Faster Than Peter: Recent Episodes
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I spend a great deal of time praying with icons. The meaning written into these “windows to heaven” shine new light onto my contemplation. The details matter. The poses and postures pull meaning from the great mysteries of our faith. On this Feast of the Transfiguration I find myself drawn to these symbols with the story and Icon of this holy day: Postures of Awe, Voices of Affirmation, and Sentinels of Solidarity.
Postures of Awe
Many depictions of Peter, James and John see the inner circle of Jesus sensorily overwhelmed by the Transfiguration. Light, sound, even reverence for the prophetic pillars of their faith explode leaving the three prone on the ground. And Jesus Christ is at the center, throwing off the veil of his humanity to reveal his divinity. The Apostles are throttled by the infinite realities exploding in and out of their Christ. Everything is possible with this Jesus and nothing is possible without him. Apathy, cynicism, and despair are enveloped by radiance. I’m left wondering how often we accept Jesus’ invitations to take on postures of awe and nourish ourselves with the infinite?
Voices of Affirmation
Again, like the angel choirs at the nativity with the dove and voice at the Jordan we hear the supernatural testimony imploring us to trust Jesus, even if he is only at the edge of our comprehension. Although their voices are transcendent their message can be echoed even in our mortal throats: “trust in him.” We participate in the work of angels and even God when we pass on their exhortation. How often do we miss our chance to exercise the great privilege of proclaiming the good news we hear again today on the mountain of Transfiguration?
Sentinels of Solidarity
The conversation among Jesus, Moses and Elijah is a secret to us but Elijah and Moses tells us all we need to know with their feet. Standing next to Christ they lend their comprehendible dignity to the Christ who came as a blue collar worker in a backwater town. How often are we lending our own dignity to those whose dignity is obscured by racism, classism, homophobia and other blinding agents of the enemy. How do these sentinels of solidarity invite us to evangelize with our feet?
These symbols renew the charge we are given as baptized Christians but not without refreshing us with a power not our own. They put a claim on our life but not without giving us the life of the eternal. The joy of abundant life in Christ is that we have no claim to keep something we earned. Stasis tempts the renewed person to “stay here always.” But the power of the Transfiguration is only fully realized upon leaving the mountain. The posture of awe empowers us to proclaim the good news and to stand in solidarity with the marginalized. The mountain will always be there on our way to mission but never a place to stay. And we will never be asked to carry our cross to death without being given a glimpse at the source of light and life. Christ invites us into the same life we see on the mountain, a life that is not only bigger than death but one that swallows the sting, leaving only another tool for our sanctification from glory into glory. And leaving us lost in wonder, love, and praise.
We often hold this service at night so more people can attend. But I was purposeful in scheduling it at noon today. Sure, Jesus was handed over at night be he died in broad daylight. At noon his hands were nailed to the cross. He died for three hours. As those minutes of agony ticked by, the shadows grew longer. As we sit in the nave today, we now see those same strange shadows begin to creep.
Jesus’ has had many opponents in his story but really only one enemy. It has hidden in the dark until today. At the beginning of Lent you were asked to confront your own mortality. You were reminded that every life lives in a shadow. We all live in the shadow of death. We remind ourselves as a community that we cannot deny death’s existence. We do this together because as individuals we are all too quick to put death in the back our minds and try to forget it. And Death loves to hide there, out of sight always in the shadows.
But here on Good Friday, the shadows cannot hide. The other players are off the board. It is Jesus and death now.
Like us, Jesus has lived his life in the shadow of death. Halfway through the Gospel story, Jesus tells us death is real and has great power. His disciples do not want to admit it. Those whom he has taught the most miss this crucial part of Jesus’ saving plan. Death must be confronted. But of all of Jesus’ opponents, why is death the hardest to accept?
Unlike other opponents, Death gives us power.
Death empowers us to make our worst decisions.
Our primal fear of survival helps us to justify what we could safely call myriad sins.
We do what we must to survive.
Death whispers lies in our hearts “it was either them or you, you did what you had to do.”
“You must lie. If you didn’t lie, you might get in trouble.” “You might lose your job and we all know where that road leads to..”
“Do it. Do it now. If not now, when? You might never get another chance. Do it or you’ll regret it!”
