Vicar Noah Herren
Transfiguration of Our Lord
March 2/3, 2019
Don't Look Away
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” “Don’t look away!” Did anyone else hear these words as a child? Maybe you can recall that familiar childhood feeling of looking everywhere, anywhere to avoid the knowing eye of your parent, and they just won’t let you….In the South, we would call this type of intervention a “come-to-Jesus” moment. You know, where your attention is called back from wherever it’s wandered to the real issue at hand.
We find so many ways to divert our attention, to look away from things we don’t want to see or deal with. There is no end to distractions these days. Our overstimulating world provides media hype, endless hours of streaming TV, smartphones, books, the gym, pick your poison. I’m not saying these are terrible things, but I am pointing out that we have a plethora of ways to escape when we begin to feel discomfort... And then sometimes there’s a wake-up call, a come-to-Jesus, when something happens that’s so momentous we can’t avert our eyes anymore.
A few weeks ago I was standing on an L platform, wearing my collar. A man came up to me asking for money. I had on my city blinders; you know what I’m talking about. It’s a skill you develop pretty quickly in a big place like this, where you engage with people but you don’t REALLY encounter them. I didn’t have any cash, and told him I was sorry I couldn’t help. I kind of thought that was the end of it, when he cried out to me, “Hey man, look at me! You’re a priest, aren’t you supposed to help the poor?” Well, I was convicted (to use another Southern church word). We sat down together on the bench, and he started weeping as he told me his story. I don’t think I was even that helpful, but I certainly had a come-to-Jesus about looking away from those in need.
Sometimes we look away because it reminds of us of our own pain, or we feel overwhelmed by the fact that we can’t fix it. Perhaps we feel something akin to survivor’s guilt when we are ok while others are in such tremendous need. It’s tempting to fall back on all sorts of self-protective measures. It’s tempting to say “I’ve seen pain in the world, I’ve felt my share of pain. I know what this looks like.” It’s tempting to say “I can’t get bogged down in all of this...I have to hold onto my own sanity.” It’s tempting to say “This is all too overwhelming.” It’s tempting to look away.
If you research the hashtag #dontlookaway on social media, you’ll find images that bring awareness to many of the issues that plague our society: mental health, bullying, human trafficking, racial violence and injustice. In late 2018, spoken word poet Siphokazi Jonas wrote a response to sexual and gender based violence in South Africa. Jonas describes all the places women face harassment in the form of a litany, “Thanks for the hashtag, but…there’s no time to tweet in the boardroom or by the copy machine” ... “Thanks for the hashtag, but…there’s no time to tweet in the vestry or confession booth”, she continues…”in Parliament or court”, …”between taxi rank, construction site and street.” “Thanks for the hashtag but there’s no network here, data is expensive here.” She ends the poem with, “The trend is #wearedyinghere.” We live in a time of intense visual exposure to the ills of the world. And like Jonas intimates in her poem, awareness is a start, a hashtag is a start, a glimpse, but real change depends on truly looking, truly seeing, what is going on around us.
Well, it’s Transfiguration Sunday. And I’ll say it...I’m a believer in mystical experiences, unexplainable glimpses of the divine. These types of experiences are corroborated in Scripture with texts like we read today, and in the writings of prominent figures of Christian history. In describing her mystical experiences, Teresa of Avila, writes “I showed them the jewels which the divine hand had left with me...All those who knew me saw that I was changed...this improvement palpable in all respects, far from being hidden, was brilliantly evident to all men.” Teresa speaks of being truly changed, truly transformed through her encounter with the divine.
As removed as we may be from these type of encounters in our rational, postmodern world, they hold significant value in that (1) they are transformative in real, tangible, visible ways, helping us shine as lights for Christ in the world, and (2) they are sustaining. Even a slight glimpse of the glory of God remains a powerful memory and serves as an anchor point for faith in daunting and dark times.
So what about the majority of us who haven’t stumbled into a gleaming, glittery Jesus on our journey? There is still good news. Jesus promises the power and presence of the Holy Spirit that manifests at Pentecost. Jesus institutes the sacraments of baptism and eucharist that carry a sign and a promise that Christ remains with us. Jesus leaves us with concrete reminders of his continual presence.
Immediately after the transfiguration, Jesus comes down the mountain to a chaotic scene. A father whose son was convulsing, writhing, and foaming at the mouth, had pleaded with the disciples to heal the boy. They tried, but they couldn’t do it. The despairing father sees Jesus and begs him to heal his suffering son. Just hours after his divinity is revealed, Jesus is thrown into the earthy, nitty-gritty task of casting out demon
The transfiguration is only a glimpse of Jesus’ divine nature in the larger context of mission. Jesus’ purpose is not to remain in a spectacle of glory on a mountain, but to carry that glory out to the world in mission and service. Jesus travels down the mountain to continue the mundane work to which he has been called, proclaiming the good news, healing the sick, and journeying toward the cross. In these two scenes we are reminded that God comes down, incarnate, from divine glory into the human person of Jesus.
Whether we catch a slight glimpse of radiant God’s glory, behold it in all its fullness, or find our weekly sustenance in bread, wine and worship, we are transformed and empowered to open our eyes to the world and our role in God’s mission.
Richard Rohr, modern-day mystic and Franciscan priest, writes, “After transformation, we don’t look out at reality as if it is hidden in the distance, we look out from reality. Our life is participating in God’s life. We are living in Christ.”
God is here with us, in it all. The glory, the beauty, the awe, and wonder; the pain, the suffering and brokenness, the daily grind. On this day of transfiguration, this hingepoint between epiphany and lent, don’t look away. Be astounded at the greatness of God.