Father Forgive Them (The First Word from the Cross) -- Luke 23:32-34

Two others also, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him. When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, "Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

All dressed in his imperial splendor, the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate sits in judgment of Jesus. Surrounding Pilate is a group of Jesus' accusers. It would seem that the governor doesn’t know what to make of Jesus. He appears to be just some kind of religious teacher, but as he listens to the charges he begins to see Jesus in a different light. Maybe this Jewish teacher is really a threat to the stability of his province. If the charges are true, then he will need to take the threat seriously, and that means condemning his prisoner to die on a cross. He comes to this decision after a night of debate and his decision is final; there will be no appeal. It's interesting that Pilate tries to wash his hands of this sordid affair. Isn't that the way it is with the rich and the powerful? They don't like to get their hands dirty.

It is strange to watch Jesus stand before this seat of judgment. Only a few days earlier he'd been acclaimed by the crowds as a deliverer; now he's being sentenced to die a criminal's death on a cross. From our reading of the Gospels, Jesus doesn’t seem to be the type, and yet maybe there is more to the story than meets the eye. Since executions were always public spectacles, the soldiers would have led the prisoners, including Jesus of Nazareth, through the streets of Jerusalem, toward the place of execution. It's a place known to Luke simply as The Skull. Exhausted by the previous night's ordeal, Jesus falls under the weight of the crossbeam. Being in a hurry to finish the job, the soldiers force a pilgrim from Cyrene, a man named Simon, to carry the beam the rest of the way up the hill. That's the way it was in Roman times. The soldiers could force you into labor whenever necessary. Jesus had even commented on this: "If anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile" (Matthew 5:41).

Once they arrive at the execution site, the soldiers lay Jesus out on the cross and nail his body to the posts. They hoist him up into the air so that he would die a slow, humiliating, and painful death. The Romans used this method of execution because they believed that it was a deterrent to rebellion. Watching such a cruel death must have given any potential rebel cause to think twice about engaging the Romans. Jesus may have been deemed "deserving" of this special treatment, but he is not alone in his death. In the words of Isaiah, he "was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors" (Isaiah 53:12). He dies in the company of two others, Isaiah's transgressors. We never learn the nature of their crimes, but perhaps they had been partners with Barabbas, the one released by Pilate, at the request of the people. It's quite likely that these two men had been arrested for stirring up trouble in Jerusalem, just like Barabbas. Maybe they'd killed a soldier of occupation. Theirs was an insurgency designed to run out an oppressive foreign invader. It was for persons like them that the Romans devised this horrific form of execution, and Jesus has been caught in the web. So here between the insurgents, hangs the prince of peace.

As Jesus hung there on the cross, a crown of thorns sat uncomfortably on his head. The crown has symbolic value, but it's also designed to inflict pain. As the thorns dig into his forehead, the blood trickles down his face. His back bleeding from the flogging he had endured during the night adds to his agony. But it was the crush of his weight that forced him to struggle with ever more difficulty to remain upright, which caused him the most physical distress. Still, there he hung, God's suffering servant, the one of whom Isaiah spoke. This one who poured himself out in death "was numbered with the transgressors." (Isaiah. 53:12). Yes, he took his place among us and was counted as one of us, counted as a sinner, and he suffered with us, but for what?

At the foot of the cross one could find a few followers, most of whom were women. Covering their eyes and weeping, they might have moaned out loud, "Oh, how could this happen?" But others jeered at him, both Roman soldier and collaborator from the Jewish establishment. Maybe there were also a few former admirers and some disappointed revolutionaries in this crowd, each voice adding further insult to his humiliation.

Now, as he struggles to catch his breath, Jesus utters his first word from the cross:

"Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

Do you hear these words with a sense of disbelief? How can he say this? How can he forgive his tormentors? Yes, how can anyone forgive the ones who have participated in such an evil deed? But, while we recoil from such a thought, Jesus reaches out to his tormentors and offers them words of forgiveness. As we listen to these strange words, we discover that we are included in them. We too are recipients of Jesus' offer of forgiveness.

The recipients of this gracious offer of forgiveness are many, but Jesus begins with the most obvious offenders, the soldiers sitting at the foot of his cross. These are the ones who have just followed orders and have nailed him to this cross. In truth, they probably didn't understand the consequences of what they were doing. They were just doing their jobs. They'd rather be doing something else, but here they were standing guard over some local rebels. Yes, Jesus was just one more rebel who needed to be taught a lesson. They probably weren't even listening as Jesus offered them forgiveness. Even if they were listening, they probably didn't understand Jesus. As he cries out offering them forgiveness, they are busy dispensing with his clothes. It's possible that these soldiers would periodically look up at him and shout insults at him. But then again, they are simply following orders from on high.

There might have been a few Jewish leaders in the crowd as well. These were the collaborators, the one's granted power, not by the people, but by the occupying forces. They saw themselves as protectors of Israel, and they believed that their act of conspiring with the Roman officials was a defense of their nation. Collaboration helped preserve the status quo, but it also kept the nation alive. Did they know what they were doing? The destruction of Jerusalem just a few decades later would seem to support their position. If Jesus was in fact a rebel, then they would be correct in their actions. But Jesus offers them forgiveness.

Finally, there are the seemingly fickle crowds. According to the gospels, the crowd had at first acclaimed him the messiah. But things changed when he didn’t prove to be the hoped for deliverer. So, disillusioned with him they turned on him and when given a choice by Pilate they chose Barabbas instead of Jesus. Which one would you have chosen? I don't know who I would have picked. I'd probably have picked Barabbas too! After all, he seemed to have more potential as a rebel leader. Surely Barabbas would free his people from Roman domination.

To each of these conspirators Jesus offers a word of forgiveness. From the cross he asks God to wipe the slate clean.

Oh yes, there's one last group that needs to be considered. This final group is much larger than the crowd gathered at the foot of the cross. Its numbers exceed calculation and extend into eternity, for in truth, we're all numbered among those standing there calling for his head. We're like a herd of cattle that’s easily stampeded. We act first and think later. We don't think things through because it's safer to go along with the crowd than it is to act independently. It's by our deeds and even by our omission of deeds that we're led to join in crucifying the Son of God.

Our involvement in this act of violence isn't a matter of Jesus serving as our sacrifice designed to placate an angry God -- as Jonathan Edwards would have us believe. Nor does he die to satisfy God's honor, as Anselm believed. Still, we find ourselves in the judge's chamber crying for his head. We do this whenever we hate our brother or sister, or when we push others aside to take our place at the head of the table. It can happen when we refuse to help the hungry and the thirsty among us, because in saying no to our neighbor, we say no to Jesus. And when we say no, we place him on a cross in the hope that we might be done with him. We have no use for his offer of reconciliation, because we have no use for God. In our own sense of self-righteousness, we choose to nail the one who reveals God's love on a cross.

