Matt 17:1-9

 

            I have always had a hard time figuring out why transfiguration Sunday comes just before Lent. It always seemed like such a random placement, as if the lectionary people didn’t know quite what do with this episode and had to put it somewhere, so here it is. Well, I may finally have stumbled upon an answer. 

            As is often the case, Peter is the guy to keep your eye on in this story. As usual, he provides both comic relief and some important insight.

 

            What happened was that Jesus took his three most trusted disciples; Peter, James, and John on a hike up into the mountains. While they were up there, something really strange happened. Jesus began to glow with an intense brightness. His face shone and his clothes became blinding white, an effect that some of us saw quite vividly in the Jesus Christ Superstar production this past week.

 

            There weren’t a lot of witnesses to this transfiguration event. A total of four. By the process of elimination, we can pretty well figure out who reported this story. It wasn’t Jesus, because he made the others promise not to talk about it until after he was gone. Not likely Peter, because this story makes him look like such a dork. Human nature being what it is, he certainly would have told it a little differently. Probably not John because this story doesn’t appear in the Gospel of John, which provides the perspective of John or his followers. So the reporter in this case had to be James.

 

            James tells us that he sees in this blinding light that Jesus is talking to two old and long dead Old Testament people, Moses and Elijah. I admit I have never really understood what that was about. That lies in the realm of mystery. The part that I find really interesting is what follows.

 

            When Peter sees this momentous event, he says to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”

 

            Because the Bible is a book of such depth and power, we sometimes miss the occasions where it is truly funny. We might even expect that we’re supposed to make sense out of what Peter just said. Actually a more appropriate response to Peter might be the words of the contest judge in the movie Billy Madison: “What you’ve just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought.”

           

            Peter is babbling. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s saying. He has witnessed something awesome, breathtaking, something far beyond his understanding. He doesn’t know what to say but he feels he has to same something. So he just starts talking utter nonsense.

            If Jesus were of a sarcastic mind, he could say something like, “Yeah, Peter, it’s darned lucky you happened to be here so you can build us some tents. Yeah, that’s we need, tents. Don’t know what we would have done if you weren’t here to build us some tents.”

 

            Peter is babbling, hoping that eventually his brain will catch up with his mouth and he will begin making sense.

            I know too well what Peter’s going through here. When we were first married and living in Manitowoc, there was some teacher’s social function we attended at a fairly nice restaurant. This were Linda’s coworkers and I was the new spouse. I didn’t know many of the people there all that well and being the introvert that I am, I was kind of uncomfortable.

            I was seated across the table from a guy who the fiancée of one of the teachers. He was also new to this crowd, and he appeared to be even more ill-at-ease than I was. But we stepped up to the plate and attempted to make conversation.

            Unfortunately, I was having a terrible time trying to understand this guy. He asked me a question; at least I gathered that from the inflection in his voice but I couldn’t understand what he said.

            I asked him to repeat himself and he did so, no more intelligibly than the first time. After an awkward pause, I swallowed hard and again asked if he could repeat the question. He did so but it wasn’t any clearer than the first two times.

            Now what do I do? The smart thing to do would have been to say, “I’m sorry, but the noise in here is bad and I have some hearing loss in my right ear. Could I ask you to try that one more time?”

            But no, I was feeling really uncomfortable by this time and I panicked. I had heard a few words here and there in the three times he asked the question and I tried to formulate an answer based on what I thought his question might have been.

            When I finished, he stared at me as if I were a creature from another planet, and I realized I had guessed wrong. My answer made no sense whatsoever. Neither of us recovered from that moment. We made no more attempts to converse and it was a very long and awkward evening.  

 

            That’s where Peter is in this story. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going on but he’s going to fill up that awkward silence with the first thing that pops into his head.

 

            Mercifully, God cuts him off while he has a shred of dignity left. God interrupts him—how often do you see that in the Bible. “While Peter was still speaking, a bright cloud overshadowed him, and from the cloud, a voice said, `This is my Son; the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”

 

            I’m sure James had a great time telling this story on his buddy Peter, but there’s more than just humor involved here. The end of that statement from God has an exclamation point. That means it’s important.

 

            The voice says, “Peter, stop talking and listen to him!”

 

            Here’s where the reading suddenly gets very relevant to us today. Can you see what Peter was trying to do?

            Confronted with the awe and majesty of God, his only thought was to do something with it. Organize it, take charge of it, control it. Wow, this is cool, how can I shape the moment, how can I make this thing last, preserve it, own it.

