Transfiguration and the Dream of God

Last Sunday After The Epiphany

Ex. 24:12-18; Matt. 17:1-9; St. Paul’s

2/26/2017, Jim Melnyk

“Transfiguration and the Dream of God”

One day I was walking our labyrinth and I decided to walk it backwards on the way out – just to try something different.  I realized right away that walking the labyrinth backwards is awkward at best.  It was harder to keep my balance.  I used muscles in a way I wasn’t used to using them.  I could not anticipate when the sharp turns were coming up or which way the turn would be – to the left or to the right.  It’s disconcerting – not being able to anticipate what comes next.  And I realize that’s true about how we look at life.  It’s disconcerting – troubling – anxiety-provoking when we can’t anticipate what’s ahead in life.

In the labyrinth there’s an easy answer.  If we get too anxious we can just turn around – which happens to be another word for repent - and face forward and follow the path.  Easy-peasy, right?  In life it’s more difficult – facing our dis-ease with the unknown or the unexpected.  What I learned in the labyrinth at that moment is the need on my part to be more mindful of the path I’m on wherever I find myself.  I learned about the need to be more mindful and accepting of the reality that I cannot anticipate everything; and that sometimes I’ll start to turn one way – even if it’s not necessarily a wrong way – only to realize I’m missing the path and having to adjust.  I realize that the labyrinth lesson for me has to do with being transformed from someone who gets anxious with the unknown into one who looks to Christ, and the deepening of my faith, to know that I cannot get lost from God even in the midst of the unknown or unanticipated.

The Transfiguration drives that lesson home for me.  It has to be understood – and experienced – within the whole context of Jesus’ life and ministry to make sense.  At this point the disciples might feel like they’re walking backwards through life: stumbling this way and that, even with Jesus as a guide along the way. 

Jesus has just finished telling them that he will be arrested in Jerusalem – not only arrested, but tortured and killed.  I’m thinking that life is starting to feel a bit disconcerting for them – a bit troubling – perhaps more than a little anxiety-provoking because they can’t anticipate what the future holds for their teacher and friend who has set his face toward Jerusalem and the cross.

The Transfiguration becomes a turning point for them – almost like turning on a light in a darkened room – or in a darkened world.  It is the beginning of a transformation from being a bunch of students to a core of followers, and then finally to a group of faithful apostles – proclaiming boldly the Good News of God in Christ even at times in the midst of great adversity.

Writing in his book, becoming human: Core Teachings of Jesus, Brian Taylor explains, “No matter who he [is] dealing with, Jesus [is] concerned with one thing, and one thing only:

a transformation of the heart to God, so that the believer might be more loving and more free.  Social status, religious trappings, even expected behavior were all secondary to this one vision.  What [matters] most to Jesus,” writes Taylor, is “an authentically human life, grounded fully in the Spirit” (Cowley Publications, p 167).  The Transfiguration becomes more than a glimpse into the coming glory of Jesus on Easter Day.  The Transfiguration becomes a glimpse into what God has in store for us as people longing to let the image and likeness of God, which we each bear, shine in and through us.

When Peter, James and John hear the voice of God from the cloud, God doesn’t say, “This is my Son, my Chosen, worship him!”  Rather, the voice from heaven says, “Listen to him!”  Listen to him!  And we seek to listen as people who are being transformed by the life-changing Light of Christ in our lives. 

We listen as Jesus says to us, “Love one another as I have loved you,” and sometimes we feel up to the task.  We listen, sometimes rather anxiously, to the commands, “Wash one another’s feet.  Forgive one another as God has forgiven you.  Love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you,” and wonder if we can pull it off faithfully. 

We take solace when we hear, “Peace be with you,” and we struggle to bring that peace, especially to those with whom we struggle.  We listen with thanksgiving as Jesus says, “This is my body – this is my blood – given for you.”  We find ourselves challenged as we hear Jesus tell us to “Take up our cross,” or to “Be not afraid,” and to feed his sheep – without any provisions for drug-testing first, I might add.

