I imagine that Peter, James and John were confident in their knowledge of Jesus when they began to climb the mountain that morning. They have been journeying with Jesus for some time.
They have seen him heal the sick and cast out demons. They have seen him give sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf. They have heard him teach a new way of living and a new way of praying. They have seen him feed the multitudes, raise the dead and quiet a stormy sea. They have obeyed his command to go out before him and tell the people the Good News. And just days before, Peter has declared Jesus to be the Messiah, the Son of the living God. I imagine they didn’t think there was much left to be explored or explained or discovered as they headed up the mountain.
And then it happens. Jesus is transfigured—changed—transformed—right in front of their eyes.
His face shines like the sun and his robes become dazzling white. Peter, responding to the holiness he recognizes in Jesus, leaps into action. He knows exactly what to do with the holy—
put it in a box—just like the holy scrolls—so that they will always know where to find him.
But even as Peter is telling Jesus his plan, there’s another change. A bright cloud surrounds them all, and they hear the voice of God saying “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well-pleased. Listen to him!” The disciples do what most of us do when God shows up: they fall to the ground in terror. And Jesus tells them not to be afraid.
This story of the Transfiguration is so familiar to us. As well as I can determine, it’s the only story we hear twice a year—usually during August, and again on this Sunday, the last Sunday of the season of Epiphany. This story is so familiar to us and the images are so much bigger than the life we know. Each year—each time I study this reading, I wonder what it is that we’re supposed to bring away from this story—what it is that we’re supposed to understand.
This year, my attention has been drawn to God’s words: “This is my Son. Listen to him!” And I’ve wondered. Perhaps we’re not supposed to understand. Perhaps we’re simply supposed to listen, obey—and wonder.
I wonder what would happen if we listened to Jesus. I wonder what would happen if we really listened to his words, if we really listened to his commandments. I wonder if we would be transformed in the same way the disciples were transformed—transformed so that they could see Jesus in a different way, in a new God-given light. The thing about the disciples is that they were faithful. We sometimes elevate them to sainthood. We sometimes disparage them for fighting amongst themselves or for not quite getting the message or for continuing to look for the messiah they wanted instead of the Messiah God gave us. They sound a lot like us, don’t they?
But the thing is—they were faithful. Jesus was the focus of their days. They listened and they struggled and they did their best to follow where he led them. They did their human best to be the people God called them to be.
Today we are commissioning a good many of the people of this parish in the ministries they are called to do. Some of them—some of our Eucharistic ministers and readers and acolytes and Vestry members—have been serving in these ministries for some time. Some of them—
Eucharistic ministers, readers, acolytes and members of the Vestry—are committing themselves to new ministries—new paths in our community life. They all will be making promises to do the best they can to serve God in these ministries. And we will be making promises to support them in their service. Promises are important. It’s possible that we won’t fulfill our promises in the way we hope we will. We’re human, and we make mistakes. It’s possible that we won’t be perfect, but, like the disciples, we can do our best, with God’s help.
All of us will be making other promises in a very few weeks. On Easter, we will be renewing our Baptismal Covenant, the vows made at baptism. During the six weeks of Lent, we’ll have an opportunity to explore our vows, our promises to God. I hope this exploration will help us listen to Jesus’ commandments to love the Lord our God and to love our neighbors as ourselves. I pray this exploration will help us focus more closely on Jesus. And I wonder how we’ll be transformed by our Lenten journey.
My wondering about Lent began a few weeks ago. I saw a plaque in an on-line store, and I bought it. I was very excited when the package arrived, and I rushed to open it. As soon as I opened the flaps of the shipping box, I knew there was a problem. The box containing the plaque was loose in the larger box—cushioned with one piece of wadded up paper—clearly not enough to protect anything fragile from the assaults of life in the shipping lanes. I picked up the box like this. (sound of broken glass) Clearly, there was a problem. So I picked up the phone and called Coldwater Creek. I told the customer service person what had happened. She apologized and said they had been having some problems in that area. She said she would have another plaque sent and that she would put a note in the order to wrap it well. “Maybe,” she said, “maybe they’ll read the instructions this time.”
The second box arrived a few days later. I shook the shipping box. Nothing. So far so good.
Then I opened it and pulled out the smaller box. Still no sound. Then I took the plaque out of its box. It was completely intact, and I was delighted. Then I looked more carefully at it and started laughing. The word “Wonder” is not quite level. I immediately started wondering if I would be able to fix it, then laughed again. Our wondering will be what it will be, and we, despite our imperfection, will be the people God made us to be. As we celebrate the new ministries of the people of our parish, and as we look toward the beginning of our Lenten journey, I bid you to remember Jesus’ words: Do not be afraid.
We will try to do our best, we will make mistakes despite our best efforts, and God will continue to love us and bless us and claim us as God’s beloved children.
Thanks be to God.