1 Corinthians 8:1-13: Knowledge and Love

“’All of us possess knowledge.’ Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.” The autumn of my junior year in college my world came crashing down around me. Classes were difficult, cross-country was painful, residential life responsibilities were exhausting, and to top it all off a girl that I thought I would marry one day was unfaithful. The fabric of my life felt as though it was ripping at the seams. Sewanee’s infamous fog rolled over the mountain and I could not help, but think this is fitting. Sadness clouded my life.

In this moment, I desperately looked for an out. Why was all this so difficult? Why was my life all of a sudden so unbearably hard? Why would God let this happen to me? I pointed my finger towards the heavens and for the first time in my life I began to wonder: Does God care? Does God love me? Does God even exist?

A few friends who also grew up in mainline Protestant churches were seeking the same bit of knowledge. Does God exist? As we were good students we began to discuss, wonder, and research together. We attended atheist and Christian lectures, we scoured the internet, and we hit the library stacks all in search of knowledge. I stopped going to church, as I was worried the religion of my youth was tainting my scientific, methodical pursuit of knowledge.

I am not sure if it was the running away from God, the breakup, the incessant pursuit of knowledge, or the busy-ness of my junior year, but during that time I felt as miserable as I have ever felt in my life. One day I sat down with a mentor to talk about this faith crisis. I let her know about my doubt, my pursuit of the Truth, and my anger at God. She very calmly held all my frustration with God. She told me to back out of my church based activities. She personified love in a very difficult time.

After the spring semester ended I left the Southeast for the first time in my life. With 34 other students and 4 adult leaders I trekked through the Southwest exploring National and State Parks. During the day there was a lot of knowledge: geologic features, flora and fauna analysis, reports on water use, oil extraction, early explorers, and even religious fanaticism. At night though there was something else. The leader of the trip a brilliant geologist sat around the campfire and pulled out his guitar. He would play songs from long ago that I had never heard. Then he would share a meal and drink a beer with a few students. Often he and I would sit and one night I asked him how he could believe in God and still hold onto his belief in God. He simply looked at me over the campfire, then looked up to the stars. I do not remember what he said or if he said anything. He too personified love in a difficult time.

Paul wrote to the church in Corinth warning them of the dangers that come with pursuing knowledge without love. Later in this letter he will say that without love our actions, no matter how noble or heroic are a noisy gong or a clanging symbol. Paul knew something that I could not comprehend in my immense sadness and emotional tumult. Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.

The church in Corinth may have known that food cannot really be sacrificed to idols, my mentors may have known that I was just struggling in the moment, we may know all about our own personal relationship with God; however, what is important in our communal relationship with God is not what we individually know. What is of the utmost importance is our love for one another and our shared love of God. What does this look like?

It looks like my mentors letting me vent and be frustrated without trying to fill my head with more knowledge. Loving me into belief. It looks like abstaining from alcohol in front of the alcoholic. It looks like being gentle with fragile friends going through rough relationships. It looks like being firm with those who are overly proud.

Love builds up our community, yet it is not a simple kind of love that is one size fits all. The love Paul urges us to build with is contextual and requires that we still seek knowledge. We must know our neighbors, our fellow pilgrims on this earthly journey, so that we might love them well. Knowledge puffs up, love builds up, but knowledge with God’s love can build the Kingdom of God. Amen.

The Annunciation of Our Lord Jesus Christ to the Blessed Virgin Mary (or simply TAoOLJCttBVM)

Have you started your Christmas shopping yet? We are only nine short months away from the big day! Before you know it retailers will be exchanging their Cadbury eggs for candy canes, the holiday songs will start filling stores with cheer, and we will wait expectantly for Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick to come down the chimney. We can laugh at this, but my grandmother, Nangy, often would tell me excitedly on our way to the beach in the summer that she had finished all her Christmas shopping. I would snicker, but pretty soon I realized that she was being serious.

The commercial and secular versions of Christmas tend to infuriate me; however, I appreciated that my Nangy would spend months thinking about how she would celebrate the birth of God into this world with her family. My grandmother’s desire to get ready for Christmas year round encourages me to ponder more deeply this moment when Mary begins preparing to bear God Incarnate into this world. What was it like for Mary to encounter Gabriel?