Jesus' offer is a generous one, even if we're not sure why we're included. We're puzzled with the offer he makes to his tormentors, but why would we be included? After all, how often have we said: "I didn't have anything to do with it. It's not my fault. No, I didn't do anything wrong!" The problem isn't with what I did, but with what I didn't do. Yes, my inaction and my neutrality require divine forgiveness. Perhaps we find these words troubling because they're not consistent with the way we deal with life. To our mind, forgiveness requires a recognition that wrong has been done, a recognition that should be followed by repentance and an apology. To our surprise Jesus seems to offer a blanket word of forgiveness -- a general amnesty. Now, while we might find Jesus' words to be strange, they do comport well with his life and with his teachings. He was a person who welcomed the sinner, the outcast, and the marginalized. Perhaps that's why it's so difficult to hear these words -- we don't put ourselves in the place of those needing forgiveness.

But maybe that's not really the issue that baffles us. Perhaps it's the excuse that Jesus makes for his oppressors that throws us off. It just seems too easy and implausible.

Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

Surely they knew what they were doing. And yet, do we always know what we=re doing?

Theologian Karl Rahner gets it right: "Really they knew it all. But they did not want to know it!" We know what we're doing, but we don't want to face the consequences of our thoughts and actions. We have our excuses, but deep down we know that they're hollow. Nevertheless, Jesus reaches out to us and offers us forgiveness. It's as Isaiah says: he has "made intercession for the transgressors" (Isaiah.53: 12), on behalf of all those who would crucify him -- including me. And so, there, on the cross, Jesus acts as our high priest, interceding for us, the transgressors, and excusing us of our ignorance. He excuses us, however, of the ignorance we have often chosen for ourselves. Why, maybe it’s because we cannot grapple with the depths of our crimes.

If it were I, I don't think I could offer such a gracious word of forgiveness. I would want justice done, or at least I'd want to appeal to a higher authority. But Jesus didn't cry out for justice; instead, he offered gentle words of forgiveness. As we stand before the cross, we benefit from his compassionate words: "Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

Excerpted from A Cry from the Cross (CSS, 2008)

Who Are You? – a Lenten Blog Tour Meditation

 

The chief priests and the whole council were looking for false testimony against Jesus so that they could put him to death. They didn’t find anything they could use from the many false witnesses who were willing to come forward. But finally they found two who said, “This man said, ‘I can destroy God’s temple and rebuild it in three days.’”

Then the high priest stood and said to Jesus, “Aren’t you going to respond to the testimony these people have brought against you?”

But Jesus was silent.

The high priest said, “By the living God, I demand that you tell us whether you are the Christ, God’s Son.”

“You said it,” Jesus replied. “But I say to you that from now on you’ll see the Human One sitting on the right side of the Almighty and coming on the heavenly clouds.”

Then the high priest tore his clothes and said, “He’s insulting God! Why do we need any more witnesses? Look, you’ve heard his insult against God. What do you think?”

And they answered, “He deserves to die!” Then they spit in his face and beat him. They hit him and said, “Prophesy for us, Christ! Who hit you?” (Matthew 26:57-68, Common English Bible).

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I answered the call to write a meditation for the Common English Bible Lenten Blog Tour, and due to a misreading of the schedule, I wrote a meditation on Jesus’ arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane. Fortunately, I realized my error in time to take up the assigned text, which is the one that follows after the arrest of Jesus. In the former story, a sword wielding mob, led by one of Jesus own disciples, comes looking for Jesus in the night so that they might arrest him. We watch as Judas betrays him with a kiss, while another disciple lashes out with his sword. In the end Jesus is taken into custody and his disciples flee into the night, though as see in the passage under consideration today, Peter does follow the crowd at a distance, and then finds a seat in the company of the officers of the guard. In their company, at a distance, he watches as Caiaphas the High Priest seeks to find a way of getting rid of Jesus.

The “trial,” like the arrest, takes place under the cover of darkness, reminding us that this is all a battle between light and darkness, good and evil. As we watch this trial unfold – at a distance – perhaps our thoughts will go back to the prayer that Jesus taught Disciples (Matthew 6:9-13), wherein he instructs followers to make this request of God: “And don’t lead us into temptation, but rescue us from the evil one” (Mt. 6:13). This phrase from the prayer is important, because Jesus now finds himself in that very place of being tempted by evil. I realize that in making this assessment I have to be careful, because there’s a long tradition of using passages like this to tar the Jewish people with blame for Jesus’ death on the cross. While it’s true that Matthew couches this “trial” in doctrinal terms, we must remember that Caiaphas serves at the behest of the Roman government, and though they are looking for an excuse to kill him, any authority to do so must come from Rome, and Rome really doesn’t care about intra-Jewish doctrinal debates. They are, however, interested in political rabble-rousers, and in the eyes of both the Temple Leadership and the Imperial Leadership, Jesus has the marks of a troublemaker.

What is very interesting in Matthew’s portrayal of this trial is that the leadership is acting in ways that are contrary to the very Law they are sworn to uphold – not Roman Law, but the Commandments of God. In suborning perjury, which they’re doing as they seek out false witnesses to provide suitable evidence to send him on for execution, they face the dilemma of needing two witnesses who will agree in order to convict (Deut. 17:6). Although they find two witnesses who testify that Jesus allegedly said that he would destroy the temple and then rebuild it in three days (no textual evidence for this), they had what they needed, even though in getting it they break one of the Ten Commandments – the command to not bear false witness (Deut. 5:20). This encounter reminds us that it’s easy to fall prey to temptation, if it seems to achieve our desired results.

There’s another issue, however, that stands out in this passage and it’s the one that triggered the question that forms the title of this meditation. Caiaphas thinks he has an answer to the question of Jesus identity, and to paraphrase, he says to Jesus I believe that you believe that you are “the Christ, God’s Son?” So, own it, won’t you! What’s interesting in this “accusation” is that Caiaphas is quoting, in a sense, Peter’s Good Confession (Mt. 16:16), the one Peter made in answer to Jesus’ question – who do you say that I am?

