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St. Charles' Episcopal Church - Saint Charles, IL
The Last Sunday after Epiphany - Last Epiphany -- Year B
Sunday February 22, 2009
2 Kings 2:1-12 - Psalm 50:1-6 - 2 Corinthians 4:3-6 - Mark 9:2-9
The Reverend William R. Nesbit, Jr.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

What a way to end Epiphany. We began with the far off light of a star and we end with Jesus blazing a dazzling white. It is fitting that we end on the mountaintop. The season of light will end on Wednesday as we plunge into the valley, the darkness of Lent. All of our lessons this week speak of encounters with God. And all are different.

In Second Kings it is chariots and horses of fire that come to carry away the prophet Elijah. For the psalmist it is the ultimate judge, surrounded by flame and storm. In Paul's Second Letter to the Corinthians it is the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ; a light that shines in our hearts. And in the Gospel of Mark it is a Jesus, dazzling white, speaking with Elijah and Moses. All are important to hear and remember.

All tell us something about the nature of God. but what makes the transfiguration different from the others? Clearly this episode was important to the early church, as it appears in all of the synoptic Gospels. What is it about this story that makes it so important? Why do we need to hear it over and over again? Christ himself, I think, gives us a clue. "Tell no one about what you have seen until after the Son of Man has risen from the dead." If this story is so important, why the injunction to keep it quiet? One reason might be simple practicality. If you can't get your mind around the resurrection, don't waste your time struggling with the transfiguration. The mystery of the transfiguration is only one small part of the greater mystery of Christ. But this story points us toward the deeper reality of Christ, the reality that Jesus Christ is at once fully God and fully human.

This reality is one of the central doctrines of the church, but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow. Like the disciples, it is easy for us to live with Jesus the man, an intimate friend and companion on our journey. And even when the road gets hard and our journey leads to Jerusalem and the cross we know we have a steadfast companion in Jesus. Sure, we may need to deny him on occasion, if the risk to ourselves gets too great, but he'll understand. He loves us for who we are. This is the comfortable Jesus. The safe Jesus. The good shepherd we meet as a child who watches over us and protects us. This is the Jesus that gets obliterated in the cloud on the mountaintop that day. In the transfiguration we catch a glimpse see something wholly different. We see the Messiah of world, the Son of God through whom all things were made, revealed in all righteousness and power and glory.

Sooner or later, by the grace of God, we will all have our mountaintop experience. And the safe and comfortable Jesus, the one we go to church to worship on Christmas and Easter, or on Sundays when it is convenient, is transfigured for us; in front of us. The bright white cloud of God's presence surrounds us, hiding us from the whirlwinds, and storms, and fires of the everyday world; and out of the sheer silence that follows, the word and will of God speaks clearly in our hearts. And the church becomes not a place we go to, but something we are. It is a time of joy and apprehension, excitement and terror. We know at last! The veil is torn from our eyes. We are different! We are changed! We too are transfigured.

And then Christ, our Lord comes to us and touches us and says, "Tell no one until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead." In all the light and emotion and power it is easy to miss this part of the story, but that is why, I think, this story is so important. Tell no one? Why? We want to tell the world. Shout it from the mountain top. But shouting does no good. Shouting only scares people away. It is only more whirlwind, and storm, and fire. We must wait. We must wait for the cool white cloud of God's transfiguring grace. And waiting is hard. One of the hardest lessons I had to learn as a Christian is that with all the education I have, with the ordination to the priesthood I have received, with the gift of my voice and all the other gifts for ministry I have been given, I cannot make one person believe. Ever. No matter how hard I want to or try to, and no matter how badly they need to. I can't wow 'em into it, I can't guilt 'em into it, I can't scare 'em into it, I can't teach 'em into it. And neither can you. Conversion, you see, is the work of the Holy Spirit.

But that is not to say that we are without responsibilities. There is something we can do. We can leave the light of mountain and go back into the darkness of the valley and let our light shine for others. Not at them, to try and light them up or change them, but simply to let them see in the dark. And we can invite them to the mountain. That is our work. It is principally a job of hospitality. For us in the church, Lent is a time when we look into the dark; The darkness within us, and the darkness that surrounds us. For those outside the church it is nothing new, for it is a darkness they live in all the time. Sadly, they know nothing else.

As we enter this season of Lent and leave the brightness of Epiphany behind, I would remind you to turn your metaphorical lights on, it's dark up ahead. Go out and look around out there in the dark. I'm sad to say, it's quite crowded. See if you can't find someone who might like a little fresh air and light. Invite them to come with you to the mountain. It could be someone you work with, or play with. It should be someone you care about. You may have forgotten, but you have a treasure to share. A treasure of unsurpassed value. We cannot expect them to come to us. We must go out and find them... and invite them... and wait. God will take care of the rest. Amen.