There is a piece of altar artwork that hangs in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy. The golden backdrop that Simone Martini employed presents an immaculate setting for the very first moment of Gabriel’s conversation with Mary. Carefully examining the artwork shows that the angelic messenger’s words are visually depicted on the wooden piece; the original Greek words fly from Gabriel’s mouth towards Mary. Less careful examination is required to see that Mary does not want anything to do with the messenger of God.

In this Gothic era painting, Gabriel kneels at Mary’s feet. Mary bends away from the angel’s words. Gabriel looks longingly at this highly favored lady. Mary pulls a veil to cover her ears from the greeting, and she looks away from the winged creature. Highly praised as Martini’s masterpiece, this artistic vision perfectly captures the skepticism that envelopes the start of Mary’s journey. When Gabriel speaks, “Greetings favored one! The Lord is with you!” I cannot help but hear his message in the tone of a telemarketer calling at the most inopportune moment, “Grrrreeetings favored one! YOU are theeaaa BIIIIIGGG WINNER! The Lord is with you!”

Mary’s journey begins with apprehension, as she is perplexed by Gabriel’s words. She ponders all these things in her heart and wonders what sort of greeting this might be. The angel not wanting to be denied continues his persuasion, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God,” then he promises her son, Jesus, will be great, the Son of the Most High. Mary knows there has to be a catch, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?" The protestation of Mary seems a completely human response. How often do we turn God away with our excuses? I do not have the time, the money, or the strength to do this God. Yet, Gabriel continues, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God."

It is in this moment that everything changes. It is in this moment that something clicks within Mary.
A fresco of the Annunciation completed by Fra Angelico depicts this moment. Gabriel announcing something deeply personal to Mary, that her barren cousin will bear a child, shifts the trajectory of our relationship with God. Mary instead of leaning away, angels towards the angel. She mimics Gabriel’s posture. It is in this moment that Mary says yes. She takes the impossible with God. “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

For nine months she would possess within her the Incarnate God. What a mysterious time for Mary! And, what a mysterious time for us! God desires for us to bear Jesus into the world. God speaks to us urging us to bring Christ into this aching existence. Christmas is not just a season that we celebrate in December, the Incarnate God comes to us every day! Let us be ready for Christ’s coming, not just with candy and music, but with open hearts, expectant souls, listening ears, and excited spirits. Amen.

Saint Joseph

Reni’s Portrait of Saint Joseph with the baby Jesus

Paul’s Letter to the Romans makes a strong case that our inheritance as children of God depends not on the law, but on faith. What does it mean to be faithful? During the season of Lent I have had a bit of a shocking realization. As I look back at past Lenten disciplines, I have discovered that I spent a lot of time creating laws for myself. While for some giving up or taking on something provide a new spiritual intimacy with God, I tended towards the extremes. If I give up chocolate for forty days, then God will shower me with grace. I started to believe that I needed to make myself feel so bad that I would have to rely more heavily upon God (not good), or that I needed to lure God into loving me by making myself into such lowly creature (much worse).

The Rev. Evan Garner pointed out on Ash Wednesday, Lent IS NOT about competitive suffering (bragging about how bad we have it) causing God to love us more. God loves us unconditionally! Lent IS NOT a time to make ourselves feel bad enough that we have to rely more on God. Focusing on sin (especially in others) can be an obsessive and self-centered practice that does not even allow God in to transform us. Upon reflection I have been “Lenting” all wrong. Lent IS a time when we intentionally focus upon giving our hearts back to God. It IS a season about returning to God. Lent IS all about faith, but again what does it mean to be faithful?

Faithfulness seems a slightly evasive quality. Sometimes I find it easier to describe what it is not, then what it is (it is not being perfect, right, or unquestioning). Yet, even more helpful than describing what faithfulness is or is not, talking about who is faithful aides me in understanding how I might continue to return to God in this season of Lent.

Today we celebrate a saint who is a paragon, a shining example of faithfulness. Today we celebrate Saint Joseph, the husband of Mary mother of Christ Jesus. Today we look at a quiet, faithful man that stands out as an ideal partner in our Lenten journey.

