Joel D. Kline
February 22, 2004
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
Transfiguration Sunday
An elder from the Cherokee nation was teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside of me,” he said to the boy—a terrible conflict between two wolves, the first of which is evil and ugly. This wolf is anger, envy, war, greed, arrogance, self-pity, sorrow, regret, guilt, resentment, and selfishness. The second wolf, on the other hand, is beautiful and good, affirming joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, justice, generosity, compassion, gratitude, and vision.
“The same fight is going on inside of you,” the grandfather tells his grandson.
Pausing deeply to reflect, the grandson, after a few moments, asks, “Which wolf will win?”
To which the old Cherokee elder replied, “The wolf you feed.”
In this morning’s Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Luke Jesus goes to the mountaintop for a time of reflection, a time of feeding. Of all four Gospel writers, Luke most consistently identifies a rhythm in the life of Jesus between times of action and times of reflection, times of prayer and times of active engagement with the world around him. With some frequency Luke portrays Jesus as praying before or in the very midst of significant events of his ministry. At the start of Jesus’ public ministry, while being baptized, Jesus is in the midst of praying as the heavens open, the Holy Spirit descends, and God’s voice proclaims, “You are my Son, the Beloved” (3:21). In the press of crowds teeming with human need, Jesus would sometimes “withdraw to deserted places and pray” (5:16). Before selecting the small band of disciples, Jesus spends the night in prayer (6:12). And in this morning’s lesson, Jesus goes up to the mountaintop to pray with Peter, James and John.
The verb translated “went up” suggests that something significant will follow. Indeed, it is the same verb used later, when Jesus explains to the disciples that they are “going up to Jerusalem,” where Jesus will face betrayal, arrest and crucifixion (18:31). There is a connection, then, between what is happening on the mount of transfiguration, and what will happen later in Jerusalem. Jesus goes to the mount, seeking God’s assurance that he is headed in the right direction, that he has rightly discerned the call of God. Jesus goes to be fed by peace, joy, serenity, loving kindness, and the vision of God.
Some there are who portray the events leading to Jesus’ death and resurrection as set in stone, as so predetermined that it is as if Jesus makes no decisions along the way. But the image I gain from the Gospels is of a Jesus who struggles with the direction his ministry is taking him, a Jesus whose Gethsemane question is preceded by a host of similar questionings along the way. You remember the scene, as Jesus prays in agony before God, “if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done” (Luke 22:42).
When Jesus ascends the mount of transfiguration, might it not be another occasion in which Jesus is pondering just what this calling from God means, where it all will lead. Might Jesus not be asking, “Am I really in sync with God’s purposes, with God’s vision for my life and ministry?” Jesus’ decision to climb to the mountaintop follows on the heels of Jesus pushing the disciples in their understanding of who he is and what he is about. Peter has declared words of Great Confession, “You are the Christ, the Messiah of God” (9:20). It may well be an appropriate statement of faith, and yet Jesus recognizes that Peter and the others little grasp what it means for Jesus to be the Christ. They little understand what it means for Jesus to choose to proclaim and usher in God’s kingdom, this realm that turns customary ways of thinking and relating upside down—a realm of compassion and peace, healing and wholeness, righteousness and self-giving love. And so Jesus attempts to clarify that his mission will cause him to undergo great suffering, that he will be put to death. Rather than exercising power over others, rather than emerging as a knight in shining armor who will restore Israel to its former position of power and glory, Jesus the Messiah adopts the way of suffering servanthood, choosing to pour out his life and love for the sake of all humanity. Could it be that Peter, wanting to shake this talk of suffering and death out of Jesus, is in reality giving voice to burning doubts and questions deep within Jesus?
Days later, seeking to be fed on the mountaintop, Jesus is joined by Moses, the great law-giver in Israel’s history, and Elijah, the prophet par excellence in Jewish life. Both offer encouragement and blessing to Jesus. Even more importantly, the Voice of God confirms from the cloud, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” And while all of this is happening, the very appearance of Jesus is altered and his clothes become dazzling white. According to the New International Version translation, the clothes of Jesus are now “as bright as a flash of lightning.”
The disciples, “weighed down with sleep,” could well have missed these events. The NIV tells us that they were “heavy with sleep, but when they became fully awake, they saw Jesus’ glory.” It is a telling line, for is it not likely that each of us misses a great deal when we are not fully attuned to life around us? Theologians in the Orthodox tradition, I have read, hold that all throughout his earthly ministry Jesus shone with a divine light, a light that remained invisible to most of the people most of the time. According to this interpretation, it is not that Jesus undergoes a change on the mount of transfiguration, but rather that the three disciples experience a kind of unveiling, a new glimpse of the character of Jesus, a glimpse of eternal reality.
Yet Peter, James and John still don’t seem to get it! This morning’s Gospel lesson ends with the assertion, “And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen” (v. 36). Some time ago I read of a study that suggests that the vast majority of persons in our society—both in and out of the church—have experienced some kind of “mystical” experience they could not readily explain. But almost unanimously, those surveyed agree that the church would be the last place they would choose to speak about such an experience of God, shrouded in mystery. Could it be that the three disciples display a similar reluctance to risk confronting their fellow disciples’ skepticism and disbelief?
