Transfiguration Sunday, Year B — Mark 9:2-8
I have a confession to make, one that some of you might not find all that revealing: the longer I’m in ministry, the more difficult it is for me to preach some stories in the Bible with integrity. By integrity, I mean being true to what I believe and think — and to what the Spirit urges me to preach. As you probably know, I don’t have any problems with people thinking differently than me; but I can only preach from within myself — with guidance from the Spirit. I can’t preach what SOMEONE else wants to hear; for me, that lacks integrity.
As a general rule, if I don’t feel I can preach a text with integrity without offending people, I avoid the text. I guess that’s a cop-out — but I’d rather do that then dance around the text without saying much of anything.
Today’s text is one I’ve chosen to avoid most of my ministry career. But someone challenged me to preach on it, saying that if anyone could “make sense of it,” I could. Maybe I should be flattered. Or maybe I should have enough sense to say: “Nope, not going there.” But I have a tendency to pick up gauntlets when they’re thrown down, even if it’s not the smartest thing to do.
Something else I’d like to share: when I sent my initial draft of this sermon to my two email study groups, it generated quite a bit of controversy. People talked about having visions and how they’re “real.” (I never said they weren’t.) Others insisted that a text HAD TO HAVE a message for TODAY — no matter how deep we have to go to find it and how obscure it might be to the overall story — my words, not theirs. I kept asking them to suggest the “message” — the “truth” that arises from this story; there was mostly silence. I guess it’s easy to dislike what someone else says, but lots harder to suggest other possibilities. So I was deeply appreciative of those colleagues who struggled with me, prodding me to keep searching. And this is what emerged — my “take” on today’s story….
The transfiguration of Jesus…is replete with otherworldly dimensions — clothes dazzling white, the appearance and disappearance of Moses and Elijah, a voice from a bright cloud.[1] I could invite you to imagine yourself in the same situation but let’s face it, this story taxes even the most vivid of imaginations!
If cameras existed back then, could this moment have been captured? Probably not. Maybe it wasn’t so much reality as a moment in the lives of these three disciples when their image of Jesus was transformed. Yet even that doesn’t make sense because, if we follow these disciples down the mountain, they don’t seem all that different after the event than before. And that would be REALLY strange. It seems inconceivable that a person could have such an experience and NOT be changed.
So are you beginning to understand why I’ve been inclined to dodge this text and preach on something else?
Many of my colleagues suggest that the question we’re supposed to ask of ANY text is: What is this story telling us? Well, I’m not sure that’s the right question because it wasn’t written for you and me but for Mark’s community. Mark wanted desperately to convince his listeners that a man known as Jesus of Nazareth was unique.
Remember how his gospel begins? The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God — the title “Christ” or messiah meaning “one anointed by God.”
The problem for Mark was that even though he may have believed that Jesus was “anointed by God,” Jesus’ life didn’t give him much to work with. The Jewish people had been waiting a very long time for a messiah, but Jesus didn’t “fill the bill” of WHO a messiah was supposed to be. A messiah was supposed to be someone like King David, conquering enemies and expanding the kingdom — building God’s nation on the blood and bones of its enemies. Palestine was an occupied nation and the people hoped and prayed for someone to come and vanquish the Romans.
But if there was anyone who wasn’t like that, it was Jesus. He had none of the attributes of David and no prophet had anointed him king. He was a wandering itinerant preacher; some even called him a miracle worker. But a messiah? He didn’t fit the image nor did he appear to want the title. Most often, he told his disciples to say nothing. Knowing people’s image of a “messiah,” he wouldn’t have been comfortable fitting that mold. He was no warrior.
That’s not to say he didn’t generate considerable antagonism during his lifetime; we know he did. But it wasn’t because he fought with weapons; if anything, he fought with words and deeds. And we can probably conclude — from the stories that circulated about him — that he knew his vision would bring him in direct conflict with those who were in power — both religious and political. You didn’t go around talking about the “empire of God” when everyone knew there was only ONE empire, the empire of Rome. That alone could get you killed as an insurrectionist. But more than that, Jesus continually annoyed the religious leaders, even though he was a devout Jew. He didn’t much seem to like all the rules and regulations that the priests had created to keep people in line; on more than one occasion, he either ignored them or broke them. The story about Levi that we shared last week was a wonderful example; it showed how Jesus drew people in, no matter how far out they were. And when the scribes criticized him, Jesus gave them the lowdown: “I’ve come to call not the righteous but sinners.”
That remark epitomizes Jesus’ life: THAT was what he was about. When Jesus said — as he often did — “The empire or kingdom of God is among you,” he meant that if we just followed his guidance and example, WE could bring the kingdom to fruition. It’s not some other-worldly place that we hope will await us when we leave this earth; it’s at our finger tips, waiting to burst forth from our actions. OUR actions — that is, IF we “listen to Jesus,” follow him, and reach out to people as he did.
But eating with tax collectors and sinners doesn’t go far if you’re trying to win friends and influence people. Even Peter’s blustery assertion that Jesus was the Messiah — made just before this mountaintop experience — probably did little to convince anyone that this preacher man fit the description. Mark seemed to know that none of this added up very well. So how could he convince people to follow this man Jesus if all he did were things most of us don’t want to do? And how do you take the commonly held definition of “Messiah” and make it something else? Spin. That’s how you do it. Like any good biographer, Mark used a little spin. Miracles are good, but transfiguration stories are even better!