When I was a child growing up at St. Andrew’s, Birmingham there were only two parts in the Epiphany pageant that I wanted to play. One was the role of the inn keeper because I only had one line, “There’s no room in the inn,” and the other was that of Joseph. I liked acting as Joseph because he said no words, he just protectively walked with the pregnant Mary, like a loyal sheep dog, and watched over the birth of Jesus with loving admiration. Reflecting twenty years later, I find that being Joseph taught me that his seemingly small and simplistic part in the Incarnation of God took faithfulness that sheds light on how to walk through Lent.
Only two of the four Gospel accounts even mention Joseph, and in those books, Matthew and Luke, he is not even quoted. His faithfulness was not seen in mighty words, but rather in his deeds. Matthew describes Joseph as a righteous man who was going to dismiss Mary quietly when he discovered she was with child. Joseph could have legally put Mary to death for adultery, but instead he had a dream. In this dream an angel told him that he was to take Mary as his wife, as the child within her was from the Holy Spirit. Joseph could have ignored the dream, but instead he acts upon his faith and takes Mary as his wife, knowing that the child she bore was not his own but God’s.

Courageously later in Matthew, Joseph again led by angelically laden dreams, protects his family from Herod’s psychopathic, narcissistic slaughtering of innocent children. Joseph dreams that he should take his family from Israel to Egypt and he does, then he guides them back to Israel. Joseph fearing that Archelaus, the son of Herod, would seek revenge against him, even has a final Divine dream in which the Lord told him to avoid Herod’s son and go to Nazareth.

Yet, Joseph’s faithfulness to God was certainly not always easy. Joseph, a carpenter by trade, most likely had to work very hard to provide for his family. And while he probably taught Jesus’ his woodworking trade, traditionally scholars believe he was much older than Mary, and he died before Jesus’ adult ministry. So the last example of Joseph’s faithfulness is what we read today from Luke’s account of the Gospel.
What about this passage shows Joseph’s saintly quality, his faithfulness? After acting out a plot line that belongs in a Hollywood movie, Mary and Joseph track down their missing twelve-year-old Jesus, who has been in the Temple for three days with the religious elite of the day. Mary offers an appropriate parental response, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” Jesus almost nonchalantly answers, "Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?" Luke says that Mary and Joseph do not quite understand this.
Maybe Joseph was not smart enough to get what Jesus was saying. Maybe he was not paying attention. However, I believe that Joseph’s misunderstanding points to an extreme sense of faithfulness towards Jesus. He believes that Jesus is his son. Even when the adolescent Incarnate God says that his Father is in heaven, Joseph still wants to protect him, to provide for him, and to teach him how to live in this world. This is Joseph’s faithfulness, staying by Jesus even beyond understanding.

John 3:1-17: Nicodemus Couldn't Sleep

Sermon Audio click here!

Nicodemus couldn’t sleep again. The all too familiar feeling of anxiety ravaged through his stomach, like menacing butterflies the size of pterodactyls. His wife, Miriam, lay beside him in their king-size bed. She could sense his worry, and it made her worry too. As she drifted off into an uneasy sleep, Nicodemus starred at the ceiling. The mortgage, the bills, the children’s education all added up. These problems alone though did not keep this religious leader from resting easy; no something else was the matter. By morning he had all the covers wrapped around him like some sort of cocoon of worry; yet for Nicodemus there was no metamorphosis, no change, and no growth. The only butterfly was in his gut.

Nicodemus arose before the sun, and standing in the pre-dawn glow he could see the dark circles around his eyes growing ever more visible in the mirror. Seeing Miriam resting peacefully in the reflection Nicodemus remembered the promises he made to her on their wedding night: trips to the Mediterranean, family vacations, and putting in his time early so they could enjoy their later years together. These hopes vanished as his focus returned to his rapidly aging face. Looking into his own eyes he recognized an emptiness.

Following every word of the Law, working harder than every other Pharisee, arriving earlier and leaving later, but still Nicodemus felt hollow. Like a wineskin with no wine within or an inn with no visitors, Nicodemus’ soul felt bare and vacant. Kissing Miriam and his children goodbye as the sun was rushing to crest the horizon, Nicodemus hurried to the Temple to lead the morning prayers. If he felt any peace embracing his two boys it disappeared as he left his home. His thoughts turned to the upcoming Passover festivities and the meeting of the Sanhedrin, the religious council, this morning.

The council dispatched with old business quickly, then an elder member of the council brought up an explosive, new topic. His calculating words cut through the stale air of the conference room, like a snake darting through withered grass, “What are we to do about this upstart teacher from Galilee? He is gaining followers, you know, disciples even! My sources tell me that he has even performed some mighty signs, turning water into wine at a wedding.”