All that Jesus will answer is –“You said it.” That is, you’ve made the confession, but do you believe it? The fact that Caiaphas is grilling Jesus in this possibly illegal “trial” makes it clear that Caiaphas is making no such confession. What gets Caiaphas really upset is Jesus’ next statement, which takes on an apocalyptic tone. Jesus says in essence, I am the Human One (Son of Man) and soon I’ll be sitting at the right hand of the Almighty (that is, next to the judgment seat of God), and I’ll be returning riding on the heavenly clouds. You have the sense here that Jesus is promising to get his revenge. Now, of course, that kind of language makes me uncomfortable, so I have to wrestle with it. As for Caiaphas, this is all he needs – Jesus has blasphemed God, or to use the CEB rendering – he is “insulting God.”

As we continue our journey toward Good Friday and then Easter, the question that Caiaphas raises still stands: Who is Jesus? This is an important question, because how I answer that question will help define my identity. Am I like Caiaphas and find Jesus’ claims to be God’s right hand blasphemous? Or is this my own confession of faith? But pushing this farther, how does this conversation fit with the question that Jesus posed to Peter, which elicited from Peter to confession that Jesus was the Christ and God’s Son (Matthew 26:69ff). But not only that, when we make such a confession are we willing to go all the way with it, or as we see with Peter in the passage that follows, will we deny even knowing him? Perhaps not in words, but in deeds? Or, maybe, going back to the beginning of this passage, are we simply follow Jesus at a distance?

As I was thinking about how to deal with this passage I picked up Stanley Hauerwas’s theological commentary on Matthew and I came upon this intriguing comment:

“Following at a distance” is a wonderful description of the way most of us follow Jesus. We want, as Peter wanted, to see how all this will end before we commit ourselves. Unfortunately, that strategy means that we cannot help but end up sitting with the guardians of the established order. (Hauerwas, Matthew, pp. 225-226)

So, where are we in this mix? Are we back with Peter making the Good Confession (Matthew 16:16)? Are we denying we know Jesus? Or, are we simply hanging back, waiting to see how this thing plays out before committing ourselves to something? And if we do the latter, do we not, as Hauerwas suggests, place ourselves at the disposal of the established order?

These are questions that are worth considering as we make our way through Holy Week and wrestle with the question – who is Jesus and what does my answer to that question demand of me as a person of faith?

Important note:

This meditation on Jesus’ trial is provided as part of the Lenten Blog Tour that is designed to highlight and support the new Common English Bible. During this Lenten tour, 41 bloggers have offered their own reflections on the biblical text, using the CEB as their starting point. (See all of the reflections here.) The people from the CEB have offered to provide a copy of the CEB New Testament to a random commenter willing to provide me with their email address.

Betrayal -- A Lenten Devotion

Matthew 26:14-16

What will you give me to betray him? That is the question that Judas Iscariot poses to the chief priests in Matthew’s gospel. Down through the centuries there have been many suggestions as to why Judas decided to do this. The typical explanation is that he was greedy and saw an opportunity to make a few bucks off of Jesus. Even the gospels seem to suggest this, with John noting that Judas kept the money bag (Jn. 13:26-30). The unanswered question has always been – but why would someone so close to Jesus do such a thing? And, why would he return the money and kill himself after seeing that Jesus had been crucified.

Answers to these questions have been many. John suggests that Satan entered him. Others have suggested that Jesus had asked Judas to do this, so that his own plan might be fulfilled. Still others have suggested that Judas was part of the anti-Roman conspiracy and hoped that by seeing Jesus arrested the people would rise up against the Romans to save him.

I don’t know the answer to these questions, because I don’t know enough about Judas. He simply appears in the story and then disappears with his death. It’s possible that every group has its bad apples, and Judas is just Jesus’ bad apple. But I think there’s more to the story, especially as it relates to us as we make our way toward Good Friday and then Easter.

Judas isn’t the only one to betray Jesus. Yes, he’s the only one who takes an active role in getting Jesus arrested, but it appears that the Disciples fled when Jesus was arrested. Peter denies knowing him, and neither Peter, James, nor John, can stay awake with Jesus as he prays in the Garden.

Betrayal, that is a strong word, but do we not betray Jesus in our own lives? Do we not deny him in the way we live in the world? We sing the old song, “They’ll know we are Christians by our love,” and yet too often there is little love to be seen in the Christian community.

If all we do with this text is throw Judas under the bus then his story likely won’t make much of an impression on our lives. Perhaps it is good to ask the question: In what way does my life reflect Judas’s?

Previously published in the CWCC 2011 Lenten Devotional, edited by John McCauslin.

Rattling Bones, Living Body -- Lectionary Meditation

Ezekiel 37:1-14



Romans 8:6-11


John 11:1-45

Rattling Bones, Living Body

Spring is in the air – though in my neighborhood the birds have started to come back, but other signs of spring have been delayed by a long winter. The flowers have been struggling to emerge and the trees still aren’t showing much life. Still, there’s enough life here to give us hope that winter will give way to spring, death to life.

As for our journey with the lectionary, Easter has yet to make its appearance, but there are signs that it is close at hand. These signs include this week’s set of texts, which have a strong sense of familiarity – especially the story of the valley of dry bones and the raising of Lazarus. The first story would seem to lend itself to the handiwork of Spielberg and Lucas to bring to film, while when it comes to the story of Lazarus, my imagination is colored by its portrayal in The Greatest Story Ever Told, where Jesus (played very Germanically by Max Von Sydow) raises Lazarus from the tomb, after which the crowd runs to Jerusalem to spread the good news, accompanied by Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. It’s difficult for the short reading from Romans to stand out in the midst of these two dramatic stories, but it too speaks to the matter of life out of death.

While it might take Lucas and Spielberg to bring Ezekiel’s vision to the big screen, we really don’t need the artistry of the animator to imagine this scene. Ezekiel’s descriptions are vivid and dramatic in themselves. If we’ll let our imaginations loose for a moment, we can go with Ezekiel as the Lord takes him to a valley filled with very dry bones. As we look around at this valley filled with bones that once provided the foundation for life, but now are dead, we hear the question: “Can these bones live?” The obvious answer is: no, they are beyond hope. But, God knows differently, and Ezekiel is told to prophesy to the bones. That is, Ezekiel is told to speak the Word of the Lord to the bones so that they might have life. This command and this scene should send us back to the opening lines of Genesis, where God speaks the world and all it’s inhabitants into existence. The Word brings life, but not only is there the Word, but there is also the Spirit, for the Lord says through Ezekiel: “I will cause breath to enter you and you shall live.” With these words we’re reminded that the Hebrew for breath – ruach – is also the word for Spirit. God says to Ezekiel, let these bones know that I will breathe the Spirit into them and therefore they will have life. And then they will know that “I am the Lord.” With that, the process of bringing life out of death begins with the rattling of bones, and as the bones join themselves together they are joined by the sinews and the flesh and the skin. All is well, but this body is not yet alive. It has all its parts, but it lacks one thing – the breath. And so the Prophet once again speaks, calling for the winds to come from the four corners of the earth to bring life to the body. Might we hear in this a reminder that life – breath – comes to us as a gift of God? We live because God has chosen to provide us with the Spirit.

