A Transfigured Life
Sermon preached at Church of the Good Shepherd, United Methodist, Columbus, Ohio, on Sunday, February 22, 2009.
“A Transfigured Life”
II Kings 2:1-12; Mark 9:2-9
Transfiguration, “B”
For a moment, just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond my peripheral vision, just beyond where I could reach and touch it – there was the brilliant holiness of God, an eternal truth that went beyond words.
We had spent the day exploring the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. We walked around in town, checking out all the tourist trap shops. We walked along the leisure path in the park that adjoins the falls and saw the falls, felt the spray, walked up river and saw the water that was making its way to thunder over the falls. We rode the Maid of the Mist and felt the incredible power at the base of the falls. We made our way back up to the park and had ice cream and watched a street musician perform. Then, as we walked back toward the van, tired from our day, we turned back to look at the falls and saw the most brilliant rainbow I’ve ever seen in my life stretching across the sky like someone had just flipped on a light.
For a moment, just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond my peripheral vision, just beyond where I could reach and touch it – there was the brilliant holiness of God, an eternal truth that went beyond words.
After Linda had been in labor trying to birth Joel for about 24 hours, the doctors at The Toledo Hospital decided that it was time to perform a c-section, as labor was not progressing well, had already gone on a long time, and Joel’s heartbeat inside the womb was dipping just a bit with each contraction. In what seemed like a whirlwind, the medical team tossed me some scrubs and told me to change, disconnected Linda from everything they could in the hospital room and we were suddenly rushing down the hallway to the operating room. Just a few minutes later, Joel emerged, a little bluish, and was handed off to the neo-natal intensive care team. He received some oxygen and then was just fine, though they monitored him for a few hours. Once his color turned normal looking, the nurse swaddled him up the way they do and handed him to me for a moment before they went ahead with cleaning him up and examining him more thoroughly. Here in my hands was this tiny bundle of life, which I had helped create, and which had just emerged from Linda.
For just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond my peripheral vision, just beyond where I could reach and touch it – there was the radiant holiness of God, an eternal truth that went beyond words.
Perhaps you have had those moments. I certainly hope you have. They can sneak up on you. I’ve heard stories about such moments happening at the Saturday evening candlelight on an Emmaus walk. I’ve heard stories about such moments at revivals as folks are somehow drawn forward to the altar at the end of the service. Or maybe it’s a moment on a wedding day, or getting a first look at one’s grandchild, or emerging from the fog of anesthesia after an operation and realizing that one’s life will go on and that healing has begun, or witnessing a moment of reconciliation or forgiveness among family or friends. If we are aware, if we are looking and listening, if our hearts are open, those moments do come.
And it seems that for just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond our ability to see, just beyond where we can reach and touch it – there is the radiant holiness of God, an eternal truth that goes beyond words.
Almost 100 years ago, the theologian and philosopher of religion, Rudolf Otto, tried to wrap our minds around this phenomenon with words. He called those moments an experience of the “numinous” – a moment that pertains to the spiritual and that goes beyond comprehension or understanding. Going a bit further, he described such moments as a fundamental religious experience which he named in the Latin, mysterium tremendum et fascinans – loosely translated, “overwhelming mystery and wonder.”[1] It’s an experience of God that’s so hard to describe we have to resort to Latin!
Not nearly so long ago, Abraham Joshua Heschel took a stab at it, too. Heschel was an Orthodox Rabbi & scholar who authored several books on philosophy, theology and biblical studies. He was also a civil rights activist who was often at the side of Martin Luther King, Jr. during the most dramatic parts of the civil rights movement in the fifties and sixties. Heschel suggested that before we could attempt to describe things religious or spiritual or the nature of God, we had to be in touch with this sense of something beyond our rational ability to understand. He writes, “Wonder or radical amazement … is … a prerequisite for an authentic awareness of that which is.”[2]
So those moments – when, for just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond our ability to see clearly, just beyond where we can reach and touch it – there is the radiant holiness of God, an eternal truth that goes beyond words – those moments are a part of the foundation of our relationship with God.
I have come to believe that at their core, our two scripture readings today are attempting to describe such moments in order to deepen our connection with God.
