfiguration?  It appears in all three of the synoptic gospels – Matthew and Luke, as well as Mark – so it was obviously important and quite real to those who were writing about their experience of Jesus.  Peter in his second letter recounts the experience as well.  Here’s II Peter, chapter 1, verses 16-18:  “For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty.  For he received honor and glory from God the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory, saying, ‘This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’  We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain.”  This experience clearly resonated with Peter and with the gospel writers for many years.

            But to our modern eyes and ears this story is so fantastic, so phantasmagorical, so supernatural.  It sounds like something we would find in science fiction or fantasy, not historical reality.  Oh, we can enjoy The Chronicles of Narnia, or The Lord of the Rings, or the Harry Potter series, but even while enjoying them we know that they come out of a writer’s vivid imagination.  Most ministers I know shy away from trying to find meaning in the transfiguration.  In fact, I was somewhat surprised to find it as a key Sunday in the United Church of Christ planbook.  Yet, there it is, and for going on 21 centuries now Transfiguration Sunday has been a part of the church year – there on the last Sunday of Epiphany, right before the start of Lent.  There must be something significant about it for our faith.

            Well, there is (c’mon, you knew I was going to say that, didn’t you?).  Among all the images of bright lights and glowing white robes and a voice out of heaven there is something we can take away that will help us in our day-to-day struggles with all that life hands us.  I want to suggest that what it is that helps us is the powerful image of light overcoming the darkness.  For those of you who were here last week, there’s a kind of an arc between these two sermons – last week we were looking at what it means to say a resounding Yes to God when all the cynics around us are encouraging us to say No.  Today we’re looking at the reality of our own darkness and what it would mean for the light of Jesus Christ to penetrate that.

            So, there’s another arc at work here.  We usually associate light with Christmas – with the Star of Bethlehem and the glorious light surrounding the angels.  Then, in Epiphany we trace the route of the Wise Men as they follow the star and find it glowing upon the Holy child.  And now, here at the end of Epiphany we see that same light transforming Jesus into the Christ.  As we begin to prepare for the dark themes that are a part of Lent, Transfiguration Sunday reminds us that the light of the Star is always with us.

            As is often the case in stories involving the disciples, Peter is the key character.  A chapter earlier in Mark Peter made his confession, saying, in response to Jesus’ question, “But who do you say that I am?”,  “You are the Messiah.”  Remember, the Jewish people had been waiting for a Messiah for centuries.  This was a powerful moment for all of them.  Jesus realized that, and so initially he told them not to tell anyone that they understood who he was.  But now going up onto this high mountain (it is not specifically named) Jesus is revealed in a way that affirms the truth of Peter’s confession – here is the validation of Jesus as the Messiah.

            For Peter and the other disciples this was a real and valid experience.  New Testament scholar Frederick C. Grant says, “The ancient world was prejudiced on the side of realism…..  For Mark the vision was real; God actually proclaimed Jesus as His Son, and commanded the apostles to hear him.”  Now, I know it’s hard for us to believe that.  But haven’t we had experiences, you and I, that we would be hard-pressed to explain in rational terms to others?  Haven’t we had peak moments that change the way we look at things?  Indeed, our term “mountain-top experience” comes directly from this passage.  Most of us have had moments like this when reality bursts and nothing is ever quite the same way it was before.  When this happens, trust it.  The disciples could trust this one.

            But then what do we want to do with a moment like this?  We want to hold onto it forever.  That’s Peter’s reaction, too, and, boy, can we ever identify with this:  “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings…..”  Stay there forever in the moment – that’s Peter’s desire – or, at the very least, prolong the experience.  But of course that’s impossible, and Jesus gently leads them down the mountain, back to an every-day world.  As Hal Luccock says, “It was good for Peter to have had the transfiguration experience; it was not good for him to try to prolong it.”  The same can be said about us and any of our mountain-top moments.  The problem with trying to stay in our mountain-top experiences is that we get stuck in old habits and ways of thinking.  Jesus wants Peter and the disciples – and us – to move on to other spiritual experiences, to find new light and truth.  John Robinson in his sermon to the Pilgrims as they were about to leave for the New World in 1620 famously said, “…the Lord has yet more truth and light to break forth out of his holy Word.”  God is not finished with us yet.  There are new experiences to be had.

            For some – actually, I hope, for many – the worship service is a high hour of vision – a time for getting those “aha” moments of inspiration that carry us through the rest of the week.  But even if worship is inspirational we wouldn’t want to prolong it – which is why we try to keep the service to under an hour [if we were on the computer right now you’d see one of those emoticons right about now – you know, a < with a “g” and then another > signifying “grin”, or:  that comment was intended to be taken tongue-in-cheek].  Oh, you mean you really would like the service to be two hours long?!?