This word is given to Israel, a nation that has lost its way and its home. It has no hope and no future. It is merely a collection of dry bones scattered across a valley floor. But now things will change. The broken and lifeless nation is given new life. What was dried up and lost and cut off is now once again full of life. Ezekiel then adds a word about the graves, which God has promised to open. Even those in the grave will receive the Spirit and thus will again live on their own soil. And the promise is this: “Then you shall know that I the Lord have spoken and will act.” There is a word here for the church, even the church that struggles for life. The Lord has spoken life back into our dry bones and is ready to put the breath of the Spirit back into this body that was once dry and brittle, so that we might return to the Land and once again stand before God and worship the Lord and bring glory to God.

Ezekiel speaks of dry bones coming to life, whereas Paul contrasts the reality of death versus the reality of life. Death is related to flesh, which the Common English Bible translates as selfishness. Now this simpler translation may reduce the nuances available for our use, but it makes the point we need to hear – selfishness or self-centeredness leads to death. It’s the cause of spiritual dryness (dry bones). The flesh, Paul says, is hostile God and resistant to God’s law. It does its own thing. How often does this define our own lives? But Paul says – that’s not who you are. Because the Spirit (Gk. pneuma, Heb. ruach) dwells within you, you have life. Our hope, Paul suggests, is to be found in Christ who dwells within us (through the Spirit?) And thus, even though the body might be dead, there is life in the Spirit. But if the Spirit of God raised Jesus from the dead, then we can also find hope in the promise that God will give life to our mortal bodies through the Spirit who dwells within us. Of course, isn’t that the promise of Ezekiel? God puts the breath of life back into our bodies – whether that is Israel, the church, or own individual bodies of flesh.

As I noted in my opening comments my perception of this passage is colored by that scene in the Greatest Story Ever Told. How can you picture the raising of Lazarus without the sounds of the Hallelujah Chorus ringing in our midst? Of course, there is more to this story, which appears only here in the Gospels, than simply the aftermath of this miraculous event of death turning to life. There are a number of elements to this story that are intriguing. For one is the fact that this story, which is so powerful, is found only here. The second has to do with the relationship between Jesus and Lazarus – who only appears in this particular story. In this passage we see Jesus get emotional – he weeps and he’s disturbed in his spirit. And he loves this family, especially Lazarus. Considering the fact that the story of Jesus in this gospel seems to be told from the vantage point of the “Beloved Disciple,” could Lazarus be that person? Any answers to this question will be, of course, pure speculation, but it’s intriguing nonetheless.

But, back to the story itself. Mary and Martha, the two sisters of Lazarus, have sent Jesus a request that he come and heal their brother – the one on whom they depend for their livelihood. But Jesus chooses not to respond, at least not immediately. From the way the Gospel writer tells the story, Jesus is almost nonchalant about this request. He seems to imply that Lazarus isn’t really going to die, or at least, that he won’t stay dead. So Jesus stays a couple of days longer while Lazarus apparently gets worse and actually does die. But none of that really matters, because this isn’t about Lazarus’ death, but the opportunity to glorify God. Does that sound familiar? Consider the comment Jesus makes about the man born blind – his blindness isn’t the result of sin, his or his parents, or anyone else. He was born blind for that very moment, when Jesus restores him to sight (John 9:3ff). In this case we see revealed Jesus’ identity as the Light of the World.

Now, once again, we’re in a position to see God be glorified in the life and ministry of Jesus. In the course of the conversation about what is about to transpire – whether they will experience opposition and even death (Thomas seems to think that this is going to happen to them). But Jesus says, don’t worry, because while there is day, then they will experience the “Light of the World.” Another way to put this is – don’t worry because you travel in the company of the “Light of the World.” When they arrive in Bethany, just a few miles outside Jerusalem, they find a large crowd who have come to help Mary and Martha mourn, since Lazarus has been dead four days. Jesus first encounters Martha, who berates him for not coming in time – you could have saved him, she says. But Jesus – Your brother will rise from the dead, to which Mary responds – yes I know he’ll be resurrected at the end of time, but what about now. You could have saved him. In answer Jesus makes another self-revelation: First he is the “Light of the World,” and now he is revealed to be the Resurrection itself: “I am the Resurrection and the Life, whoever believes in me, will live, even though they die” . . . “Do you believe this?” (Vs. 25-26 CEB). To which Martha offers her version of the Good Confession: “I believe you are the Christ, God’s Son, the one who is coming into the world” (vs. 27).

And it’s from there that Jesus moves to the tomb, asks that the stone be rolled away, even though Lazarus is four days dead and in the words of the King James Version: “he stinketh.” But, Jesus ignores the common wisdom and demands that Lazarus come forth, and Lazarus complies, though his feet and his hands are bound, and his face covered with a burial cloth. He is then unbound at Jesus’ request. The response is two-fold. Some believed, and others reported the events to the authorities who begin to plot against him. Yes, from here we go into Jerusalem, where the future holds both death and life.

In three texts we hear a word about death and a word about life. In each of these texts there is a promise – death need not be final. Life in the Spirit will overcome death’s hold on our lives. The question is – are we ready to embrace life? Are we ready to life with boldness and grace? Are we ready for the presence of the Spirit who brings breath to dry bones and dead bodies – including the church!

Open My Eyes that I May See -- a Lectionary Reflection

1 Samuel 16:1-13



Ephesians 5:8-14


John 9:1-41

Open My Eyes that I May See

In the words of that old gospel song we pray that God would open our eyes that we might see God’s will so that we might be set free.

Open my eyes, that I may see glimpses of truth thou hast for me;

place in my hands the wonderful key that shall unclasp and set me free.

Silently now, I wait for thee, ready, my God, thy will to see,

Open my eyes, illumine me, Spirit divine! (Clara H. Scott, 1895)

This is our prayer; that God would give us discernment so that as we make our way through life; that we’ll know what is good and right, decent and holy. It is a prayer that invites us to look inwardly to see where there is light and where there is darkness, for what goes on inside us influences the way we act and react in the world. But, we also seek God’s wisdom so that we might see the world as God sees it, seeing both the light and the darkness that is present in the world.