Another voice emerged, “Where is he now?” The elder Pharisee replied, “Capernaum with his family.” Nicodemus, intrigued by the miraculous deeds and exhausted from his insomnia, forgot himself and excitedly piped up, “Do you think he will come to the Passover?” Before he could even finish his sentence, Nicodemus knew that the emotions worn on his decorated sleeve had given away his giddiness. In his desperation, Nicodemus secretly hoped he’d meet this itinerant miracle worker. The elder Pharisee looked down at Nicodemus and snarled. Another distinguished leader with long fringes and broad phylacteries interrogated, “Nicodemus, why does it matter if this man shows up? Why do you care?” A pragmatic voice cut off the questioning to get back to business, “This week, we need extra security at the Temple to prepare for this man… What is his name again?” The elder Pharisee replied disgustedly, “Jesus.”

Although Passover begins at sundown, Nicodemus left long before sunrise on the first day of the festivity. As he made his way to the Temple, he allowed himself a hopeful thought, “Maybe, just maybe, God will show me a sign today,” and in this brief moment the tension within him dissipated until he neared the Temple.

Suddenly, right as he entered the gates he heard shouting, then the crack of a whip, he ran to see what was happening. A rough looking man, was driving out the merchants selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. As the vendors scattered in all directions, the unkempt man flipped over their tables and spoke, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” Nicodemus wondered if this was the man, and a verse from Scripture arose, “Zeal for your house will consume me.” Other Pharisees just arriving began to question this man’s motives, but all Nicodemus wanted to know was “When can I meet him?”

Several Pharisees, seething at Jesus’ irreligious behavior and his disrespect for their Tradition, watched him carefully for a misstep. Nicodemus looked on with eager curiosity, hoping for another sign. Seeing Jesus heal a man blind since birth, Nicodemus made up his mind he would risk his status within the Sanhedrin so that he could meet with this Jesus.

The night the Passover was finishing, Nicodemus told his wife he was going to seek out this mighty healer, in hopes of a sign that might fill the emptiness within him. Miriam urged her husband to find healing. Then Nicodemus pulled up his cloak to hide his identity and hurried through the streets to the outskirts of Jerusalem.

Scouring the Sanhedrin’s intelligence network Nicodemus had discovered where Jesus was staying, and after waking a few neighbors in search of his exact location, Nicodemus met two of his disciples. Simon-Peter and Andrew, asleep in the outer room, groggily went to fetch their teacher. Jesus emerged silently from his sleeping quarters, lit a candle, poured some wine for his guest and asked if his guest was hungry.

Speechless, Nicodemus could not initially reply to the hospitality. Never, not once, in all the years of serving in the Temple had Nicodemus felt such a rush of spiritual energy. Jesus’ eyes beamed in the candlelight and Nicodemus could tell that when he looked at him Jesus was looking deep within his soul.

Anxiously, Nicodemus tried to cue up the questions that he had prepared, but he blabbered, “Teacher, uh… we know that you are a… uh teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these… eh, signs that you do apart from the presence of… um God.”
Before he could continue, Jesus swiftly replied, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Confused and wearied by his many sleepless nights, Nicodemus’ legal and literal mind churned out a logical question, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?”

Jesus wiped some sleep from his eyes, and attempted to broaden Nicodemus’ spiritual horizons, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

Perplexed even more by this Nicodemus’ head was swimming in a vast ocean of questions, he clumsily reached for the life boat, “How can these things be?”

With a reassuring smile, Jesus replied, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet the Pharisees do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”

Nicodemus still reeling from how one can be born of the Spirit, could barely keep up with Jesus now, it felt as though his mind was sprinting just to keep up with Jesus’ pace. The Pharisee wondered, “Am I just here to understand the signs? Who is this? How is one born again? Is this the Son of Man?” But in the midst of the swirling sea of inquiries, Nicodemus realized that something strange was happening. His heart felt alive and his spirit felt awake for the first time in weeks, months, maybe even years. Cutting through the questions, the literalism, and the legalism Jesus spoke words that forever rang in Nicodemus’ soul:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Nicodemus emptied his cup of wine, his soul full for the first time in years, and as he left Jesus, the sun was rising.

Ash Wednesday: Sad, Mad, Bad vs. Coleslaw

"Dear People of God: The first Christians observed with great
devotion the days of our Lord's passion and resurrection, and
it became the custom of the Church to prepare for them by a
season of penitence and fasting. This season of Lent provided
a time in which converts to the faith were prepared for Holy
Baptism. It was also a time when those who, because of
notorious sins, had been separated from the body of the faithful
were reconciled by penitence and forgiveness, and restored to
the fellowship of the Church. Thereby, the whole congregation
was put in mind of the message of pardon and absolution set
forth in the Gospel of our Savior, and of the need which all
Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.

