St. Charles Episcopal Church – St. Charles, IL

Sunday, February 18, 2007                                                                                        
The Last Sunday after the Epiphany – Year C 

Exodus 34:29-35; 1 Corinthians 12:27-13:13; Psalm 99; Luke 9:28-36

The Rev. Elizabeth Meade                                                                                                                                

What is it with Peter?

He and Jesus and John and James have gone up the mountain so Jesus can pray. All of a sudden Jesus’ face and clothing turn a dazzling white – and then suddenly, two theological GIANTS appear with Jesus – Moses and Elijah, the text tells us – and Peter, utterly flummoxed, blurts out:

                        "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings…..”

Hello? The archetypical Triumverate of the Jewish world right there in front of him, and he wants to build a subdivision? The Law and the Prophets and the Savior of the World – and Peter decides on dwelling places? C’mon Peter.

Peter is doing, unfortunately, what many of us do. When a situation is too overwhelming, or too intense, or too emotional, it’s often the case that we act without thinking. We speak before we listen. In short, we panic. In facing the Divine, in big screen situations such as this one, we may do or say stupid things, or we may react in unthoughtful or unhelpful ways.

The humdingers usually happen at funerals. We’ve all heard the horror stories.

So-and-so said: “Oh, she’ll be better off with Jesus” or “You’re young, you’ll find another husband.”

And we all knowingly shake our heads and “cluck-cluck” at the insensitivity of those well-meaning comments. So filled with angst at saying the “right” thing, we often stumble, and say exactly the wrong thing. I call them Peter moments.

I was standing with a friend at her grandmother’s funeral a few years ago when her aunt approached us. With no forethought at all, the aunt looked at my friend and said, “Are you weird, Jackie? Weird like your mother?” It was one of those “HUH?” moments. We still shake our heads about it. It was one for the family history book. Outrageous. Un-called for, Un- necessary. But there it was – sitting there like an elephant in the room – unanswerable. It was a real Peter moment. The Aunt, feeling uncomfortable, just blurted out something – anything to her niece. Anything rather than silence. Anything – to fill the abyss.

I did a Peter blooper myself a couple of weeks ago at the hospital where I’m doing some Continuing Education this winter. I’d been called to sit with a family who was expecting twins. One of the twins had just been still born. It was a horrible time for the parents and it was hard for me to just sit there with them. After a while, out of my own need to offer them comfort – my own need to build a dwelling place for them I said, “It just doesn’t get any worse than this.” But it did. Two days later I was called back to their room, because the second baby had just been born – and died. It had gotten a lot worse. I felt a need to fill the chasm they faced, but the chasm couldn’t be filled. Duh, Liz. That was my Peter moment.

My point in bringing all this up is not so much to make us feel insecure about our insecurities and ineptitudes when it comes to pastoral care. My point is that we must be very aware of our own need to fill up empty space, and secondly, to examine what Scripture has to say about it.

Why wasn’t Peter’s inane comment just edited out? Why, after all these years, is this comment still sitting in all three of the synoptic Gospels: Matthew, Mark AND Luke? But there it is – the most HUMAN comment in the whole scene.

            “Master, It is good for us to be here. Let us make three dwelling places”

I think the reason that line is still in there is that points us to a very important lesson. First, we see no comment from Jesus. No judgment, no critique of Peter the way I have been critiquing Peter this morning. Just God’s voice, “This is my Son….. my Beloved. LISTEN to Him.”

There is No critique. No judgment brought down on Peter. There is simply this instruction – this bit of education: “This is my Son…. My Beloved. LISTEN to HIM.” Ahhhh… Listen, Peter. Listen…. Don’t talk. Listen instead of building houses. Just listen.

And isn’t that is what is hardest for all of us – even those of us who might think of ourselves as well-trained listeners? When faced with sacred space, when faced with The Divine One, when faced with anything bigger than ourselves, don’t we just tend to BLURT? Even in liturgical silence we get uncomfortable.

How long – if I just stopped talking right now – how long before someone would have to jiggle a bulletin, or shift their position?

We are a world used to input. A world where we are constantly bombarded by television, iPods, cell phones, laptops, and MUSAK. As we get busier and busier, more and more distracted, SILENCE – and just listening – becomes almost anachronistic. And yet, here is God’s voice emanating from a cloud saying: “Here is my Son, my Beloved. Listen to Him.” (Would Peter have even heard God’s voice if he had had his iPod headphones on?)

The 3^rd Century Greek Philosopher Diogenes said it this way:

“God gave us one tongue and two ears so we could hear twice as much as we speak.”

Do we listen – to God – and to each other – twice as much as we speak? When we pray, do we expect God to do the listening while we do the talking?

Composer John Powell says: “A good listener really wants to know the speaker.”

Do we really want to know God? Are we really listening FOR God and TO God? Listening in that holy silence – for that still small voice?

From this great “Charlton Heston moment” of Jesus’ transfiguration comes that still small voice. We may want to focus on why Jesus turned white, or about the symbolism of Moses and Elijah – the Law and the Prophets – being there, or about the fact that this scene somehow foreshadows Jesus’ forthcoming resurrection. There is so much theological meat here – but what about that still small voice? If we look solely at the still small voice in this passage, I think we will see the gentleness of Jesus with Peter – no criticism for his very human response. And we will see the gentleness of the Lord of the Universe when he says: “This is my Son. Listen to Him.”

That’s the message. That’s the lesson. Resist judging others, and Listen to Jesus. What more in the way of instruction do we need?

This Wednesday, at Ash Wednesday services, we will invite you to the observance of a Holy Lent with these words: I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a Holy Lent: by self-examination and repentance, by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.

Nowhere in there does it say we have to be building dwelling places. We need to be meditating, listening, and examining our lives.

This Lent, I invite you to such a place. A place where we listen more and talk less. Where we listen for that still small voice even in the face of large screen TVs.

Psalm 46 says: Be still, and know that I am God.

I will put it to you this way:

Be still and know that I am.

Be still and know.

Be still.

Be.

Amen.