Initially Peter had wanted to freeze the moment, to hang on to the mysterious experience he does not fully grasp. Yet faithfulness is not achieved by tightly grasping the moment, but by allowing that moment to prod us forward on the journey of faith. William Willimon, dean of the chapel at Duke University, speaks of Transfiguration Sunday as a transition time, with the story pointing us back to Jesus’ baptism, as the Voice of God speaks similar words of blessing upon Jesus—“You are my beloved; you are my chosen one.” At the same time, the Transfiguration story points us forward to Lent, to the challenge to take up the cross and journey with Jesus on the road to Jerusalem.
And how do we embark upon that journey, but by trusting that God is awakening us and leading us into new opportunities for service, trusting that what lies ahead is even greater than what we have already experienced. Perhaps the reluctance of so many to speak of mystical encounters with God is this fear that a new way of seeing and experiencing life will lead us in directions we may not want to go.
Several years back there was a movie entitled With Honors portraying a talented young Harvard student, Monty Kessler. On scholarship to the university, coming from a single parent home, Monty is driven to succeed, and he appears unstoppable. After reviewing the first chapter of Monty’s senior thesis, a critical government professor offers rare praise, assuring Monty that, if he continues such quality work, he will most certainly graduate with honors. But when Monty returns to his apartment, he is soon horrified to find that his computer, containing much subsequent work, is crashing. Fortunately Monty has made a single printed copy, but in his panic cannot conceive of waiting until morning to make a second copy. And so, despite the late hour, Monty rushes out, on the way slipping on the ice while the envelope containing his only copy flies through the air and falls into a heating grate at the Harvard library.
After some frantic chasing through the library, Monty locates the thesis, but it is now in the hands of a homeless man, Simon Wilder, who is dropping the pages one by one into an old furnace to provide some heat. When Simon realizes how desperate Monty is to have the pages returned to him, he offers to do so, one page at a time, in exchange for the things he needs—initially some new underwear and a donut with “pristine” glaze, and later, food, shelter, a blanket, or simply a bit of attention.
The movie centers on unfolding relationship between Monty and Simon. Originally Monty sees Simon as nothing more than an inconvenience and an intrusion upon his life, as a disturbed man who nevertheless must be reckoned with because he has possession of the thesis. But over time Monty begins to see Simon in a new way, increasingly looking upon Simon as a fellow human being, one with similar needs for relationship and support and care.
Gradually a deep bond develops, and near the end of the film, as Simon’s health is failing, Monty and his roommates honor Simon’s request to take him to visit a son whom Simon had abandoned early on in the son’s childhood. Ignoring the due date for his thesis, which by now Monty is totally rewriting because his outlook on life has shifted markedly, Monty presses Simon’s son, now a grown man and a lawyer, to see Simon. It is a bitter exchange, and when the son’s little girl comes and questions who the stranger is, the hostile son responds, “It’s no one, honey. It’s no one at all.” But by this time the viewers know how wrong the son is.
Simon Wilder is a person of worth and honor in his own right, and in the process of relating with him, Monty and his roommates begin to embrace a new way of thinking. It is as if they have had their own experience of transfiguration. Monty discovers that there is much more to life than climbing the ladder of success; he becomes more fully awake, in the process seeing and experiencing life more deeply than in the past.
This is the power of the Transfiguration story, prodding us to open our eyes and our hearts to a new perspective, to listen to Jesus and follow in his upside down ways. The writer of the commentary on the Gospel of Luke in The New Interpreter’s Bible asserts that if God were to speak only nine words to us, the words would come from this story. “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”
Let us feed on the wondrous example of Jesus, who willingly embraces a journey of peace, compassion, kindness, graciousness, and self-giving love. Let us listen, trust and obey.
Holy God, breathe your gracious Spirit upon us and into us this day. We come, yearning to experience prayer—relationship with you—as our vital breath, our native air. But we confess that prayer does not always come easily for us. Sometimes, with the apostle Paul, we do not know how to pray as we ought. Sometimes we can only come with sighs too deep for words. So listen now, O God, to those sighs that reflect our uncertainties, our fears, our deepest yearnings and concerns.
Oh God, we come this day, sighing for peace that seems so illusive. Inner peace—that sense of rightness, that sense that we are moving in the right direction on our journey of faith—can elude us every bit as much as does peace in our world. God, hear our sighs, and grant us courage, compassion, and wisdom, as we seek to witness to Jesus, who came proclaiming the ways of peace and reconciliation. Bring an end, O God, to our warring madness, and guide us in paths of justice and right living.
God of us all, teach us how to pray and how to live as a community of your people. Grant us your vision, that together we become a place to deepen faith, proclaim peace, embrace community, welcome others, and serve our neighbor, in the compassionate spirit of Jesus.
God of healing and wholeness, hear us now as we envision your light and love being poured over those in special need of your healing touch. We pray for …
O God who knows our deepest needs, touch each one who has joined together this day to worship you, to seek your strength and insight, to search for truth, to utter sighs too deep for words. Touch our hearts with renewed peace, our minds with greater insight, and our spirits with your gracious love. In the name and spirit of Jesus we pray. Amen.