 

            Who does that remind you of?

 

            I can remember this happening more than once, although I can’t remember exactly where. We’re visiting one of the scenic wonders of the world, like Niagara Falls or Bryce Canyon, or Yosemite Park. And as we’re gazing in awe and wonder at the beauty that surrounds us, a car pulls up. A family piles out of the car, and it’s obvious they’re in a hurry. Out comes the camera and they start snapping picture after picture. After the flurry is over, they scramble back to the car and drive off.

 

            They came to one of the holiest places on earth and never experienced it. They thought they could capture it in a little box and take it home with them where they would have it forever. They could control it, own it, make it last.

 

            In trying to do that, they missed the whole thing. They didn’t experience the majesty of God’s creation. And I couldn’t help but wonder, what is your hurry? What is so important in your life that it takes you away from this opportunity of a lifetime?

 

            I discovered this past summer, however, that I’m not in a great position to cast stones. We were in the heart of the Norwegian fjords and it is absolutely breathtaking. Everything there is so steep, at one point we counted a dozen waterfalls surrounding us. There I am snapping pictures, trying to capture this scenery, and getting frustrated because I just can’t do it. Nothing I can do with that camera does justice to what I’m seeing. Yet as our boat travels down the fjord, I keep snapping.

            Until I finally realized the futility and waste of what I was doing. Don’t try to capture the fjords. You can’t do it. You’ll never be here again to experience this. Put the camera away. Let go, step back, and experience one of the most awesome things you’ll ever see in your life while you still have time.

 

            Thinking about all this, I have come to see this transfiguration story as the doorway to Lent. God has come to us in majesty and mystery. The Gospel story of Jesus life and death is something so profound, so moving, so beautiful and mysterious that we can scarcely comprehend it. It is one of the most sacred things we will ever experience.

 

            And what do we do when confronted by this?

 

            Too often, we do what Peter did. We try to take charge of the story, even though we really don’t have a clue what we’re doing. We get to thinking that we’ve got to build something. We’ve got to set up all kinds of procedures and rites and rituals. We have to figure out budgets. We have to formulate the correct theology. We have to put together a worship service and a youth program. We will take charge of this majesty and mystery. Lucky for you, God, that we’re here to do this, to organize all that wonder and majesty.

 

            This is not to say that all these things are not important. There is a time for building tents, or organizing and sorting and planning making decisions and all that. But when you are standing in the presence of unimaginable beauty and majesty, that’s not the time to be making to-do lists.

 

            The Lenten season surrounds us with unimaginable beauty, soul-stirring mystery, profound depth of emotion. In this story of the transfiguration, God is telling us to take some time to be quiet. Be quiet and listen. Lent is a time set aside for us to step away from management mode and let God talk.

 

            Too often, we do with our Christian faith what I was trying to do in Norway. Try to bottle the emotion or a spiritual high so we can keep reliving it. Try to capture it, to own it, so that we can always feel this way, so we can have it to pull out whenever we want. This story tells us to put the camera away. We do not own the wonder of the Gospel.

 

            Lent is a time to step back, to put the camera away, to just experience the wonder and awe of what Jesus came to bring.

 

            Too often, we do with our Christian faith what the frantic shutterbugs do. We try to capture our faith with quick and easy snapshots. Come into church when it fits into our schedule, get a quick snapshot of Christianity, a couple of shots of forgiveness, maybe a shot of praise, a few of the communion rail, then dash off to get on with lives.

            Snapshots cannot not capture the real thing. The Lenten season reminds us to be quiet and listen; put the camera away. Stop and take the time to experience the awe and wonder of this faith which we have been given.

 

            The transfiguration story reminds us not to blurt out answers without really considering the questions. It’s easy to make declarations or spout opinions or all kinds of topics. We can come up with answers without even knowing the questions.  

 

            Lent is a time to listen to the questions. We often don’t hear the questions God is asking because there is too much noise in our lives, or because there is some flaw in us so that we don’t quite get it. Lent tells us to listen to the questions. Take time to do that. If we don’t quite understand the question the 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd, or 50^th time—keep listening.

 

            Lent is a time to put the camera away, to stop and experience the profound wonder and depth of the Gospel story, to let the mystery wash over us, to hear the questions that are coming at us before we try to answer them.

            It is a special time in the church year. A special time to set aside some moments to experience the spectacular beauty of the Gospel; a time to listen to God.