We get the idea of “Follow me,” without too much trouble, but stumble when we realize that “following” means actually choosing to being like Christ.  We hear Jesus challenging us to help change the world – and we struggle to hold ourselves faithful to a vision of what the kingdom of heaven is meant to look like today.  The voice from the cloud says “This is my son, my Beloved.  Listen to him,” and we want to – we really want to – it’s just that sometimes it’s such a hard thing to do.  

Theologian and educator, the late Howard Thurman, wrote about a world transformed by the glory of God.  “There must be always remaining in the individual life some place for the singing of angels – some place for that which in itself is breathlessly beautiful….”  Thurman wrote about an “inherent prerogative” from God that takes the flood of experience from the everyday realities of life and allows them to glow “in one bright light of penetrating beauty and meaning…. The commonplace… shot through with new glory.” (http://www.michaelppowers.com/wisdom/thurman.html).

Thurman reminds us that “As long as we hold a dream in the heart, we cannot lose the significance of living.  The dream in the heart is one with the living water welling up from the very spring of Being, nourishing and sustaining all life” (ibid).  This, in part, is what the late Verna Dozier meant when she wrote about the dream of God for us and for this world.  “God calls a people to be the new thing in the world – the people of God…. "The dream of God is that all creation will live together in peace and harmony and fulfillment. All parts of creation. And the dream of God is that the good creation that God created – what the refrain says, 'and God saw that it was good' – be restored" (The Dream of God: A Call to Return Cowley Publications, 1991).  Dozier’s dream of God is simply another name for the kingdom of heaven or the kingdom of God.

But there can be times and places where the dream of God seems lost.  Thurman tells us that “Where there is no dream, the life becomes a swamp, a dreary dead place, and, deep within, the heart begins to rot.” Presiding Bishop Michael Curry calls that dreary dead place the nightmare of this world.  And it doesn’t take much looking around to see where the dream of God has been beaten back – or rather where humanity has turned its back on the dream.  At times the dream may seem lost.  At times it may seem that the silent indifference, or loud violence of this world, has succeeded in silencing it – but the dream of God will not – the dream of God cannot – be killed or die. 

The good news of the Transfiguration stories is that we can play a part in helping keep the dream of God alive, and we can help it thrive.  When we make a conscious decision to listen to Jesus as we meet him in the gospels, and in people of faith all around us, we find ourselves more than just worshipers of God in Christ.  We find that the dream of God has become our dream as well, as we live out our lives as followers of Jesus.  We begin to realize that as followers of Jesus we are called to be, as Verna Dozier describes it, “[citizens] of the kingdom of God in a new way, the daring, free, accepting, compassionate way Jesus modeled… being bound by no yesterday, fearing no tomorrow, drawing no lines between friend and foe, the acceptable ones and the outcasts” (ibid).

We begin to realize that as followers of Jesus we are called to be Apostles of Christ – acting out and proclaiming the love of God – not just in the easy places of the world and our lives, but in the hard places as well – the places where no one wants to see the light of Christ shining in the darkness.

The Transfiguration gives us a deepening glimpse into the unfolding kingdom of heaven and reminds us that God’s kingdom is at hand – that it has come among us – and that we are a part of it all.  All we have to do is listen.  Then follow.  Then be.

When Wisdom and Love Bond

Epiphany 7A; Lev. 19:1-2, 9-18; Matt. 5:38-48; St. Paul’s, Smithfield, NC 2/19/17

Jim Melnyk: “When Wisdom and Love Bond”

The story is told how “in a [certain] ancient eastern country, there was a tradition that the estate of the family would be divided among the children in a specific way: one half to the eldest child; one third to the second child; and one ninth to the youngest child. 

There was a man who owned seventeen camels. When he died, there was much bickering among his children.  How would they divide the camels among them? The math is difficult, not to mention what splitting might do to the camels! 

Finally, in desperation, the three children went to the local priest. The wise old priest quietly said, “I have one camel. Why don’t you take it?” And he gave them his camel. 

