Pulling Back the Veil: Sermon for the Feast of the Transfiguration, August 6, 2023

When I was a kid, my mother bought me a little microscope at a hobby shop in Southland Mall, and a set of glass slides. This was pretty awesome as a gift, because it reminds me that I have ALWAYS been a nerd. I mean really, how many little six-year old kids are thrilled with the gift of a microscope? Dolls I could take or leave, except my Mrs. Beasley doll, but I used that microscope for the next three years to look at all kinds of things—blades of grass, creek water, butterfly wings, and, my favorite, my own blood. That was a trip. It was amazing how something that looked one way with the unaided eye looked completely different with the aid of some magnification and some light.

Magnification and light also were at work in the telescope my brother got about the same time with books and books of S and H green stamps—remember them? This was right about the time of the later moon landings, too. We would train that telescope on the moon, hoping that we could actually see the astronauts walking on the lunar surface. The cheap telescope my family could afford really was not nearly capable of that amount of magnification and resolution, but we still would see some of the features of the moon more clearly than we ever had before. We also saw that some of the things we thought were stars were actually planets!

I actually experienced objects differently once my knowledge of them had been changed through a shift in perception. I became aware- and for a little kid, weirded out—by the idea that that blade of grass was made up of thousands of green cells that looked like bricks, and that my blood wasn’t just red liquid but was made up of all kinds of weird round things floating in it. My mother never again had to tell me to not swallow pond water after I saw all the weird little critters like water fleas and bacteria flailing around in a drop of it.

Those experiences with the microscope and the telescope completely transformed my perception of the natural world. Microscopes and telescopes don’t just magnify light, they remind us that our world is so much more complex than what we see as we take things for granted in the hurry-scurry of our lives. And that is infinitely more true about the life of faith in God, as the Transfiguration reminds us.

It’s like that engraving on the side mirrors on your car: “Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear.” Things are really NOT as they appear. They are greater. And if that is true about a blade of grass, that is abundantly true about Jesus.

I’m not one who tends to hold with the idea that God “gives” us experiences for a reason. I’m more inclined to think that, later on, we attach the reason to the experience, particularly if the experience was difficult at the time we went through it, like when someone you thought was a friend betrays you, or someone takes a dislike to you for no discernible reason.

I will admit that I found a great saying about that hanging on a plaque in an Ace hardware store a few years back. It said, “There are two reasons why people are in your life-- to be a blessin’, or to be a lesson.” That saying made me laugh, but it once again makes a point about perspective, as well as about learning how to deal with challenges in our lives that can seem to make no sense. I do think we comfort ourselves or allow ourselves to move on in life by making meaning wherever we have an experience that puzzles or frightens us. But the experience of the Transfiguration IS given to us as both a blessing and a lesson. Taking it seriously invites us to open our minds to the understanding that whatever we think of Jesus as the Son of God, he, and God, are far greater than whatever understanding we have.

In today’s gospel reading, we see one of the most astounding perception-shifting passages in the Bible, and that is saying something. Jesus has been hinting to the disciples that he is more than what he seems to be, but they don’t get it. And let’s be fair—why should they? There certainly hasn’t been anyone like Jesus before.

The last few weeks, we’ve been hearing Jesus trying to encourage us to shift our perceptions with his parables. He’s been telling us outrageous stories that were deliberately exaggerated and extravagant in describing the abundant, profligate generosity, mercy, and grace of God. To remind us that no matter how amazing we think God is, God is far beyond what our imaginations can conceive.

Now we flip to this account from Luke, and we are shown an unaccountable, fantastic event that tears at the fabric of our understanding of reality. What if WE are also being invited to have our perception transfigured, so that we can live our most fulfilled, most amazed lives by perceiving the glory of God in our midst? 

Have you ever had such an experience? Felt just a brush of God's glory spread over you and make you feel fully alive?

That is exactly what God’s presence in our lives does. God approaches us over and over to pull our perception up out of the puny horizons of our meager striving to see that there is something greater on just beyond the horizon of our limited sight. What if we allowed ourselves to be right alongside Jesus’s friends and be blown away by the wonders of God’s presence in our lives all around us, instead of simply trying to engage in a transaction with God to save our souls but otherwise leave us alone to do as we please?

Their perception of Jesus shifts, and suddenly they see him more for who he really is, both human AND divine, the very things we drone through about believing, without thinking too much about it, every week in the Nicene Creed. Sounds simple when you say it, but it is obvious from a careful listening to the gospel that the Christians of Matthew’s time were still struggling to figure out who exactly Jesus is, just as we also are all these hundreds of years later. Listen to how raw and fragmented the parts of the story are, and how little explanation there is. They thought they knew Jesus, as frustrating as his speaking in parables and answering questions with questions could be. But here in the Transfiguration we are reminded that he is far more.