I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the
observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance;
by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and
meditating on God's holy Word. And, to make a right beginning
of repentance, and as a mark of our mortal nature, let us now
kneel before the Lord, our maker and redeemer."

(Book of Common Prayer, 264-265)

Welcome to Lent. The pancakes have been eaten, the beads have been put away, and the revelry has ended... for now. It's time to don sackcloth and ashes. It's time to give up all those things that make us happy. Lent is a time of the -ad feelings right? Sad? Mad? Bad? Well, honestly... NO! Somewhere along the way either in our collective conscious or subconscious we began to believe that Lent is a Church season of competitive depravity. Giving up chocolate, alcohol, or whatever brings us joy makes it seem as though we are supposed to make ourselves sad enough that we feel good enough to receive God's love, forgiveness, and acceptance. The trouble is that is not how God's overabundant love works.

While giving something up or taking something on might be part of the next forty days, if we focus primarily upon what we give up, about how bad we are, about how much we need to get better at this or that, then we overlay an image of scarcity upon God's ability to love us (i.e. God only has enough love for those who are penitent). God's love though is overwhelmingly extravagant. It is enough to overcome any sense of separation. God's love has the ability to separate us so far from our sin that it is as distant as east is from west. The season of Lent is not about what we give up it's about what we take on.

A priest in this diocese offered an analogy that is helpful, for entering into Lent. He was talking about taking care of oneself, but I believe it also works for how we participate in this Holy Season. When one is trying to create balance and establish spiritual depth the first impulse is to take a bunch of stuff off of one's plate. In essence it is like trying to balance the blind Lady Justice's scales by pulling something off of one side, but in life this rarely has efficacy. When we try to de-commit from something we have signed up to do we end up letting others or ourselves down. Instead, this season of Lent is like mixing coleslaw. When you start you may be beginning with too much mayo, not enough chopped cabbage, a lack of salt, too little vinegar, and far too much pepper. Once one has started though one cannot dump the product without wasting far too much of what God has already given. Instead, one must discern what more can one take on and how that will effect the rest of the mix. Perhaps the addition of some slaw mix and vinegar makes the mayo a little easier to handle and cancels out some of the superfluous spice. The Truth is though, we cannot get these ingredients on our own.

Lent is a time to stock up and to mix in some new things, but we have to start by going to the source of all these ingredients. God invites us everyday, and the Church echoes this invitation primarily on this day and in this season, to return to God. To come back to the source of all Creation. A Holy Lent does not mean that we just act sad enough, so we feel good when Easter happens. It is not some sort of spiritual Olympics where the victor gets a crown and a gold medal. It is not competitive in any sense. Rather, it is an intentional time to come back to God, to get a little more of the ingredients that make us deeper Christians, to mix in something that restores our soul, and to share a little coleslaw with our Creator.

Matthew 17:1-9: Too Distracted for the Transfiguration

Last Sunday’s “Zits” comic strip was a little too prophetic or maybe a bit too close to home, as it really struck a chord in me. In the first frame, Jeremy, the teenage son character, has his face planted in an electronic tablet and hears from his mother that he should turn off the TV if he is not watching it. His response comes, “I AM WATCHING IT!” Then, “This show is a two screen experience. You’re supposed to go online and answer trivia questions, take polls, and connect with other fans.” Jeremy’s mother finally disgusted by the overload of “social media” begins to storm off saying, “OH FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!” Suddenly next to Jeremy on the couch another voice emerges, “It’s about creating a shared experience Mrs. Duncan.” Jeremy then surprisingly says, “Oh, hey Sara, when did you get here?”

Technology…whatever the latest device or newest app is… seems to promise that it will bring a newfound connection that will lead to happiness. Being addicted to the new and to some new sense of connection is nothing new! The hit TV show Madmen, which takes place in the 1960s takes an inside look at the swelling of this phenomenon. The lead character Don Draper describes, “Advertising is based on one thing: happiness. And do you know what happiness is? Happiness is the smell of a new car. It's freedom from fear. It's a billboard on the side of a road that screams with reassurance that whatever you're doing is OK. You are OK.” And what is okay? What makes us feel okay today? Being “connected,” not feeling alone, not appearing like you are by yourself.