So now, with eighteen camels, the oldest child took one half, or nine. The second child took one third, or six. And the youngest child took one ninth, or two. To the family’s amazement, the sum was seventeen.  Gratefully, they took the eighteenth camel back to the priest” (Synthesis, 2/19/2017).

A colleague who shared this story writes, “When wisdom and love bond together, there is no stronger force” (ibid).

Today’s portion of the Sermon on the Mount includes some of Jesus’ toughest teachings – teachings which require a great deal of wisdom and love on our part if we’re to try to follow them.  As was noted in last week’s sermon, modern day Christians do some rather incredible theological acrobatics to avoid taking much of what we just heard read too seriously – or too literally.  “You want me to love who, Jesus?”  But the fact that the early Church of the late first century did nothing to water down these challenging words is a strong indication of their authenticity; and how much we are meant to at least attempt living them out as they have been received.  Meaning these teachings by Jesus are certainly not for the faint of heart – and that they are most likely offered with the knowledge that we will all too often fail miserably at living up to them.  Perhaps that’s one reason why Jesus will go on to teach what has become one of our most meaningful prayers – a prayer that includes the line: forgive us our trespasses – our sins – as we forgive those who trespass – or who sin – against us.

The late theologian Ronald Goetz once wrote, “The Sermon on the Mount is nothing more or less than the manifesto of the reckless love of God. It is a cloudburst of blessing. It washes away our sins and our need to judge ourselves or others. It opens up a new standard of living, a new way to calculate our profits and losses. It offers us a vision of a new landscape washed clean, made green and glorious by the rain of God” (Synthesis Today, 2/13/2017). 

To be fair, we’ve saddled Jesus with at least one incredibly terrible English translation of the ancient texts.  The text doesn’t actually say, “Do not resist an evil doer.”  A much better translation would be, “Do not repay evil with evil.”  Theologian Walter Wink (Engaging the Powers) expounded upon that by saying, “Do not repay violence with violence,” similar to the words we often hear in our closing blessing on Sundays – “render to no one evil for evil.”  Yet Jesus wasn’t proposing some form of doormat theology.  Wink points out that in his call for us to turn the other cheek, or to give up our cloak, or to go the extra mile “Jesus is offering a way for poor, humiliated people to take the initiative against their oppressors, allowing them to restore a sense of dignity while putting their oppressors off balance—and at the same time offering them opportunities for conversion” (Jim Rice, Sojourners Preaching the Word, 2/23/14).  To me it is Jesus offering us a way to say to the one who seeks to hurt or offend me, “I choose to respond to you as someone who lives in the kingdom of heaven.”

           

When Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love you neighbor and hate your enemy,’ he isn’t quoting Hebrew Scripture – hating your enemy just isn’t in there.  His command to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us was a challenge to those who took the passage in Leviticus, “you shall love your neighbor as yourself,” too lightly.  It’s easier – most of the time – to love our kin, or to love our neighbors who present themselves as people who think, look, act, and speak just like us.  It seems more difficult for many in today’s climate of fear to love the stranger – the sojourner – the alien – among us, and to treat them as we would a fellow citizen, as God goes on to command just a few verses beyond today’s lesson from Leviticus.  It’s easy to love those who love us, and who wish us well.  It’s much more difficult to love those who don’t – especially those who wish us harm.  That’s where the “reckless love of God” steps in and transforms us at the core.

Eighteenth century Anglican priest William Law once said, “There is nothing that makes us love a [person] so much as praying for [them]” (Synthesis Today, 2/17/2017).  Indeed, that’s the whole purpose in praying for our enemy – not so much to transform them, though we would certainly rejoice in the reversal of their animosity towards us.  We pray for our enemy that we might be transformed – that our anger or fear be transformed into the strength and love that might lead us toward reconciliation.

The Good News in all of this is that our faith stories tell us we can choose to follow the commands of Jesus – we can choose to follow God’s commands – God’s hopes and dreams for us.  Remember our lesson from Sirach last week?  In it the author reminded us, “If you choose, you can keep the commandments, and to act faithfully is a matter of your own choice” (Sirach 15:15).  In last week’s alternative lesson from Deuteronomy Moses tells his people, “Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him; for that means life to you and length of days…” (Deut. 30:20).  We get to choose love over hate for ourselves.  Choosing love may not change an adversary’s heart or mind – but we’re not in charge of changing anyone else’s hearts – only our own. 