As we move through Lent, drawing closer to the events that transform the story of Jesus – first the cross and then the resurrection – darkness and light, death and life – our own vision of ourselves and of the world is being stretched. So the question is – are my eyes open to see what God sees.

In the three texts for the day, something of vision and perception is present. There is a word here about discerning the call of God and a word about blindness to the things of God, and in the midst of both there is a reminder that darkness and light are present in our midst.

As we ponder the story of David’s call to be leadership in Israel, his anointing by the prophet Samuel, we are reminded that God looks at things differently than do we. God sees the heart, where too often we simply focus on the surface. We see the good looks and the charisma, but fail to see the darkness that may underlie that charisma. According to 1 Samuel, God had rejected Saul as king. Thus, the spirit of leadership in the community had been removed. Saul was now on his own, without the benefit of God’s guidance. With that removal of the Spirit, God leads Samuel on a quest to find a new king, and so Samuel is sent to the house of Jesse of Bethlehem. When Samuel arrives, the leadership of the town is concerned – Samuel represents the government, or so they believe, and so they want to make sure that he comes in peace. Having assured them that his purpose is peaceful, Samuel invites Jesse to come and share in a sacrifice to God, which seems to be a ruse to confuse Saul, who like Herod centuries later, is concerned about pretenders to the throne.

When Samuel gathers the sons of Jesse, he’s rather impressed with the oldest. He’s strong and tall and good looking. Just what you’d want in a king, but God doesn’t buy it. No, as Samuel prays that God will open his eyes, God gives him a word of advice: “Do not look at his appearance or the height of his stature, because I have rejected him.” No, while mortals look at outward appearance, God looks at the heart (1 Sam. 16:7). Too often we are blinded by what we see on the surface, but God can see below the surface. And so, from Eliab on down to the youngest of the seven sons that Jesse brought before the prophet, no one meets with God’s approval. Finally, frustrated with his task, and seeming failure to see into the heart of the one God had chosen, Samuel enquires of Jesse – do you have any other sons? And Jesse says, just one more, the runt of the litter, the one we’ve sent out into the fields to tend the sheep. You wouldn’t call him, would you? That’s why I didn’t bother to bring him, but Samuel said – go get him, just in case, and when he saw David, he knew. What is interesting in the text is that the outward appearance is noted. He’s ruddy in complexion and handsome. It’s hard to get away from the surface, but while the author seems stuck, God makes the choice, and Samuel anoints David as king, and then the Spirit that had lifted from Saul, settles on David – from that time forward. Saul may still have the throne, but in the eyes of God and Samuel, whose eyes God had opened, David is now the king.

If God opens the eyes of Samuel, God can also open our eyes to the darkness and the light that inhabits our world and our own lives. In the Ephesian letter, we read that while once we were in darkness, now in the Lord we live in the light, so we should live as children of light. The fruit of living in the light, is found in all that is good and right and true. Although the Ephesian letter likely postdates Paul’s life, this sense of living lives that are reflective of the light and not the darkness, reflects in many ways the word given in the Galatian letter, where Paul speaks of the contrast between life in the flesh (not to be confused with the physical life, but an orientation toward pleasing our own urges and desires at the expense of others) and that of the Spirit. I needn’t mention the expressions of the flesh here, but it is worth noting that the life of the Spirit (Light) is expressed in such behaviors and attitudes (fruit) as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control. Against these Paul says, there is no law. (Gal. 5:16-25). In this particular text, the call is to expose the deeds of darkness by exposing them to the light of God, because everything that becomes visible becomes light. Our prayer then is that we would be discerning, so that we would be able to see that which is good and right and true and live accordingly.

Finally we come to the story of the man born blind. As is true of many of John’s stories, this is a long one, and it has many points of entry, some of which are problematic. We can see in it the debates that are occurring late in the first century between the early Christians and the Jewish synagogues. The Pharisees are the nemesis of Jesus, and the people fear them because they fear being cast out of the synagogue if they name Jesus as the Messiah. As we read this text we need to be aware of this late first century struggle for the soul of Judaism. In the end Judaism and Christianity will part ways, and the result has not always been a happy one. If we can separate out that argument and not see this as pitting Jew against Christian, we can see in it a word opening blind eyes. The word here reflects some of what we see and hear in Ephesians – it is a word about light. In this case, Jesus declares himself to be the “light of the world.” If we want to have our own blindness healed, then we must allow Jesus to provide that healing. In this passage, he takes his spittle, mixes it with dirt, and applies that mud to this man’s eyes, and then telling him to wash his eyes in the Pool of Siloam.

It is interesting that in this story, after the healing, which people question, Jesus is no where to be found. It is only after the man is excommunicated that Jesus appears again and invites him to be his disciple. Again there is much involved here about exclusion from the synagogue, but maybe we can hear another word about our need to wrestle with the call of God. God can open our eyes, but we must still be willing to see as God sees, if we’re to benefit from this healing presence.

As we hear this word from these texts that speak of opened eyes, may we commit ourselves to seeing things as God sees them. If necessary, let us pray that God will bring healing to our own spiritual blindness to the darkness present first in our own lives, and then to the darkness that clouds the world in which we live and serve, knowing that our path must be lit by the one who is “the Light of the World.”

Temptation -- a Lectionary Meditation

Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7



Romans 5:12-19


Matthew 4:1-11

Temptation

“There are several good protections against temptation, but the surest is cowardice.” (Mark Twain)

Two stories of temptation lead off the Lenten journey, reminding us that temptation is an ever present challenge. Though, as Mark Twain notes, there are ways of dealing with temptation, the most effective being – run for the hills! Or better yet, never take risks, and you’ll not have to deal with problems such as this. But if we want to live fully and put ourselves in a position to grow and mature in our faith, then we must face the prospect of falling prey to temptation. It is, in fact, the central theme of the biblical story. Richard Rohr writes:

It is not that suffering or failure might happen, or that it will only happen to you if you are bad (which is what religious people often think), or that it will happen to the unfortunate, or to a few in other places, or that you can somehow by cleverness or righteousness avoid it. No, it will happen, and to you! Losing, failing, falling, sin, and the suffering that comes those experiences – all of this is a necessary and even good part of the human journey. [Richard Rohr, Falling Upward, (Jossey Bass, proof copy), p. xxii]

It is important that as we take in these stories that we not forget that falling down is part of the journey, but growth comes as we get up and move forward in the presence of God. In this week’s lectionary readings there are two stories of temptation – one referring to Adam and Eve and the other to Jesus. In the middle we come across Paul’s meditation on sin and redemption – through one man sin comes into the world, through the second man its effects are overcome. In Genesis God puts a tree into the middle of the garden and says – don’t eat or you’ll die. In Matthew, Jesus is baptized by John and then is immediately driven into the Wilderness by the Spirit so that he might be tested. Are we ready to be tested? That is the question.