            Nevertheless, even though we can’t and shouldn’t prolong our mountain-top experiences, we should remember them and use them to sustain us during the dark times.  There’s a snatch of a line of poetry I heard somewhere that captures this:  “out of the shining of remembered days”.  Mountain-top experiences are brightly-lit moments that shine through our memories and help us weather the stormy days.

            And there will be stormy days.  All of us have our times of darkness – of doubt – of depression – of despair.  Usually, we deplore these parts of life, thinking, along with Paul, that it is “the god of this world” (that is, Satan) who blinds us, keeping us “from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ.”  But I want to suggest that such times of darkness are normal and inevitable and that we should, if not welcome them, at least accept them for what they are.  William Walter De Bolt puts this thought poetically:

            No eye could have seen

            Bethlehem’s star, God’s silver,

            without the darkness.

            Christians have often been hard pressed to answer the skeptic’s question, “How can you believe in a God who is good and just when there is so much evil and suffering in the world?”  No easy answer can be given to such a question.  But for me the answer that comes closest to making sense is to take the suffering – the darkness – seriously and embrace it as the precondition for hope – the light – to break forth and shine.  By taking our moments of darkness seriously and embracing them we start the process of living in the light.  Our lives can then begin to reflect that “light of the gospel of the glory of Christ” of which Paul speaks.

            When this symbolism of both dark and light is taken seriously then both the beautiful stories of the Bethlehem birth and this strange tale of the transfiguration become much more than myth for us.  These stories become our life’s focal point – a bursting forth of hope and love within the world and within each one of us.  And our lives can reflect that light ever onward.  If you look at a beam of light striking that focal point known as a prism, you can see it breaking into hundreds of pieces and a glittering array of colors.  Just so, when the “light of the gospel of the glory of Christ” touches our lives we become like a prism – sending it forth to touch the lives of everyone else we meet.  For the three disciples – and, I would hope, for each one of us – the story of the transfiguration becomes like that kairos moment we spoke of a few weeks ago when something has happened that changes both past and future, and we can never be the same again.

            But of course the kairos moment doesn’t last and all too soon we find ourselves facing the darkness.  Doubt creeps in – how could the promises of God be real for me? comes the nagging thought.  Medical problems or a troubled marriage or a tyrannical boss or teenage children driving you up against a wall or (if you are that teenager) an overly-restrictive parent or the boiler breaking down and you don’t have the money to fix it or the taxes are due or, or, or….. You name it – something is always there to push us toward despair and depression – toward the darkness.  Where can I turn to find the light?

            That’s when faith comes into play.  I like the way Patrick Overton puts it when he says, “When you come to the edge of all the light you know, and are about to step off into the darkness, faith is knowing one of two things will happen:  There will be something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly.”  When things look darkest God gives us choices that allow us to go on.  Remember that old composition by Mary Stevenson called “Footprints”?  It may be a bit sentimentalized for some, but the truth that God cares for us is certainly valid:

            One night a man had a dream. He dreamed
he was walking along the beach with the LORD.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene he noticed two sets of
footprints in the sand: one belonging
to him, and the other to the LORD.
When the last scene of his life flashed before him,
he looked back at the footprints in the sand.
He noticed that many times along the path of
his life there was only one set of footprints.
He also noticed that it happened at the very
lowest and saddest times in his life.
This really bothered him and he
questioned the LORD about it:
"LORD, you said that once I decided to follow
you, you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most
troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when
I needed you most you would leave me."

The LORD replied:
"My son, my precious child,
I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you."

            The light that shines in the darkness – whether it be from the burning bush or the Bethlehem star or the glory of the transfiguration – is a symbol of God’s caring for us.  Light is a visible expression of the divine nature of Christ and of his promise to be with us always.  That light on the face of the risen Christ shone on Paul at the moment of his conversion on the Damascus road.  As God was in Paul’s heart, so God shines in our hearts in order that we might give others light.  The Christophers, a Roman Catholic organization who have for years produced a wonderful television program called “Christopher Closeup”, have a saying they use:  “It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.”  Once we have experienced the kind of light as the three disciples did there on that mountain top we are empowered to light a candle in the lives of others.  God gives us that power now and always.

 

Amen.

 

 

 

                                                                        Dave Pomeroy

                                                                        First Congregational Church, UCC

                                                                        Las Vegas, NV

                                                                        February 26 2006