In Leviticus God tells us to be holy as God is holy.  Why would God tell us to do or be something we could not possibly be?  In Matthew Jesus tells us to be perfect – that is to be whole or complete – even as God is perfect.  Why would Jesus tell us to do or be something we could not possibly be?

More Good News: We are not told to be sure the person in the pew next to us is holy or perfect.  We are not told to be sure the person living across the street, or in the classroom across the hall, or the cubicle in the next building at work, is perfect or holy. 

We’re not told to make sure the person fleeing for her life from halfway across the world is perfect or holy.  We don’t carry the burden of holiness for our families or our friends, for our neighbors, for strangers, or even for our enemies.  Thank God we’re only called to work those things out just for ourselves, and to leave the rest to God.  And if Moses, Jesus, and God say that’s possible for each of us – well, I’m inclined to believe them – and I have to believe that that’s Good News indeed.

I’m more than willing to bet none of us will ever be called to settle a question on how to best divide herd of camels among surviving children; but I am also willing to bet we will always wrestle with the challenge of how we are to live together in community – and perhaps tempted to water down or ignore those commands we find hardest to follow.  But, as it has been said before, “When wisdom and love bond together, there is no stronger force.”  When wisdom and love bond together, we can choose to follow Jesus.

Epiphany 6A; Matthew 5:21-37; St. Paul’s 2/12/2017

Jim Melnyk: “It Might Be God Trying to Get Your Attention”

So here we are, just barely into the Sermon on the Mount – the pinnacle of Jesus’ teaching.  I’m wondering if Jesus can already see by the looks on people’s faces that his words aren’t connecting with his listeners the way he had hoped.  So he suddenly lets loose with some pretty wild hyperbole – some wild exaggerations – to get their attention. He decides it’s time to slap them upside the head a bit, and he starts talking about eye-ball plucking and hand chopping – and we’re all, “Eww, that’s gross,” and, “I’m not signing on for any of this, Jesus!  Please – leave my eyeballs out of it all!” 

Now I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on the idea of self-mutilation as a way of avoiding sin in my life.  To be honest, I’m not really sure that Jesus is holding that out to us as a valid option. 

And I don’t think too many followers of Jesus – even the most literal-minded of them, back then or now – take the plucking and chopping to heart – simply because I’ve never seen an over-abundance of self-imposed empty eye sockets and handless limbs in any church I visit. 

I can imagine Jesus chuckling a bit at the wide-eyed, jaw-dropping, reaction by those who actually hear what he’s saying.  There seems to be a bit of playfulness on Jesus’ part as he tries to get his listeners to distinguish between some whole-hearted literalism on his part – I really want you to take these teachings seriously, folks – and the mind-boggling hyperbole designed to capture our attention, and help us see just how seriously Jesus takes the hallmarks of the coming kingdom of heaven.  Talk of plucking out eyeballs and chopping off hands is Jesus trying to get our attention: “I want you to take my teachings about how you treat one another as seriously as you would take losing an eye, or a hand!”

Homiletics professor Jason Byassee reminds us that literalism in the Bible is a tricky thing.  “Some of Jesus’ most dramatic turnarounds of existing tradition are here in Matthew.  You have heard, but I say. It’s where we get Christianity’s most distinctive teaching: that we shouldn’t hate our enemies, but love them. Throughout the history of the church, we have had sophisticated strategies to avoid reading these passages literally. But Jesus seems to mean it...” (Sojourners Online, Preaching the Word, 2/12/2017).

And although we don’t get to the “love your enemies” part of the Sermon on the Mount until next week, we see where today’s lesson is leading us – and we know how those words, when we hear them, will feel just like a slap upside our heads or a kick in our guts.  “You want me to love who, Jesus?  Are you out of your mind?”  And that’s what today’s gospel lesson is all about, really.  It’s about how we are to love and live with one another, within our own communities, and within the boundaries of this world.

