February 18, 2007: CHANGED AND DIFFERENT
Luke 9:28-43, Psalm 90
Eileen Parfrey - Springwater Presbyterian Church

Rick's primary advantage over all of you is that he can question the direction sermons have been taking. Last week he thought I might be harping about discipleship. His concern arose not a moment too soon, since today's story of Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration is the culmination of Epiphany, the season of discipleship harping. Well, maybe not "harping." Epiphany season asks who Jesus is and what it means to follow him, and following means discipleship. How convenient that Transfiguration Sunday is the culmination and gives an answer to those questions! A supernatural light show, and the answer to "Who is Jesus?" comes from a disembodied Divine Voice saying, "This is my Son!" meaning, Jesus is God-with-and-for-us. Followed by the Divine imperative, "Listen to him!" Biblish for "Follow him." Ever the subtle gospel writer, Luke hides the theological rationale in a story about a frantic father, a son who needs healing, and the ineptitude of the disciples. The rationale is the Year of Jubilee, the Jewish constitutional (but utopian) provision for social and economic justice to be enacted every 50 years. We're not sure Jubilee was actually practiced in the Old Testament, but was a religious hope, a Messianic sign. For Luke, the logical consequence of seeing Jesus transfigured was supposed to be, "Enough with the way things are, we'll do things the way they oughta be!" Messiah's logical consequence.

The Transfiguration story comes every year, but only in the Luke years do we get Jesus so impatient to get on with putting Jubilee into action. He snaps at his disciples and criticizes their ineffective faith. I'd been sort of hoping for a little something that would help me get ready for Lent, a little "strength for the journey," something less about guilt, a little more practical for how we live. Wouldn't it be more encouraging to be blinded and overpowered by God's holiness? Couldn't our discipleship get juiced up from the booming, "This is my Son! Listen to him!" I prefer my God to be holy, definitely "not like me," I like the booming and light show. It leaves God high enough to see the whole picture, to get the whole range of time. I'd like to know holiness, just not get too intimate. But no. This is a God who wants to be in on the details, the nitty gritty. A "holy God," but "holy" that won't stay put on a mountain, "holy" that insists on coming down and getting permanently and inseparably involved in what we're doing. In our lives.

A "holy" that thinks it has some helpful pointers for our personal struggles with "the way things are" and "the way they oughta be." Marriages oughta grow as the partners grow (but the daily-ness of life gets in the way). Government oughta look out for those who can't (but politics get in the way). Churches oughta be generous with mission (but giving levels get in the way). Children oughta respect their parents (but how parents treat kids can get in the way). Limitations, so many things that get in the way. Miracles we can't make happen, healings we can't bring about. The father's desperate sense of helplessness, the disciples' frustrated powerlessness-it's ours! Even doing all the right things can never be enough to bring Jubilee, the kingdom come.

Many of you know I'm expecting to become a grandmother this summer. My daughter, the mother-to-be, is the sort of person who plans ahead, and so she told us the boy and girl names they'd picked out. We now know the baby is a boy, but had it been a girl, she would have been named "Pandora Quandary." This is a decision for the parents, not the grandparents, so I don't say anything. Except to share it in the spirit of engaging in an appreciative chuckle with a few people. I told my spiritual director the name as we prepared to get down to serious talk about the practical implications of trusting God. But we were interrupted by what I can only call an "interior vision," my own mountaintop experience.

I had a sense that God was offering me a fabulous gift, something I could almost see in the room with us. The gift came in a golden lidded box, tied with a wide, gold ribbon. The bow was large and, since it was a gift for me, I knew I was invited to open it. I didn't know what it was, but my quandary was that I was both apprehensive and excited about it, both fearful and pleased about the box's contents. The story of another box came to mind-the box that contained all the world's woes, let loose when Pandora's curiosity got the better of her and she opened the box she had been warned not to open. Despite my fears, I knew I had to open the box. I reached out, tugged the gold ribbon, and it fell gently to the floor. All that was between me and receiving the gift was a lid. Again a quandary! All I had to do was lift the lid. I could leave the box and nothing would happen, and it was a risk, but I wanted so badly to open it. As I lifted the lid, nothing happened. I peered into the box. Nothing. No whirlwind of pain and suffering, sickness and war, starvation and loss. Nothing. Then I realized the contents had already left the box, permeated me, the room, the world, everything.

It was the love of God. The gift was God's love. I wanted to stay in that room, with that box. But what would be the point? God remote in holiness, God intimate in holiness. God's holiness expressed in me. Experience that moment of holiness, friends, of intimacy. Overcome your quandary. But then to go out and live Jubilee-live "the way things oughta be." Today we are given a tangible piece of God's holiness, a moment at the mountaintop. We take in our hands a piece of bread, dip it into the wine, and then in an intimate gesture, we place it in our mouths. Christ present in us, through us in the world. Transforming the energy, the presence, the courage, of that bread and wine into the energy, presence, and courage of God's people. In the here-and-now. Sacrament, transforming the world. For God's sake.