In the first story God puts a man in the garden and tells him to till it and tend to it. He can eat of all the trees in the garden, except one, and if he eats of this Tree of Knowledge he’ll most assuredly die – though Genesis doesn’t tell us how this will occur (Gen. 2:15-17). But, as you read this warning, you have to know that something untoward is going to happen. You can’t put a tree in the middle of the garden that has really good looking fruit on it and then say – don’t eat. You know he’ll eventually bite into the fruit. With this warning in place, the lectionary guides have us skip over the section where God creates the woman as the man’s companion, and takes us to the encounter between the woman and the Serpent, who according to the writer of this text is the craftiest of God’s creations. Note here that the reference isn’t to the devil, though later interpretive tradition will make this connection. The Serpent says to the woman: “Did God say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden?” Of course, God didn’t say anything of the sort. God said you have all that you need, so stay away from that tree in the middle of the garden. If you eat it, you will die. The woman knows the truth and responds accordingly. But the key to the discussion is the suggestion by the Serpent that the reason God doesn’t want them to eat of the fruit is that upon eating it they will be like God, knowing both good and evil. The Serpent promised wisdom, but God asked for trust, trust that was quickly broken. And upon eating the fruit, the eyes of both are opened and they discover that they are naked, and so they cover themselves with fig leaves. Yes, shame enters the picture and the two whom God created to be companions are now alienated from each other. And as the story goes on, they hide even from God, suggesting that alienation from God had also crept into the picture. While we talk about sin here, the real issue is one of broken trust. But, as Rohr points out – that is part of life. The question is – how will we respond to the realities. Will we get back up and seek reconciliation? Will we allow that original trust to be restored?

Before we turn to Matthew’s temptation story, we turn to Romans 5, where Paul talks about the consequences of the man’s transgressions. Although the woman is often blamed for the Fall, Paul is of the mind (maybe it’s his chauvinism) that the man is responsible. Of course, Paul is also concerned about creating a parallel situation. Adam is seen as the one who breaks trust with God, and therefore allows for sin and death to enter the picture. The passage opens with one of the most pregnant verses in the New Testament. Taken literally it seems to give support to the doctrine of original sin. Paul writes that it was through a man (Adam) that death came into the world because of sin, and death spread to all humanity because all sinned. Paul is reaching back to Genesis 2-3, and offers his explanation as to why sin is so prevalent and why death is experienced by all. Because of Adam we all die, and the culprit has traditionally been seen as original sin. We sin because of Adam and we die because of him. It seems so genetic, but not so fast. Note that Paul says that death spread to all because all sinned, not because the man sinned. Sin was present since the beginning of human history – that is the implication of the text, and it has had devastating effects. It is also clear that sin is not simply disobedience of the Law, because sin and death existed prior to Moses.

The key point in all of this is the role that Adam (the man) plays in the story. Paul says that Adam is the type of the one to come. And while sin and death was introduced into the world through the actions of the first man, through the work of the second Adam (Christ) comes grace. Thus, if many die because of the first man’s sin (setting the world in motion toward disobedience), so in the second Adam’s obedience this is turned around. In a statement that almost sounds universalist in intent, Paul says that “because of the one man’s trespass, death exercised dominion through that one, much more surely will those who receive the abundance of grace and the free gift of righteousness exercise dominion in life through one man, Jesus Christ (Rom. 5:17). We must face the reality of sin – however it may have come into the world – but the good news is that in Christ its effects have been overturned. Forgiveness is ours.

When we read Matthew’s Temptation story, it’s easy for us to discount the threat to Jesus’ identity. We just assume, or at least many assume, that Jesus is divine and therefore there’s really nothing to be concerned about. It’s all just a test, to which all the answers have already been given. There’s really no chance that Jesus would actually have failed or fallen. But if we take such a view. If there’s nothing really at risk in the incarnation, then what’s the point? Is it a mere exercise for our enjoyment? Is the devil too stupid to know that Jesus couldn’t fall, so God was having a good laugh? If these tests are real and God’s purpose could have been thwarted, then Jesus is – in Paul’s terms – the Second Adam. In his obedience he shows us the way to rebuild trust; how to walk in righteousness. But as the story goes, the devil gave it his best shot, but it wasn’t good enough. The temptations were truly seductive. Bread to end hunger; a spectacle to draw followers; rule over the world in exchange for a small bow. And yet in each case, Jesus stood strong in the Spirit. Jesus chooses to live by the words that come from the mouth of God; chooses not to put God to the test; and Jesus chose to worship God and not the devil. In the end the devil goes away, and the famished savior is tended to by the angels. It is in the obedience of the Second Adam that the disobedience of the First Adam is reversed. But obedience is more than playing it safe. Obedience involves taking necessary risks so that one might grow in faith and practice.

Temptation is part of life. We will fall, lest we believe that perfection is something to be guarded to such an extent that we’re not willing to live life in the presence of God. That is not, I believe, what God calls for us to do. It is in reality the way of death and not life. Let us then pursue God’s purpose for our lives, by living boldly in the world.

Transfigured and Transformed! -- A Sermon

Matthew 17:1-9

For the past several weeks we’ve been with Jesus on a mountain being instructed in the ways of God’s realm. This morning we’re taking a brief detour to another mountain, where Jesus’ identity is more fully revealed to us. In this scene from Matthew’s gospel we watch as Jesus is transfigured and transformed, so that we might see more fully the presence of God in him. As we attend to this story, it becomes clear that understanding the gospels requires a bit of an imagination. Without imagination you might end up doing what Jefferson did and start cutting out the parts of the gospel that don’t seem to make sense to the rational mind. Now, I’m a rather analytical, rationalist type, and so this takes some doing on my part. Since I’m not much into poetry (though I do love music) and I don’t read a lot of novels (though I do like movies), I struggle with poet W.H. Auden’s suggestion that Christians need to be poets. Although I struggle with this word of wisdom, I believe he’s right – If we’re going to understand and appreciate the story of the Transfiguration, we must trust our imaginations.

1. THE REVEALING OF AN IDENTITY

The story of the Transfiguration takes us to one of those “thin places” where the membrane separating heaven and earth becomes transparent and we can see the things of God more fully and clearly. In this story, we see Jesus unveiled. His full identity shines through, even if for only a moment.