The story from II Kings is a familiar one. Elijah and Elisha have come to an important moment. It is time for Elijah to depart and for Elisha to succeed him. Elisha is so unwilling to accept this that he keeps “shushing” everyone who reminds him as he walks with his mentor to the river. He didn’t want to talk about it. Finally, they arrive at the Jordan, where they are to part ways. Elijah asks – what can I do for you before I am taken away? Elisha says, “let me inherit a double portion of your spirit.” Elijah says, “If you see me depart, it will be so.”
Suddenly, from nowhere, and disappearing just as fast, what appear to be horses and chariots of fire descend, sweep up Elijah, and ascend in a whirlwind. Elijah is gone. Elisha is left.
There’s no doubt that this was one of those moments for Elisha – flashes, flames, a mentor and friend is gone – and for a moment, just a moment – there was the brilliant holiness of God, an eternal truth that went beyond words. It is a testament to the power of that experience that thousands of years later slaves in the American South latched onto it in song – swing low, sweet chariot – not just a desire to escape the current situation, but a chance to proclaim God’s presence in the midst of struggle.
And Elisha, forced to accept Elijah’s absence, is – after a time of grieving his loss – renewed with strength and empowered to continue to answer his call from God to be a prophet to the people. Everything had changed now that Elijah was gone, but then again, because of that moment, that flash, that glimpse of eternal truth, everything was the same: The Creator God of the universe still called, the people of God still clamored for a prophet, and life continued on.
In Mark, we reach such a moment. Jesus and his disciples are well into their routine now … teaching and healing … there is Jesus asking the question, “Who do people say that I am?” and Peter answering, “You are the Messiah!” … there is the suggestion that political and religious leaders are moving toward trying to eliminate Jesus as a threat to their power … there is Jesus suggesting that his true followers would “take up a cross” in order to follow – hinting that for all who would truly follow God’s way may encounter suffering.
Then this passage today. As Jesus has done many times, he goes away to pray – this time up a mountain with Peter, James and John. Then – one of those moments – the gospels relay something mysterious. Jesus is ‘transfigured’ – there is dazzling light – there is the voice (the same as at Jesus’ baptism) – ‘this is my beloved son.’
For a moment, just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond where they could reach and touch it – there was the brilliant holiness of God, an eternal truth that went beyond words. Peter tries to lasso the moment by suggesting they camp out there together and just stay in the moment. Just as suddenly as it occurred, the moment was over. Jesus, Peter, James and John come back down the mountain where they face – crowds clamoring for healing and teaching; a journey continuing to draw opposition; just as before – but with new perspective: the wonder and amazement that no matter what life would hold for them, the Creator God of the universe traveled with them – even if just beyond words, just beyond touch, just beyond complete understanding.
Yes, there are moments, sometimes literally just moments, when, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond our ability to see, just beyond where we can reach and touch it – lays the radiant holiness of God, an eternal truth that goes beyond words. And it is in these moments that we are reminded in ways too deep for words and logic that no matter our journey, no matter the events of the day or the month or the year, no matter the state of our employment or the economy, no matter the state of our relationships, the brilliant, majestic, ineffable, incomprehensible, undying love of our God is the true support and foundation for all of life.
It is those moments we seek in worship – moments when we experience that mysterium tremendum et fascinans, overwhelming mystery and wonder, and we can almost touch the brilliant presence of God right in front of us. It is those moments of radical amazement that transfigure our own lives and they become lives shot through with divine meaning and holy presence.
And we get a reminder of God’s everlasting care for us – even if the world has turned upside down.
And we are able to live everyday life in the sure and certain knowledge that the Creator God under girds our existence with the dazzling light of hope.
And we – us, you and me, regular folks all – can become shining beacons of hope in a world that is burdened with struggle.
And as we seek to live our new mission and vision statement here at Good Shepherd, we are aware that just beyond our reach, just beyond our ability to describe, but with blazing and brilliant love, God is right there urging us along.
And as we head into Lent – a time when we seek to turn toward God and renew our lives of faith – there is the Creator of the Universe, just around the corner; just beyond our words and intellect – ready to comfort and inspire us to live the life we are called to live.
And that life will be transfigured before us – and radiate beams of hope; and blaze forth with flames of love – and we shall know once again and for certain that we are not alone, none of us is alone, and we move forward carried in the hands of a God who created us, who loves us, who calls us forward into new life.
May it be so – today and always.
[1] See Rudolf Otto, The Idea of the Holy, first published by Oxford University Press in 1923.
[2] Abraham Joshua Heschel, Man is not Alone: A Philosophy of Religion, New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, first published in 1959, this quote from the first paperback edition published in 1976, p. 11.