Just like with Moses, if we are really confronted with even a glancing blow of encounter with God’s glory, it overwhelms us. So we allow—and even seek out-- a veil to be placed between the true fabric of reality in God’s universe, and our everyday existence. But in doing so, we also make it easier to ignore the everyday wonders of God’s presence in our lives. We end up being comfortable—but also blind.

It doesn’t help that the story depicts Jesus as changing. It’s important to realize that Jesus was-- and is-- as he appeared at that moment all along. Only the veil between his two natures was more forcefully pulled aside at that moment. Rather than saying that Jesus has changed, it’s more precise to say that the perception of Jesus is changed by this experience on the mountain. The perception we have of Jesus as a wisdom teacher and faith-healers is expanded by this glimpse into his true nature as the Son of God. And Peter’s there to see it all—kind of showing him what is really meant by his proclamation of Jesus as the Messiah. The glory of God that exists on the other side of the veil is real.

In the 60s and 70s, there was a lot of effort made by certain theologians to try to discover what they called “the historical Jesus,” and by that they meant they one whose presence could be verified by actual documentary evidence. Of course, what happened as this quest progressed was a stripping away of all of the things that would have made Jesus anything other than a first century Jewish peasant, and often people weren’t left with very much to actually believe in about Jesus. That’s why it is good to remind ourselves that we are engaged not in a scientific experiment, but in a quest of faith throughout our lives—not that there is anything wrong with scientific experiments mind you, because I am a BIG fan of science. Don’t misunderstand me. But science and faith sometimes do not ask the same questions. Science asks “what?” and “how?” But faith asks “what does it mean?” and “how do we live faithfully?” and “what is good?”

So what does the Transfiguration mean? What the disciples saw in this experience will never be fully captured in words or descriptions, or explained by science, probably. But one thing that is implied by this story is that Jesus is not merely a human being, limited to a human lifespan, but he is the fulfilling of the law and the prophets—that’s what is suggested by the appearance of Moses, the law-giver, and Elijah, the greatest of prophets. Jesus is the Christ, not just a dust-covered Jewish peasant and prophet.

The Transfiguration is not just the story of a magic trick. And I believe it is NOT a parable. I believe it actually occurred so to remind us of the amazing reality of God’s presence and glory all around us—even in a blade of grass or a drop of water—or the real love that God has for each and every one of us, puny as we are. And that can be overwhelming. We need tiny doses of that sort of thing at a time. That’s why, at the end of the story, Jesus does that most human thing of all to bring his friends back from their amazement—he touches them with his hand, reminding them that he is ALSO still their pastor and friend. And so he does for us today. 

Open your eyes to see beyond the veil, unafraid, for the same Christ who dazzles with God’s glory is the same Christ who loves us.

Amen.


Preached at the 505 on August 5 and the 10:30 Principal Holy Eucharist at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.


Readings:
Exodus 34:29-35
2 Peter 1:13-21
Psalm 99 or 99:5-9
Luke 9:28-36

Prayer, day 2841: Inspired by Caedmon's Hymn

O God the Maker, whose creation
brings forth stuttering praises of awe and wonder
from the untutored tongues of your children,
our hearts overflow with your marvelous love.

Holy One, you weave the silken tapestry of heaven,
glorious to drink in and refresh our faith,
spread overhead like the canopy of a mighty oak
drawn anew to contemplate the depth of your wisdom.

Our feet firmly planted among the grasses,
our eyes lifted to the spangled expanse
of the roof of the world You have made, World-Warden;
we stretch heavenward like tender saplings.

You have fashioned this Earth as our home,
and made it holy by the work of your fingers
for all to rejoice in your bounty.

Gratitude and wonder are the foundation of our prayer,
surging up like a spring of water from our souls.

And now, O Creator,
gather our swirling thoughts
within the bounds of your mercy,
and grant your blessing upon us,
and all who turn their hearts to your light.

Amen.

Prayer 2553: Inspired by Psalm 19

O God, our hearts rise to you
carried aloft on the dawn chorus of birds:
may our praise song resound forever
as night whispers its secret dreams to the rising light.

By your wisdom and art
You have made the tapestry of the heavens;
the firmament is filigreed, a tracery of constellations,
spangled and aflame with light, visible and invisible,
to testify to your handiwork,
O Creator and Lover of All.

In awe and delight,
may our hearts burst forth in service to You,
O God of Splendor,
for like the heavens we too are marvelously made,
and You care for us and hold us safe,
nurturing us and calling us to innocence and truth.

Save us from the presumption of sin,
from the arrogation of your will for ours;
may we seek the good of each other humbly,
in willing assent to your commandments.

And so, O Holy One,
may we walk gently upon the earth this day,
companions in your Way of Reconciliation and Hope.
Lift up the hearts of all who are troubled,
O God Our Portion and Shield,
and soothe the cares of those whom we now name.

Amen.