And while all the eyeball plucking and hand chopping may be overly exaggerated suggestions meant only to capture our imaginations, there is a significant amount of literal-mindedness behind Jesus’ amendments to the tradition – a literal-mindedness that calls us to pay attention.  In this part of his sermon, you have heard it said – but I say to you, Jesus was doing what his contemporaries called “building a wall around Torah.”  These antithetical additions mean that commands such as those against murder and adultery are so important to Jesus that he adds additional commands to function as a protective fence, insuring his listeners don’t violate Torah.  Basically, whoever avoids the internal act of harboring anger toward another person will more than likely also avoid acting out violently toward them. Jesus emphasizes the importance of Torah by building a wall around it as an extra layer of protection.  

As the late Anglican priest John Stott once said, “Every Christian should be both conservative and radical: conservative in preserving the faith and radical in applying it” (John R. W. Stott, Synthesis Today, 2/8/2017).

Are you angry at someone, or are they angry with you?  Be reconciled before you bring your offering before God.  Do you remember that we attempt to practice this command every Sunday during Holy Eucharist?  That’s what The Peace is supposed to be all about – the only reason it comes immediately after the confession.  We have heard the word of God proclaimed.  We have affirmed our faith using the words of the Nicene Creed.  We have prayed for one another and we have confessed our sins – our brokenness – and received God’s promise of forgiveness.  And then we have the opportunity to seek out anyone with whom we have struggled, and be reconciled with them by wishing them God’s peace.  As Episcopalians, we are challenged to take the fifth chapter of Matthew seriously. 

Jesus offers a command against our holding anger against someone because when we harbor anger toward someone, and let it grow unchecked, that anger could lead to verbal and then physical violence against someone – and in extreme instances, even to death.  Likewise, Jesus reminds us how lusting after someone – and allowing those feelings to percolate and take hold in our hearts and minds – could lead to one finally acting upon those feelings, causing the violation of one’s marriage vows. 

It all comes down to how we choose to relate to one another as fellow human beings – each and every one of us created in the image and likeness of the Divine.  In essence, our obedience to Jesus and the gospel “must become internal if it is to bring genuine life” (Synthesis, 2/12/2017).  How do we choose to follow Jesus, who commands us to love one another as he loves each of us?  It’s the Word inscribed on our hearts rather than the words scribed on a page that shape who we are.  Following Jesus is challenging even in its own simplicity.  As Jayson Byassee remarks, “To have no truck with evil, not even a glance, not even an inner curse, not even the tiniest oath? Sounds like more than an impossible possibility. It sounds like the gospel” (Sojourners).

In the end, Jesus builds a wall around Torah so that we might not build walls around one another – so that we might not separate ourselves from one another – so that we might take within our hearts the commands to love God and love our neighbor, rather than leave those commands safely on the pages of our Bibles or bulletin inserts.  As Pope Francis said the other day, the Gospel is about building bridges rather than walls.  Our world today is so fraught with insecurity and anger that we fear talking together about issues of faith such as refugees, health care, human sexuality, racism, gender inequality, or immigration – you name it. 

We build metaphorical walls – often with hurtful rhetoric – to avoid hearing one another’s views, and we build both communal and physical walls to shut one another out.  But that doesn’t have to be the way.  As we heard in the reading from Sirach today - we can choose to do good.  We can choose to live this way!

An unknown Hasidic Master – and eighteenth century Jewish theologian – wrote about prayer in a way that also speaks to Jesus’ teachings on the mountainside, showing how building a foundation of prayer can make a difference for us, and for the world.  And the Good News is that all this is possible! 

“What a great wonder that we should be able to

            draw so near to God in prayer.

How many walls there are between [humanity] and    God!
Even though God fills all the world,

            [God] is so very hidden!

Yet a single word of prayer can topple all the walls

            and bring [us] close to God.”[1]

And in doing so, bring us each closer to one another.

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[1] (Your Word Is Fire: The Hasidic Masters on Contemplative Prayer, Arthur Green and Barry W. Holtz, editors and translators)