Sermon by Reverend Dr. John W. Mann | February 11, 2024

Mark 9:2-9

The story from today’s bible reading is known as the “Transfiguration” of Jesus. It’s on the church calendar every year on the Sunday before the beginning of Lent. Lent is meant to serve as a time of reflection and renewal. Transfiguration means simply a “change in form or appearance.” The story is not like other stories about Jesus; in that it is not a parable in which he is teaching his followers some lesson; it is not an instruction whereby he wants his students to do something as a result.

When I work on a sermon, what I try to avoid is reinventing the wheel. Some stories we hear many times and the temptation for the preacher is to think that we have to say something new each time we tell them. The temptation would be to try to explain what the story means, to explain it away. I would rather approach stories like the transfiguration as if I were hearing it as poetry. There is more going on in it than what the eye sees, or the ear hears.

They went to mountain – apart by themselves.

Sometimes it helps to get away from your usual routine and surroundings. Like a retreat. A time set aside for special consideration – training purposes or professional redevelopment. Or simply to think and pray. Or do nothing and see what comes of it. The challenge is to find a place to be apart and by yourself. Not so much in terms of finding an isolated spot where there are no other people around; but in terms of living an experience in and of itself and for your own benefit; rather than for what others might think of it when you share it through social media.

Sometimes when you go on a journey, something will happen as a result. It happened for Jesus – he changed; he changed from within as if a light had been turned on. As if it weren’t enough that Jesus shone with the light of God, there appeared two others who were talking to him. Moses and Elijah, they said. We can ask questions of proof and practicality such as, “How did they know it was them?”

Maybe describing the indescribable is like putting a name to it. When you are witness to something of beauty or majesty that defies language what do you do with it?

You say, “That is a mountain.”

You say, “That is a sunset.”

You say, “That is a symphony.”

Maybe you try to capture the moment with a photo or recording. But that capturing merely touches the surface of the experience. Or you can think of it in terms of poetry and just let it be. Rather like when Moses encountered God who said, I AM WHO I AM.” The story will be what it will be.

One time a guy named Davey called me. I had never met Davey, but he lived in my parish. He said that he was dying, and he wanted to tell me his life story, so that when I conducted his funeral, I would know him. I appreciated that. We had some good conversations over the last few months of his life. Davey’s story was simple – he wanted me to know that his life had meaning, and I could reflect on that meaning when the time came.

What I say at funerals I have said before. It is not possible to reinvent something brand new for every occasion. I always remind people that no matter what we say about their loved one, we are only scratching the surface of their lives.

But what makes each funeral service unique is the person who has died. He or she is someone’s one and only – mother, father, husband, wife, son, daughter, sister, brother, grandparent or grandchild. Some death is expected, perhaps even welcomed. Much of it is not. However, it comes, it comes with grief.

In that unique setting, I say the same things time after time – We are all touched with a portion of God’s Spirit. God is love and it is to the degree that we give and receive love that we touch upon God’s purpose for our lives. None of us lives in vain, labours in vain, gives or receives love in vain. Within the eternal purpose of God each of us are worth more than we can ever calculate.

Our task is to go forth to live our hopes, not our fears, knowing we are held in holy hands by a love that will never let us go. Sometimes when we feel the absence most dearly, we know that the same holy hands that hold us in love, are also holding those who are absent from us.

On the mountain with Jesus, Peter wanted to capture the moment. His saying that they should build three shelters, one each for Jesus, Elijah and Moses was a way of saying, “Let’s hold onto this for as long as we can.”

It was his way of saying, “Quick, where’s my phone!”

• It would be nice to be able to go there and plug into that spiritual electricity any time we wanted. Keep the excitement going. Just knowing it was there would be enough sometimes.  If Peter were to have built his three shelters, then over time folks could go back and improve them. They could decorate them and make them bigger. They could build them out of solid materials and put seating areas inside them.

Some people would say, “We go to the Moses place.”

Some people would say, “We go to the Elijah place.”

Some people would say, “We go to the Jesus place.”

In time the people in each place would think they had it best, better than the other two. And in time there would be differences of opinion within the three places and people would split off and form up new associations – the “True Moses Place,” “People of the Only Elijah Way,” “First United Followers of Jesus.”

In time you could go to the mountain and have your pick from amongst thousands of shelters in homage to the conversation between Jesus, Moses and Elijah discussing what Jesus would accomplish when he soon departed in Jerusalem. If something has meaning, then you can charge admission for the experience. Just because something is sacred doesn’t mean that a price tag won’t be put on it.

A cloud overshadowed and a voice spoke from the cloud. .

Events were getting out of hand. It is one thing to react by wanting to capture the moment, but when the moment captures you, that can be a whole new experience. One of fear – the difference between the exhilaration of skiing down the mountain and suddenly being caught up in an avalanche.

Or the difference between thinking that we know the mind of God and experiencing the mystery of the awesome unknowing – the stark reality that God does not conform to our framework of thinking. Sometimes we come across stories from the bible in which people face some fearful reality and they are told – Fear not! Shepherds “in the fields nearby” or Jesus showing up after he had been sealed within a tomb. No reason to be afraid here.

Not so on the mountain. No calm assurances – just a voice from the cloud – from within the mystery that is God – saying two things –

This is my Son, my Beloved – stating the obvious, but to whom? Jesus? He was already in conversation with other luminaries from the other side, so he probably didn’t need convincing. Perhaps the voice from the cloud was meant as a “word to the wise” to Peter and his tendencies to want to capture the moment.

Some things need to be memorialized as a way of remembering. Other things, like life and the spirit of life need simply to be lived. Lived with a reminder, listen to him. Listen to your surroundings; listen to what life is telling you.

What might he be telling you, if you listen? That most likely depends on the situation at hand, where you are, where you’re going and who you’re with.

Listen, that’s not so difficult – but it might be.

What is he pointing out about your situation?

Where have you been and where are you going?

Who is he telling you to love?

Who is he telling you to serve?

What happened next is that everything went back to the way it was. No more Moses and Elijah; the cloud dissipated; Jesus was no longer shining. But…

Once you see, you cannot un-see.

Once you hear, you cannot un-hear.

Sacred moments are better contained by the heart and soul than by a snapshot.

Imagine the scene – Jesus and his friends come down from the mountain and they meet up their friends and families. People ask, “How was your retreat?”

Peter says, “Yeah, it was alright.”

James says, “Fine, it was fine.”

John says, “Not bad.”

Jesus says, “It was kind of cloudy up there.”

For a long time, they told no one about their time on the mountain. How do you put into words the mystery of the Spirit? Later on, one of them who had been on the mountain tried to put things into words as best he could. He wrote things such as –

God is love.

The Spirit is like the wind, it blows where it will. You feel it, you even catch it, but you never control it. If you feel the need to share it, share it wisely.

Amen.