If we go back a chapter, we’ll find the Disciples trying to answer the question of Jesus’ identity. Jesus asks them “Who do you say that I am?” Peter answers the question with the “Confession” that we make when we join with this assembly and are baptized into Christ: “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” Peter makes this “Good Confession,” but we quickly learn that he doesn’t quite understand the meaning of his words.

Now, six days later, Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up on a mountain where the question of identity is again raised, and to understand the meaning of this event we’ll need to look at reality a bit differently so that we can comprehend the glory and majesty of God who is present to us in Jesus. Writer Madeleine L'Engle, offers this poetic vision of the Transfiguration:

Suddenly they saw him the way he was,

the way he really was all the time,

although they had never seen it before,

the glory which blinds the everyday eye

and so becomes invisible. This is how

he was, radiant, brilliant, carrying joy

like a flaming sun in his hands.

This is the way he was -- is -- from the beginning,

and we cannot bear it. So he manned himself,

came manifest to us; and there on the mountain

they saw him, really saw him, saw his light.

We all know that if we really see him we die.

But isn't that what is required of us?

Then Perhaps, we will see each other, too.

[Madeleine L'Engle, Glimpses of Grace, (San Francisco: Harper-Collins, 1996), 64.

2. A TRIP TO ANOTHER MOUNTAIN

As we try to imagine the scene on the Mount of Transfiguration, it might be helpful to view a parallel scene in the Exodus story. As I read this passage consider the similarities and the differences in these two encounters with God.

The Lord said to Moses, “Come up to me on the mountain, and wait there; and I will give you the tablets of stone, with the law and the commandment, which I have written for their instruction.” So Moses set out with his assistant Joshua, and Moses went up into the mountain of God. To the elders he had said, “Wait here for us, until we come to you again; for Aaron and Hur are with you; whoever has a dispute may go to them.” Then Moses went up on the mountain, and the cloud covered the mountain. The glory of the Lord settled on Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it for six days; on the seventh day he called to Moses out of the cloud. Now the appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain in the sight of the people of Israel. Moses entered the cloud, and went up on the mountain. Moses was on the mountain for forty days and forty nights. (Ex. 24:12-18 NRSV).

Later on in the Exodus story we learn that after Moses returned from the mountain with the Tablets of the Law, his face was so radiant from being in God’s presence that the Israelites were afraid to look at him, and so he veiled himself so that he could enter the community (Ex. 34: 29-35).

As I read these two stories together, what seems apparent is that Moses’ radiance is a reflection of encountering God’s presence in the cloud, but Jesus’ radiance comes before the appearance of the heavenly Cloud of Presence. Therefore, it’s not so much a reflection as an unveiling. Therefore, in that moment the Disciples catch a glimpse of Jesus’ full identity. Only then, do Moses and Elijah appear to Jesus, and in their appearance we envision representatives of the Law and the Prophets, who bear witness to Jesus’ mission.

3. PETER'S RESPONSE

At first Peter doesn’t know what to make of all of this. He reacts like many of us do when we’re around famous people or people we admire. He sort of makes a fool of himself. In trying to make sense of Peter’s response, an occasion comes to mind. While waiting with a family at a surgical waiting room in Santa Barbara, we discovered that actor John Cleese – of Monty Python and James Bond fame – was also present in the waiting room. You see, his wife was in surgery, and while our group recognized him, we didn’t bother him, but as always happens, somebody broke the rules. One woman just couldn’t help herself, and so she asked him for an autograph, which he of course refused. Our group lent a nod of understanding and support to his action, but I can understand how easy it is to get caught up in the moment when you’re around someone famous.

Peter was a bit like that autograph seeker when he realized that Moses and Elijah were present, and he just couldn’t contain himself. Overwhelmed, he blurts out:

"Lord this is wonderful! If you want me to, I'll make three shrines, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah. (Matt. 17:4 NLT).

Although it’s not really clear what Peter intended by this offer, because the Greek word can be translated as both tent and shrine, it seems as if Peter had a shrine in mind. Moses and Elijah surely were worthy of a shrine, but now it seemed as if Jesus might be worthy of one as well.

But there is another side to this story. Thomas Keating, a Cistercian monk and writer, suggests that maybe Peter wanted to prolong the experience, and so he offered to build tents for the three men, whom he now recognizes as being transcendent beings.

If we perceive the divine presence in some facsimile of this clarity, we are fascinated, absorbed, and delighted. Peter's response was to want to stay there forever. The more profound the experience of union, the more one cannot help but wish to prolong it. [Thomas Keating, Reawakenings, (NY: Crossroads, 1992), 117.]

Like anyone who has experienced something as profound as an encounter with God, Peter lost all interest in the world below, and wanted to stay put. This is, of course, often true of our mountain top experiences. It’s hard to come down from the mountain. Moses experienced it, so did Peter.

4. THE VOICE OF GOD

Although Peter got caught up in the transformation of Jesus’ appearance and then Jesus’ conversation with Moses and Elijah, what happened next transcended even these two earlier events. Even as Peter made his offer to Jesus, a cloud descends on the mountain, and a voice from the cloud speaks words that readers of the Gospel first heard at the baptism of Jesus:

This is my beloved Son, and I am fully pleased with him. Listen to him (vs. 5 NLT).

As this voice echoes from the skies, Peter and his companions discover that Moses and Elijah have disappeared, leaving Jesus alone with them. This voice demanded that they listen to Jesus, because he is the one who will speak for God in this new age. He is the new law giver and the new prophet. As we ponder this scene, Thomas Keating again offers a helpful interpretation:

Listen not just to his words to which they had been listening when they were on the plain, but "listen to him," the divine person who is speaking to you. Listen to the divine presence that is incarnate in this human being. Listen to the infinite Silence out of which the incarnate Word emerges and to which it returns. (p. 118)

Having heard the voice of God, they fall on their faces in fear, but Jesus gently touches them and invites them to get up and not be afraid.

Having encountered the divine presence the three disciples follow Jesus down the mountain. They’ve experienced something too profound for word; something that they really can’t understand until after the resurrection. With that in mind, Jesus tells them not to talk about their experiences until after the resurrection. As Keating puts it: “There would be no point of talking about it because no one on the plain would understand unless they had climbed a similar mountain." (p. 119).

In Matthew’s story of the transfiguration, we receive an invitation to climb the mountain so that we too might be transformed by our encounter with God. In a moment we will gather at the Table, and we as break bread together we will encounter this presence, even as the disciples experienced it on the road to Emmaus – as Luke’s Gospel tells the story of the post-Resurrection unveiling of Jesus (Lk 24:13ff).