Prayer 2373

Wondrous Creator,
all that is has been hallowed
and shaped by your loving hand:
help us to see the wisdom and beauty
You have woven into the fabric of creation,
and knit into the bones of all living beings,
from rock and tree to stranger and friend.
We are tiny seedlings seeking your light,
O Holy and Blessed Maker:
make us mighty redwoods in the grove off your kingdom,
interconnected at our roots by love and faithfulness.
Help us to grow upright with integrity, Blessed Savior,
generously giving comfort to others
like the cool shade of a glade at noonday.
Lead us, O Spirit of God,
to stretch our arms ever toward each other,
and to be a blessing for the world.
Grant your mercy, O God,
on all the concerns we bear in our hearts,
and grant your peace to those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer 2360

In humility and awe,
we come before our God,
who welcomes us and fills us with blessing,
who calls us to courage and hope.
Lord Jesus, lead us into wisdom and compassion,
renouncing the foolishness and hatred that divides us.
Make us beacons of peace and justice,
renouncing the hopelessness, fear and vengeance
that causes us to hurt each other.
Help us follow in your footsteps
of mercy and healing,
proclaiming the peace of God
and love of Christ in every moment.
Give us faith in your creation
and your image in each other,
remembering that you formed us in love 
to be Spirit-filled people.
Gather us to your embrace, O Holy One,
and extend the shade of your blessing
to those we now name.

Amen.

The Heavens Are Telling: Speaking to the Soul, August 23, 2017

Moment of Totality, August 21, 2017, Lonedell, MO.

Along with millions of other people, my husband and son and I were excited to learn that we were living in the path of the solar eclipse this week. I remembered seeing the partial eclipse in 1979 when I was a kid in Tulsa, and it was an amazing experience. Wanting to fully experience the full effect this time, we decided to travel a few miles from our home to a retreat center fully in the path of totality that also had a sweeping vista that would allow us to see much of the horizon around us.

For more than an hour, using glasses and cameras with eclipse filters, we watched the shadow of the moon interpose itself over the sun. With the help of special apps, we were able to input our location and be told exactly when it was safe to look at the eclipse directly at the time of full coverage.

As totality approached, the shadows on the ground grew sharper. Although we were surrounded by all kinds of wildlife, a profound stillness and silence began as the shadow of the moon slipped completely over the face of the sun. For many seconds there was silence—and the light turned a bluish-purple the likes of which I have never seen before. Stars and planets appeared overhead.

From a nearby town, we could then hear people shouting in amazement. Some people nearby set off a burst of fireworks. But mostly, for 2 minutes and 40 seconds, it was like a curtain was drawn back from across the heavens, and the stars and planets seemed to vibrate to a lilting praise song to the Almighty.

I had been led to expect darkness, but there was actually a living presence of light that dazzled the eye, especially after all those minutes spent wearing eclipse glasses. The temperature dropped significantly. The wind grew still so that even the trees seemed to hold their collective breath.

It’s funny. In the writings such as the books of Joel 3, Isaiah 13, or Job 9, the darkness similar to solar eclipses was represented as signs of God’s wrath, invoking feelings of terror and dread. But those were not the scriptural images that came to mind.

Instead, I was reminded of the passages in Psalm 89 and in Deuteronomy 10:14-19 that reminds us that “heaven and all the heavens of heaven,” and the Earth and all that is in it belong to God. Not only are we are blessed to be given this beautiful, fragile speck of a planet that carries us through the vast expanse that lay before me in the middle of the day, we are also charged and trusted to care for creation, including each other, in humility and service, as the passage in Deuteronomy affirms in covenantal language.

I recalled Psalm 8, Psalm 102, and Psalm 19, which portray the heavens as the awe-inspiring work of the fingers of God, plaiting together the very fabric of heaven, fashioning the celestial bodies and setting them on their courses as a master craftsman, felt with the psalmist the deep humility invoked by the wonders that spun before us overhead. This last text especially came to me as I reeled in wonder, and I remembered Haydn’s use of it in his oratorio on the Creation:

The heavens are telling the glory of God,
The wonder of His work displays the firmament.
In all the lands resounds the word.
Never perceived, ever understood,
ever, ever, ever understood.

The heavens are telling the glory of God,
The wonder of His work,
The wonder of His work displays the firmament.

All too soon, it was over, and the blue opaque curtain fell back across the sky as the sun began to emerge from behind the shadow of the moon. The birds and insects resumed their songs. The surrounding countryside seemed to shake itself from its collective-breath-holding, exhale, and resume.

The people in the next town gave another great shout, and then, being true Midwesterners, probably scrambled into their cars to take part in creating a 50-mile-long traffic jam on all the major highways leading away from the path of the eclipse. For another hour, the eclipse subsided overhead. And yet, the resounding echo of the music of the heavens lingered in my ear as it never had to me before, a low susurration resident in the beautiful stillness of the amethyst light that lay over us like a mantle.  Yet we are reminded, even now, that the heavens ARE telling the glory of God, and calling on us to do the same.

(This was first published on Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul, August 23, 2017.)