Blind to the Light
The season of Epiphany is the time we explore the discovery of Christ come into the world, a time when we learn more about who Jesus is in our world, his teachings and his call. Transfiguration Sunday is a pivot point – where we cross a threshold and move our eyes to see Christ in our mess. In Lent we remember Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness, fasting and facing temptation. We remember Jesus’ love takes on our hate. Today, this transfiguration story reminds us of the truly human and truly divine REALLY in our world, and we are pointed toward the cross. Listen for the living word from
Luke 9:28-43a (NIV)
28 About eight days after Jesus said this, he took Peter, John and James with him and went up onto a mountain to pray. 29 As he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became as bright as a flash of lightning. 30 Two men, Moses and Elijah, appeared in glorious splendor, talking with Jesus. 31 They spoke about his departure, which he was about to bring to fulfillment at Jerusalem.32 Peter and his companions were very sleepy, but when they became fully awake, they saw his glory and the two men standing with him. 33 As the men were leaving Jesus, Peter said to him, “Master, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.” (He did not know what he was saying.)
34 While he was speaking, a cloud appeared and covered them, and they were afraid as they entered the cloud. 35 A voice came from the cloud, saying, “This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to him.”36 When the voice had spoken, they found that Jesus was alone. The disciples kept this to themselves and did not tell anyone at that time what they had seen.
37 The next day, when they came down from the mountain, a large crowd met him. 38 A man in the crowd called out, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son, for he is my only child. 39 A spirit seizes him and he suddenly screams; it throws him into convulsions so that he foams at the mouth. It scarcely ever leaves him and is destroying him. 40 I begged your disciples to drive it out, but they could not.”
41 “You unbelieving and perverse generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you and put up with you? Bring your son here.”
42 Even while the boy was coming, the demon threw him to the ground in a convulsion. But Jesus rebuked the impure spirit, healed the boy and gave him back to his father. 43 And they were all amazed at the greatness of God.
Blind to The Light
Brushes with God are often called mountain-top experiences. Recall this morning a time when you felt close to God. Remember the scene. Recall the setting, the smells, sounds, colors. Were you cuddled by a fire in a cozy cabin or stretched out under the vast night skies looking up at a vast array of stars shining down? Was it loud with crashing waves, voices or pulsing music? Was it silent with the gentle whisper of a wind? Did you smell the crisp, clean air or maybe the scent of grandma’s home cooking? Do you see the yellows of rolling sand, the greens of waving grass, towering trees or the blues of mountaintops, crashing waves, or a trickling stream. Hold onto those moments as we venture into what the disciples experienced with Jesus.
Capturing the moment is hard, we stretch our senses and, like Peter, seek to stay in the presence of God where we have discovered a special place. Artists help us hang onto these moments, but even they are often disappointed with their results. One of the most famous paintings is Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night. He was very disappointed in that work painted while he resided in an insane asylum in Provence.
Van Gogh had committed himself to the asylum. And while it is hard to grasp what is in someone else’s head, this week I get it. The violent swirls of yellow slashed across the paper representing jolts of life jerking us out of an easy complacency – James, Peter and John exhausted from a mountain climb, almost drifting off to sleep when something changed. The pinpoints, tiny sparkling dots of light in the sky - off in the distance suddenly drew shockingly close like a bolt of lightning. An explosion suddenly right next to us in our safe place where we retreat to pray even.
Van Gogh wrote to his brother Theo of a “tremendous need for religion” – so he went out in the night to paint stars. He was struggling and yearning for hope and something beyond this fragile life. We too struggle and look for hope in our world. The Museum of Modern Art elaborates that the cypress tree on the left often represented death but while questioning faith, Van Gogh saw hope in the stars. In our questioning – look to the light for hope.
Van Gogh completely made up the village and church -none visible from his window. Our steeples call to us. Reality and memory stirred together in his restless feelings. Art historian Lauren Soth theorizes the color choice of vibrant yellows and blues represents Christ because of the way they were used by other artists Van Gogh admired. Sloth says The Starry Night is traditional religion in disguise expressing Van Gogh’s deepest religious feelings.
How do the colors speak to us? What does the dazzling light carry our way? What did Peter, James and John see in Jesus’ face and clothes? It’s not really the light we see at all, we aren’t actually able to see light at all. Humans can’t see light but rather we see the objects reflections – and only that in part. Even the spectrum of color we can see is limited. We are so easily fooled by our senses. Have you ever been driving somewhere when you find yourself lost? So you turn down the music to see better?
The scenario in this text plays out similarly. Settled in to pray, the appearance of Jesus’ face changes, his clothes are as bright as lightning, Elijah and Moses appear. In all this, Peter, James and John see Jesus’ glory. I imagine a ‘turn down the radio moment’, but the scene moves on a cloud descends covering them imagine sight is completely gone – the shock of the beauty of the vista on a mountaintop – God’s glory hidden away - fogged in as the apostles try to grasp what they see. The dense droplets of moisture soak through your clothes and mask your surroundings. Tugged forward whether we wish to go on or not, now HEAR God saying. “This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to him.”