As we hear this story, may we let loose our imaginations, those precious gifts that allow us to see beyond what is rational, so that we might join Peter, James, and John, in seeing the fullness of God’s splendor revealed in the person of Jesus. Then we too will be transformed, as Paul puts it, by the renewing of our minds, so that we might discern the will and purpose of God (Rom. 12:2).

 

Preached by:

Dr. Robert D. Cornwall

Pastor, Central Woodward Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)

Troy, MI

Transfiguration Sunday

March 6, 2011

On the Mountain with God -- Lectionary Meditation

Exodus 24:12-18


2 Peter 1:16-21


Matthew 17:1-9

On the Mountain with God

I grew up in the shadow of the Cascade Mountains. From the age of 3 to 9 I lived at the foot of one of the great mountains in America, the majestic Mount Shasta, a 14,160 foot double coned volcano that exudes mystery. I never climbed Mount Shasta, but I have climbed a few other shorter Cascade peaks, and so I understand the draw that mountains can have on people. There is something powerful and awe-inspiring about standing at the top of the mountain and looking out across the landscape. You see the handiwork of God very differently from high up in the mountains, standing above tree-line, where nothing is able to take hold except a few of the hardiest plants. The air is thin, cold, and clear. You feel as if you can touch the sky and even reach through the thin membrane separating heaven and earth and touch the things of God.

From my own experience living among the mountains I can understand why people from time immemorial have gone to the mountains to encounter God. In the biblical story, we see people going to the mountain, from Moses to Elijah to Jesus, and there upon the mountains God is encountered, and lives are changed. In this week’s lectionary texts we go to the mountains to meet God. With Moses we go into the presence of God on Mt. Sinai, and with Jesus we go to the mountain where he is transfigured before our eyes and God speaks to him from the cloud of presence.

We begin with Moses who receives a call from God to go to the mountain and receive the tablets of the law, which God has written for their instruction. And so he takes Joshua, and after leaving Aaron and Hur in charge, heads for the mountain. As Moses climbs the mountain, a cloud begins to envelope it, so that the “Glory of the Lord settled upon Mount Sinai.” They wait, presumably on the edge of the cloud for six days. On the seventh day, with the Glory of the Lord sitting on the mountain having the appearance of a devouring fire, God invites Moses to enter the cloud. As I read this description I have in mind the forest fires I remember seeing coming down the side of Mount Shasta as a child. They were far enough away that I didn’t have to worry, but the flames were large enough to get your attention. You can imagine the feeling of the people down below. Moses and Joshua have gone up the mountain, which is now engulfed in flame. Will they ever return? What will happen to us? Yes, I can only imagine. But then, Moses went up into the cloud and ascended the mountain, and there he spent forty days and forty nights. With this the passage ends – though if you continue reading you discover that it is in this forty day period that God reveals to Moses God’s desires for the people of Israel. All the directions for the creation of the Tabernacle and ordination of priests and more are revealed, as Moses is with God on the mountain.

Most assuredly Moses is transformed by this encounter with God, though we later learn that when Moses emerges from the cloud his face shines so much that he must keep himself veiled. Paul suggests that over time the glow faded, but Moses kept the veil so as to cover up the loss of this sign of God’s presence.

2 Peter is one of those interesting texts. It claims to be written by one of Jesus’ closest friends and colleagues, though most scholars believe that it comes from a much later time, perhaps into the 2nd century. In this letter Peter writes that he was an eyewitness of God’s majesty and that of Jesus. We were there, he says, when God spoke: “This is my son, my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Yes, we were with him on the mountain. So, listen to our testimony. Listen to our interpretation – for “no scripture is a matter of one’s own interpretation.” Prophecies come not by human will, but by people moved by the Holy Spirit to speak for God. I think that the author of this letter is pulling something of a power play – I was there when God spoke to Jesus, therefore, listen to my interpretation of Scripture, for Scriptures aren’t the matter of one’s own interpretation. Still, despite this almost unseemly display, we hear in it a word of witness to the encounters the people of God have on the mountain, encounters that can be life changing.

Finally we come to Matthew’s account of the Transfiguration. Note that Jesus goes up the mountain after six days – is this reflective of Moses’ ascent to Mount Sinai? Of course, we need to go back a chapter to see that according to Matthew, it was six days earlier that Peter made the Good Confession, declaring that Jesus is the Christ/Messiah and Son of God (Mt. 16:16). Even as Moses took Joshua with him, Jesus took three of his closest associates – Peter, James, and John – with him up the mountain. There he was “transfigured” or transformed before their eyes so that his face shown like the sun and his clothes became a dazzling white. There is similarity to Moses’ encounter, but here, the transformation seems to be less a reflection of the encounter, but it emerges from within. It is, one could say, an unveiling of the glory of the Lord that is already present in Jesus. Then and only then do Moses and Elijah, representing the Law and the Prophets, appear and are seen talking with Jesus. It has been suggested that Moses and Elijah are seen here as transcendent beings, people who are caught up into heaven without dying.

Peter sees all this and being something of an impulsive sort (the reason we like him so much) decides he has to do something. So, he offers to set up tents for the three conversation partners – or perhaps these are designed to be shrines. He recognizes that something powerful is happening and that Jesus must be someone of transcendent importance if he is standing in the presence of Moses and Elijah.

It is at this moment that a cloud overshadows them – as on the Mountain of Sinai – and from the cloud comes a voice that states: “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” Words that we the reader have encountered earlier in Matthew at the baptism of Jesus, but now they are repeated to fuller effect. At this the three disciples fall on their faces in fear. Jesus sees them, touches them (I find this to be a most poignant statement) and picks them up and tells them not to be afraid. Jesus does that a lot – telling his followers not to fear. It is at this point that they discover that Jesus is alone. Having had this encounter they head back down the mountain – not with stone tablets, but with a new sense of wonder and awe at the person they are called to accompany. For his part, Jesus tells them not to tell anyone about what happened on the mountain until after the Son of Man had been raised from the dead.

As we reflect on these three texts that depict powerful encounters with God, encounters that are transformative, it is appropriate for us to ask of ourselves – in what way are we transformed by our encounters with the transcendent God? What are our mountain top experiences? From the looks of the rest of Matthew’s narrative, the disciples still don’t understand, even after their mountain top experiences. Are we any different? Does the wonder begin to wear off once we're back into the thick of things?  Do we forget with whom we walk?  May we be thankful for God’s patience!