The place has got to be right, so it’s got to be on a mountaintop. That’s where all the “good” action takes place. It’s where Moses met God, where he was given the Ten Commandments. It’s always got to be “up high,” close to where God is — at least in the minds of those in the first-century who believed in a three-tiered universe — with God occupying the “top layer.” Mountaintop experiences are bound to be awesome. After Moses encountered God, his face was said to have glistened so brightly that he had to cover it. Well, Mark figures he can go one better; everything about Jesus will glow, even his clothes. And just to make sure no one misses the point, he’ll add guest appearances by Moses and Elijah — representative of the Law AND the Prophets. And the coup de grace will be the voice of God announcing who Jesus is: “This is my son, the Beloved; listen to him.”
And there you have it: the Transfiguration — all the hope and glory that anyone could ever want — focusing upon ONE unique person. Mark shares this story of Jesus’ transfiguration in such a way as to show that Jesus stands NOT ONLY in the historic prophetic tradition of Moses and Elijah and in continuity with ancient Israel’s faith BUT ALSO with the church in Rome to which Mark was writing. This story said to both Jew and Gentile Christians that they belonged to the SAME faith tradition. The same God who had covenanted with Israel and inspired the prophets had now been fully realized in Jesus. God’s magnificent purpose of salvation designed before the creation of the universe was not just for one “chosen” people but was on-going.[2]
A really awesome story. The problem with mountains, however, is that we have to climb down. Amazing vistas may be mind-boggling, but we don’t live within the clouds so much as within the valleys — where Jesus lived.
Jesus lived a real life, yet most of Christianity skips right over it. Even the two historical creeds — the Apostles’ Creed and the Nicene Creed — ignore his life. They proceed from “born of the Virgin Mary” to “suffered under Pontius Pilate.” Anyone listening to these creeds hears only two things: Jesus was a miracle child and a sacrificial lamb. The question is: what about his life? How can we “listen” to Jesus if there are no words or actions to follow?
Yet despite what the creeds say, there was a great deal “in between” — and it mattered. Jesus’ life wasn’t lived on mountaintops. All we have to do is read the stories to understand that. Read the gospel of Mark. No miracle birth, not even a resurrection. What was most important to Mark was a man — a flesh and blood human being — who demonstrated what he thought and believed with his life. It was his LIFE that mattered, not the details of his birth or even his resurrection. He showed us with his life what was important to God. God isn’t concerned about rituals or sacrifices; to my knowledge, Jesus never went to the Temple and made any kind of sacrifice. What he offered instead was a glance, an invitation, a place at the table. He offered people himself, and he gifted them with whatever he could share.
But the bottom line to the Romans and the Jewish religious leaders was that he was an antagonist, stirring up crowds with a message that there might be something more for which they could hope. And no one in power wants anyone stirring the pot — and so they killed him.
But suppose, like Mark, you felt that within this man there was a message and a vision that shouldn’t, couldn’t die? Suppose you wanted his vision kept alive, wanted the people around you to know that this was no ordinary man but a man who had captured a vision of God that no one else had captured before? How do you relay that story? Do you just tell a few details about his life and HOPE people will get the point? Or do you create stories about him that will convince people that he wasn’t JUST a man, but the very messiah of God?
And that’s what this story of transfiguration is: it’s a dazzling story that offers followers something powerful to which they can cling. Freeze the moment, capture it for all eternity, and then create other stories that offer hope in the midst of despair! Because, let’s face it, when people are struggling to survive, it’s hard to follow a man who broke the rules and got in trouble with the authorities; it’s hard to follow a man who understood that suffering was an intrinsic part of anyone who caught a vision of God. When you’re already suffering, more suffering doesn’t have an appeal. People want a glorious leader, someone whom they follow NOT as a model, but whom they follow for what he can do for them. There’s a reason the movie, The Passion of the Christ, was so popular: it told of a man who suffered for others; the rest of his life was largely irrelevant. His LIFE was bypassed; his death — at least according to the movie — was the only thing that gave meaning to his life.
My “take” on the Transfiguration story isn’t because I don’t think “mountaintop experiences” happen. When Martin Luther King Jr. said he had been to the mountaintop, I believed him — because his LIFE revealed that he had caught a vision that mattered to the world.
Who knows? Maybe Mark also had a mountaintop experience that he translated into a story about Jesus. Or maybe he recalled other stories of God’s light shining forth to bring hope and felt Jesus carried that same light. And if that helped people follow Jesus — and LISTEN to him — then maybe that was a good enough reason to share the story.
Some people may need stories like this; I’m not sure I do. Glitz doesn’t impress me nearly as much as a LIFE of substance. And Jesus lived that life — down in the trenches with everyone he met. That’s where the “rubber hit the road.” But maybe, just maybe, mountaintops are necessary to buoy us for the work in the trenches. Amen.
This sermon was written by the Rev. Janet Weiblen, Intentional Interim Minister at Weston Christian Church. It can only be used with permission of the author. revj@kc.rr.com.