“A Transfigured Life”
II Kings 2:1-12; Mark 9:2-9
Transfiguration, “B”
For a moment, just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond my peripheral vision, just beyond where I could reach and touch it – there was the brilliant holiness of God, an eternal truth that went beyond words.
We had spent the day exploring the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. We walked around in town, checking out all the tourist trap shops. We walked along the leisure path in the park that adjoins the falls and saw the falls, felt the spray, walked up river and saw the water that was making its way to thunder over the falls. We rode the Maid of the Mist and felt the incredible power at the base of the falls. We made our way back up to the park and had ice cream and watched a street musician perform. Then, as we walked back toward the van, tired from our day, we turned back to look at the falls and saw the most brilliant rainbow I’ve ever seen in my life stretching across the sky like someone had just flipped on a light.
For a moment, just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond my peripheral vision, just beyond where I could reach and touch it – there was the brilliant holiness of God, an eternal truth that went beyond words.
After Linda had been in labor trying to birth Joel for about 24 hours, the doctors at The Toledo Hospital decided that it was time to perform a c-section, as labor was not progressing well, had already gone on a long time, and Joel’s heartbeat inside the womb was dipping just a bit with each contraction. In what seemed like a whirlwind, the medical team tossed me some scrubs and told me to change, disconnected Linda from everything they could in the hospital room and we were suddenly rushing down the hallway to the operating room. Just a few minutes later, Joel emerged, a little bluish, and was handed off to the neo-natal intensive care team. He received some oxygen and then was just fine, though they monitored him for a few hours. Once his color turned normal looking, the nurse swaddled him up the way they do and handed him to me for a moment before they went ahead with cleaning him up and examining him more thoroughly. Here in my hands was this tiny bundle of life, which I had helped create, and which had just emerged from Linda.
For just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond my peripheral vision, just beyond where I could reach and touch it – there was the radiant holiness of God, an eternal truth that went beyond words.
Perhaps you have had those moments. I certainly hope you have. They can sneak up on you. I’ve heard stories about such moments happening at the Saturday evening candlelight on an Emmaus walk. I’ve heard stories about such moments at revivals as folks are somehow drawn forward to the altar at the end of the service. Or maybe it’s a moment on a wedding day, or getting a first look at one’s grandchild, or emerging from the fog of anesthesia after an operation and realizing that one’s life will go on and that healing has begun, or witnessing a moment of reconciliation or forgiveness among family or friends. If we are aware, if we are looking and listening, if our hearts are open, those moments do come.
And it seems that for just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond our ability to see, just beyond where we can reach and touch it – there is the radiant holiness of God, an eternal truth that goes beyond words.
Almost 100 years ago, the theologian and philosopher of religion, Rudolf Otto, tried to wrap our minds around this phenomenon with words. He called those moments an experience of the “numinous” – a moment that pertains to the spiritual and that goes beyond comprehension or understanding. Going a bit further, he described such moments as a fundamental religious experience which he named in the Latin, mysterium tremendum et fascinans – loosely translated, “overwhelming mystery and wonder.”[1] It’s an experience of God that’s so hard to describe we have to resort to Latin!
Not nearly so long ago, Abraham Joshua Heschel took a stab at it, too. Heschel was an Orthodox Rabbi & scholar who authored several books on philosophy, theology and biblical studies. He was also a civil rights activist who was often at the side of Martin Luther King, Jr. during the most dramatic parts of the civil rights movement in the fifties and sixties. Heschel suggested that before we could attempt to describe things religious or spiritual or the nature of God, we had to be in touch with this sense of something beyond our rational ability to understand. He writes, “Wonder or radical amazement … is … a prerequisite for an authentic awareness of that which is.”[2]
So those moments – when, for just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond our ability to see clearly, just beyond where we can reach and touch it – there is the radiant holiness of God, an eternal truth that goes beyond words – those moments are a part of the foundation of our relationship with God.
I have come to believe that at their core, our two scripture readings today are attempting to describe such moments in order to deepen our connection with God.
The story from II Kings is a familiar one. Elijah and Elisha have come to an important moment. It is time for Elijah to depart and for Elisha to succeed him. Elisha is so unwilling to accept this that he keeps “shushing” everyone who reminds him as he walks with his mentor to the river. He didn’t want to talk about it. Finally, they arrive at the Jordan, where they are to part ways. Elijah asks – what can I do for you before I am taken away? Elisha says, “let me inherit a double portion of your spirit.” Elijah says, “If you see me depart, it will be so.”