I have noticed a growing trend that the Zits comic strip seemed to illustrate. A recent study points out that many children in America today spend 75% of their waking hours glued to some screen or another. When I go into restaurants I notice how many people who are supposedly there together are actually spending all their time “connecting” to others on their phones. The trend I notice is that many people are addicted to being “connected” via technology to a vast nebulous community of friends. While I do not doubt for many people some of the time this actually serves a source of support, friendship, and connectivity, yet often I believe this way of relating to others actually serves more as a distraction from whatever the feeling, emotion, thought, or condition is within them at that very moment. Perhaps I notice this because it is a problem in my own life. Maybe giving up some technology and screen time would be a good Lenten discipline.

Yet, distraction and not being present in the moment with what is actually happening is not anything new. In today’s gospel, Jesus calls Simon-Peter, James, and John to go up a mountain with him. The disciples do not realize that they are stepping into an almost-indescribable, holy moment. The messiah calls them up to the top, away from everyday distractions, so that they may witness something mystic, divine, and mysterious.

In this mountaintop venture, Jesus fully immersed in the moment reveals his true nature to his disciples. Unlike Moses who veiled his face upon returning from a visit with God, Jesus, in the presence of his Father, lets his uncovered face shine with all the glory of God. Then, Moses (the bearer of the Law) and Elijah (the exemplary prophet) appear with Jesus. God drenches this triumvirate of holy figures with such holy light that the Christ is transformed in front of the overwhelmed disciples. Jesus is transfigured. His clothing turns dazzlingly white, even more brilliant than the amazing new vestments and altar hangings that we are blessing today.

I sometimes think what if I had been there? What if I were Peter or James or John? Could I resist snapping a picture with my phone to hold onto the moment? Or would I get distracted in that moment and miss what was really happening in front of me?

Peter knows how good it is that he is there on holy ground, but he gets distracted by the overwhelming holiness of this moment. He nervously floats out the idea that he should build a dwelling for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. This moment is not quite good enough for Peter, he wants to hold onto the Christ. Peter is distracted in this encounter with God by a desire to come back to the Almighty later on.

When we encounter the holy: a beautiful sunset, a magnificent piece of music, a friend who has lost a child, a newborn baby, a distressed neighbor, or a million other moments that are happening around the world right now; when we encounter the holy we often have a hard time adequately responding. We might fumble around the right words to say to a suffering friend, we might think it’s more important to rush to a meeting than to stop and smell the roses, or we might not hear the magnificent song God is inviting us to sing because we are just too busy. We so often say, “I want to put you, the Christ, in a box, so that I can take you out later on my time. When it is convenient to me I will worship you. For now, let me be distracted by technology or my work or my worry.”

God interrupts Peter’s attempt to put Jesus, Moses, and Elijah in a box. God interrupts our lives too. “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” These words familiar too us from Jesus’ baptism in the River Jordan by John the Baptist. Contain three extra words from the original. LISTEN TO HIM.

We may want to busy ourselves every moment, we may be addicted to distractions, but what God is asking us to do is to stop, to recognize the Christ around us, and to listen to him! Fight the urge to put God in a box, for our own convenience and instead respond in devout worship. The disciples fall down after hearing God’s voice, and while this might be how we all would respond if we heard God’s voice, Jesus rebukes his followers.

After such an awe-inspiring, transcended, transfigured moment, Jesus brings his disciples back to this plane of reality with a very simple act. He touches them, saying “Get up and do not be afraid.” If we are able to see the holiness of a moment, to see God cutting through the false veil that often clouds this world, if we see a thin space, a Celtic phrase that means that this veil between our world and God’s reality is minimal, if we are able to encounter the holy we are not to fearfully cringe. We are invited to let Christ touch us, to have him strengthen us, but we’re also not to shout it from the mountaintop. Or, maybe we are not to shout it once we leave the mountaintop.

Jesus commands his followers not to tell of this moment until after his Resurrection. If we encounter such a holy moment, we are to acknowledge it. We are to hold onto it, but not to overwhelm others with it. Take the holy with you. Let it be a source of strength, but not a form of boasting.

We are distracted in our lives so often. We might miss the holy. When we encounter it we want to box it up so that we can experience it on our own time or we want to boast about it with others. These are our human responses. God urges us to listen to Christ, to encounter the mysterious moments of Transfiguration not on our time, but in God’s Time. How will you come down the mountain?