Standing in fog, shrinks our space to intimate, to the immediately in front of us. In this small intimate closed-feeling space, imagine the shock of God’s voice, This is my son, my chosen. Listen to Him! No wonder they said nothing of what they had seen. ‘That is enough’ our senses scream. We can relate to the sensory overload and the numb result of not knowing how to act or what to do.
But Luke is not done with the story. God tried to get them to see – for a brief moment Jesus’ face didn’t actually change. The other gospels talk of transformation like a caterpillar into a butterfly metamorphosis, but in Luke the change is in the viewers – they for a brief moment were able to truly see the glory – the appearance of Jesus was available to them - the very light itself. Verse 30 actually begins with the word ‘behold’ – look Luke is saying – Moses and Elijah talking to Jesus about the departure to come. Listen God says – to my son.
The story tumbles down off the mountain – we like to disconnect it and stop here – I was tempted. And this week of all weeks, we NEED to know Jesus comes off the mountain with us. When we don’t connect the ‘light’ to worldly actions, when we feel helpless in our darkest valleys – Jesus even though annoyed at us responds to the father’s plea – look at my son.
Jesus was pointed toward Jerusalem and calls to us too behold look at all Jesus gives up, is willing to do for us. In that vein it is easier to understand why Jesus is frustrated that he was on to the next step but the disciples haven’t pivoted with him. The man cries out look at my son. They weren’t ready yet, not prepared – hadn’t truly embraced the glory and the light. Have we? Van Gogh’s comments on his The Starry Night included a feeling that it was a mistake to be abstract and reach for the stars. I think that is exactly what this passage is calling on us to do – imagine, move to the abstract in how we see. Hold a giant prism or stained glass up to the light so that the world can more fully know the light, see the glory.
Don’t leave it on the mountaintop, let the world see the light shining out from us even when the time feels dark. There is so much before us that we don’t see that demands we carry the light to the world. Jesus wants us to see on and off the mountain. Our world is torn apart on the verge of war. Look to the colors of Ukraine’s flag – even there the blue and yellow Van Gogh played with – Christ calls to us in the smallest of coincidences – remember the hope. Reminding us of Christ amid our flashing bombs and flames. When we give up or only see despair, God demands we use our all for the children. Look at the young boy in the streets – the children of the world. When we feel the most hopeless, I recall the words of Ann Weems - don’t pray for peace – pray for a miracle.
Expect a miracle and change the world. Per usual, the Gospel of John captures the mysterious part – Jesus is the light. In John – 12 When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” Matthew’s gospel expands the same saying Jesus calls on us to be the light of the world called to shine before others and glorify God. Luke shows us a story of the light of the world glimpsed but for a moment, visible to our weak eyes shown on the mountaintop in hopes that we could still see once in the valleys of everyday life.
If they and we truly look, we will see God in the young boy, the children of the world needing us. The transfiguration of seeing God must come off the mountain top. Jesus is in our midst. We don’t serve in booths or in the walls of the sanctuary. We feel removed, maybe strangely guilty in a position with no power to help. Yet one at a time – protecting each child we can share the light.
As Lutheran Pastor David Lose says, the second half of this week’s passage is so important. “Because the retreat to worship and the time to listen to the Word, be immersed in the cross, and be gathered in prayer leads inevitably to a return to the “everyday world” of human need where Jesus heals the sick and opposes the forces of evil. If worship is a retreat, in other words, it is not a retreat from the world but a retreat in order to come back to the world in love, mercy and grace.”
We are called to see – to view appearances in a new way. Look and see Christ in the eyes of the children needing you. See all God’s children: the homeless, the hungry, the refugee, the prisoner, the orphan, the trans, the gifted, the autistic, the LGBTQ+, the jock, the nerd, no matter the label – all children of God. Jesus’ frustration with the disciples calls them a faithless and perverse generation when they don’t carry the light, share the glory – not God on a mountain but a God that dwells in our midst and demands we serve here too. If we create a God on a pedestal removed from any of creation to preserve our ideals or norms, we are perverting who our very Jesus is. Embrace the moment we see most clearly, but also embrace the light down in the trenches to shape how we live and love – for this is where we will find Jesus. This is where we are called to serve and who we are called to see.
‘Ours to do’ is to listen to Christ – look to the children in your scope of power and see them – protect and love them with all you have and all you are. One enemy, friend or stranger at a time given shelter, light and love radiating out from Christ to a light that will stretch from a small suburb in a miracle enwrapping valleys across the globe. Live the miracle, expect Christ’s light to yield hope in our current valley into amazing life beyond. Amen.
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