“Don’t trust them! They always mess it up! You know it all depends on you!”
“I cannot believe they get all of that.” “Can no one see we need it more?” “We’re dying here!”
“Those people want to overpower you.” “They want to take away your way of life.” “Hurt them before they can hurt you!”
Death addicts us to control.
And from this addiction we make systems of that perpetuate our control. Death hides in cruel philosophies of racism, empire, colonialism, classism, and sexism. It comforts our wincing consciences by saying these are all necessary to keep us safe, to keep death at bay. These things help us stay in control.
Or at least to the illusion of control. Really, we just become subject to the control of our worst instincts, our lesser angels.
If we had sense, we might ask ourselves “why would we want someone like us in control anyway?”
But there is another way. We need not choose death. Today, Jesus invites us to follow the way of love.
Love frees us to give up control.
It empties itself of power, glory, and might.
The holy one emptied himself of all of these that he might join us in our humanity. He followed the path of love his whole life. He did not choose rich parents, a posh hometown, or powerful friends. He did not choose a place of privilege in the Roman Empire. He was surprised and disappointed in his incarnation. He made and lost friends. He confronted religious figures who let him and others down. He forgave the sins of those who felt they were beyond atonement.
He was executed by an elaborate web of fear, jealousy, empire and control, all conspiring to put love down once and for all.
And indeed, Jesus’ crescedoing love peaks here on Good Friday. Today, Love confronts death. Jesus so fully embodies love that he surrenders all control to these powers. His love never stops, it never flinches.
As we linger in the shadows, I ask that you confront the ways death controls you. Who do you diminish to stay big? Who do you hurt to stay safe? Who and what do you kill to stay alive? How do you sin to save your control? Who do you let sin on your behalf?
These are hard questions to face but Jesus is on hard wood that you might have faith; faith in his love so that you might interrogate yourself as he was interrogated; that you might confront the power death has in your life as Christ confronted the power death had over the world. He walked toward death that you might walk away. He followed love so that you might follow too. Will you follow? Are you ready to leave the shadows?
Sanctus Christus de Capel-y-ffin 1925 David Jones 1895-1974 Presented by the Friends of the Tate Gallery 1983 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/T03677
Staring out my window, I watch the snow accumulate. A priest from Eswatini who served for a
time in Iowa once said, “I could never appreciate the words of the hymn ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’
until I moved to Iowa. Now I understand ‘snow on snow on snow.’” I am saddened because the
persistent precipitation has canceled my plans to visit parishioners at care center and meet some
truly special people. I am forced to watch the white stuff pile higher and higher and postpone my
fun afternoon.
Perhaps it’s the priest in me, but this moment draws my attention to the light, dusty ashes we will
use to begin what we pray is a holy Lent. Like the snow, the ashes of Lent stop us. They
inaugurate a season in which we are called to pause business as usual. It is a time when busyness
ought to ebb and stillness flow.
There is, of course, a temptation to work ourselves harder. Some see Lent as a spiritual workout
program where we fill our schedules with “God stuff” and try to push ourselves to be better
Christians. As I sit in my living room watching the snow put a pause on my plans, I am reminded
that the ashes of next Wednesday invite me to do the same.
What if, instead of filling our Lent with exercises and programs, we filled it with rest, quiet, and
stillness? Maybe then, instead of filling ourselves up, we would leave room for God to do the
filling. We have countless examples in the Bible of God using our quiet, stillness, and even rest
for her glory and revelation. I might even suggest that it takes more faith to trust that God will use
such fallow times rather than busying ourselves with what we think we need.
Today as I try to let my disappointment dissipate, I am comforted that God can use even an
unexpected snow day for my edification. I am reminded that even under the snow the soil readies
itself for planting. On Wednesday I will invite you to observe a Holy Lent. The question is, will
we try to consecrate the time ourselves or will we offer God the freedom and space to work in
ways beyond our control and in ways we cannot yet imagine?
I wonder what your Lent would look like if you set aside the first ten minutes of your morning
and remembered the psalmist’s words “be still and know that I am God.” Would that be enough? I
guess I cannot answer that for you, but God is known to do quite a bit with such an offering.
However you choose to observe Lent, know that you will be in my prayers. May God sanctify all
we do and bless our rest as we endeavor together.
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