Suddenly, from nowhere, and disappearing just as fast, what appear to be horses and chariots of fire descend, sweep up Elijah, and ascend in a whirlwind. Elijah is gone. Elisha is left.
There’s no doubt that this was one of those moments for Elisha – flashes, flames, a mentor and friend is gone – and for a moment, just a moment – there was the brilliant holiness of God, an eternal truth that went beyond words. It is a testament to the power of that experience that thousands of years later slaves in the American South latched onto it in song – swing low, sweet chariot – not just a desire to escape the current situation, but a chance to proclaim God’s presence in the midst of struggle.
And Elisha, forced to accept Elijah’s absence, is – after a time of grieving his loss – renewed with strength and empowered to continue to answer his call from God to be a prophet to the people. Everything had changed now that Elijah was gone, but then again, because of that moment, that flash, that glimpse of eternal truth, everything was the same: The Creator God of the universe still called, the people of God still clamored for a prophet, and life continued on.
In Mark, we reach such a moment. Jesus and his disciples are well into their routine now … teaching and healing … there is Jesus asking the question, “Who do people say that I am?” and Peter answering, “You are the Messiah!” … there is the suggestion that political and religious leaders are moving toward trying to eliminate Jesus as a threat to their power … there is Jesus suggesting that his true followers would “take up a cross” in order to follow – hinting that for all who would truly follow God’s way may encounter suffering.
Then this passage today. As Jesus has done many times, he goes away to pray – this time up a mountain with Peter, James and John. Then – one of those moments – the gospels relay something mysterious. Jesus is ‘transfigured’ – there is dazzling light – there is the voice (the same as at Jesus’ baptism) – ‘this is my beloved son.’
For a moment, just a moment, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond where they could reach and touch it – there was the brilliant holiness of God, an eternal truth that went beyond words. Peter tries to lasso the moment by suggesting they camp out there together and just stay in the moment. Just as suddenly as it occurred, the moment was over. Jesus, Peter, James and John come back down the mountain where they face – crowds clamoring for healing and teaching; a journey continuing to draw opposition; just as before – but with new perspective: the wonder and amazement that no matter what life would hold for them, the Creator God of the universe traveled with them – even if just beyond words, just beyond touch, just beyond complete understanding.
Yes, there are moments, sometimes literally just moments, when, just beyond the edge of awareness, just beyond our ability to see, just beyond where we can reach and touch it – lays the radiant holiness of God, an eternal truth that goes beyond words. And it is in these moments that we are reminded in ways too deep for words and logic that no matter our journey, no matter the events of the day or the month or the year, no matter the state of our employment or the economy, no matter the state of our relationships, the brilliant, majestic, ineffable, incomprehensible, undying love of our God is the true support and foundation for all of life.
It is those moments we seek in worship – moments when we experience that mysterium tremendum et fascinans, overwhelming mystery and wonder, and we can almost touch the brilliant presence of God right in front of us. It is those moments of radical amazement that transfigure our own lives and they become lives shot through with divine meaning and holy presence.
And we get a reminder of God’s everlasting care for us – even if the world has turned upside down.
And we are able to live everyday life in the sure and certain knowledge that the Creator God under girds our existence with the dazzling light of hope.
And we – us, you and me, regular folks all – can become shining beacons of hope in a world that is burdened with struggle.
And as we seek to live our new mission and vision statement here at Good Shepherd, we are aware that just beyond our reach, just beyond our ability to describe, but with blazing and brilliant love, God is right there urging us along.
And as we head into Lent – a time when we seek to turn toward God and renew our lives of faith – there is the Creator of the Universe, just around the corner; just beyond our words and intellect – ready to comfort and inspire us to live the life we are called to live.
And that life will be transfigured before us – and radiate beams of hope; and blaze forth with flames of love – and we shall know once again and for certain that we are not alone, none of us is alone, and we move forward carried in the hands of a God who created us, who loves us, who calls us forward into new life.
May it be so – today and always.
[1] See Rudolf Otto, The Idea of the Holy, first published by Oxford University Press in 1923.
[2] Abraham Joshua Heschel, Man is not Alone: A Philosophy of Religion, New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, first published in 1959, this quote from the first paperback edition published in 1976, p. 11.
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