A sermon by Senior Minister John B. McCall, February 2, 2008
Exodus 24:12-19
Matthew 17:1-9
Friday was Ben’s 19th birthday. Andrea and I went to Bates to take him out to dinner and, of course, there was lots of nostalgia about his younger days. One of the sweet pleasures of watching a child grow is to see him learn how the world works – listening, exploring and then trying the same thing over and over until it moves from “out there” to “in here.” When each of my sons was very small, the bedtime routine always included a Bible story, a prayer, and a song. One of the favorites was “The Bear Went Over the Mountain.” I couldn’t tell you if that song has more than one verse, but we all know the first one. And you remember that all he could see was the other side of the mountain.
Every year, on this last Sunday in the season of Epiphany, like the bear we go up the mountain to see what we can see. And all that we can see is the other side of the mountain. More specifically we see Ash Wednesday and Lent, and on the horizon the cross. Our readings remind us of the path we’ve walked since way back on January 6, the twelfth day of Christmas.
Epiphany, as you recall, means appearance or manifestation of God – those remarkable moments when Spirit touches earth, holy touches ordinary, and divine embraces human: the arrival of the magi, Jesus baptism by John in the Jordan, the first public miracle at the wedding at Cana in Galilee, and now the Transfiguration. There’s much in this Gospel story that echoes Jesus’ baptism, the clouds, the light, and the voice of God.
Each of these epiphanies is a moment of awareness and of mystery. Albert Schweitzer reminded us: “The highest knowledge is to know we are surrounded by mystery.”
Sometimes we struggle in faith with the question of what to do with mystery. We may want to parse it out, dissect it, and see what makes it tick. We may want to put it on a spreadsheet or under the microscope and see if we can work it into some strategic plan.
But mystery is what it is: a reality we can’t control and can’t ignore. Like the Holy Spirit it appears when and where it will. As seekers and followers on the path of Jesus we’ve all faced mystery. We’ve stood in amazement at the birth of a child, the healing of an illness, and the reconciliation of a broken relationship. We’ve lived through disease, betrayal or the loss of a loved one. We’ve seen our deepest hopes disappointed and our dreams shattered.
Perhaps we’ve even come to believe that there is new life after each of the little deaths, such that we believe there is everlasting life after the Big Death. I’ve had many conversations with folks at the end of their earthly life, wrestling with what they believe about the far side of death… the other side of a very big mountain.
It’s no wonder that, in several places, the scriptures represent the presence of the Spirit, the great Mystery, with a cloud. If you’ve ever driven in a heavy fog or been high enough on a mountain to be among the clouds, you know the feeling of being wrapped up. If you’re walking a mountain trail or creeping your way along the freeway the fog can feel like a threat that’s hiding danger.
But if you’re strolling with your sweetheart as the weather closes in and can hear the haunting sound of the foghorns, the cloud may feel more like a safe blanket.
It’s no wonder that scripture imagines mountaintops as a natural place to feel God’s presence.
Exodus tells us that God led Moses and the Children of Israel out of slavery, across the Red Sea and into the wilderness. They were on their way to the Promised Land but there was no short cut. The people had forgotten how to live in covenant. During their slavery they’d lost their way and had forgotten their God.
Now, somewhere between the old ways in Egypt and the new day in the land of milk and honey God called Moses to the top of Mount Sinai and gave him the Ten Commandments. Several years ago I stood with some of you at the foot of that mountain, in the middle of nowhere even today. Scripture says the Glory of God settled over the mountain like a cloud and God spoke. Moses remained there for 40 days. On the other side of the mountain he found the people waiting, though a little later in Exodus we’re told that the Israelites were tired of waiting and fashioned a Golden Calf as their god.
It was forty years later that Moses stood on the top of Mount Pisgah and looked over the Promised Land. He would never enter it because of his sin, but by the will and grace of God he had brought the Children of Israel safely that far.
Echoing that story we read from Matthew about Jesus on the top of Mount Tabor. Peter, James and John went with him. As they reach the top in an instant they saw Moses and Elijah (representing the Law and the prophets) and Jesus’ appearance was transfigured – bathed in the light. The disciples quickly offered to make a booth – a shrine, perhaps – to freeze that moment and to make it last. Remember, three times Jesus had told his disciples that he would be murdered by the people who feared him and three times they said they didn’t believe it.
Now, on the top of the mountain, in a glorious moment, they wanted to settle in and stay and try somehow to escape what was coming next. But the cloud and the light opened their eyes and they began to understand. Overcome with fear they fell to the ground. Jesus told them not to be afraid, reached out to them and gave them the power to rise. Down from the mountain, they found the road to Jerusalem and to the cross, but also the path to salvation for many.
We can’t forget how on April 3, 1968, in Memphis, Tennessee, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered one of his most eloquent speeches, in support of the striking sanitation workers in that city. Near the end of his address he acknowledged that there had been many threats on his life, and then said:
Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.
The next day a single bullet from a sniper killed the Civil Rights leader. But the bullet didn’t kill the vision. On the other side of the mountain, Martin found a promised land that is still shrouded in the fog of uncertainty, but the old powers and principalities are crumbling down as a woman and an African American man are among the candidates for President. We may stumble, but we will never go back to the way we were.
Have you climbed any mountains? Have you stood at the top – spiritually, I mean – and looked out? And what have you seen?
• is it the Promised Land, or
• is it a cross on the horizon, or
• is it just more of the same?
Have you stood in a place so sweet you want to freeze the moment and nail it down so it won’t fade away? And how have you faced the fact that God and time always move us forward?
There’s so much grief, doubt, cynicism, terrorism, violence, war, suffering, and death. They threaten sometimes to overwhelm us. If you dare to turn on the news they become our daily companions.
So as we gaze out from the top of the mountain we remember Jesus himself is a more steadfast companion. He says to his disciples: “Get up. Don’t be afraid. You can’t stay here. But I will walk with you.”
That’s a Lenten promise for us, just a few days from Ash Wednesday. We know that Lent leads us to Holy Week and Holy Week leads us to Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. So, like the disciples, at each turn we’re sorely tempted to ask: “can’t we just stay here?” or even “can’t we go back where we came from?”
Like the disciples we may fall to the ground in the clouds, bedazzled by a light we can’t quite make out. But it looks a lot like Jesus, and he’s saying: “don’t be afraid, rise up and follow.” Will we? We will if we’re really following.
The bear went over the mountain.
Moses went over the mountain.
Jesus went over the mountain.
Martin Luther King, Jr. went over the mountain.
Our church goes over the mountain.
You and I go over the mountain.
And what do we see? The other side of the mountain, to be sure. But with eyes and heart of faith can’t we also see beyond?
Like those in whose steps we follow, let’s I pray we can see more life stretching out in front of us… life of challenge and change, life filled with the presence of God in the light of truth and hope, life that’s truly everlasting.