A Haitian Transfiguration

Matthew 17:1-9

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him.

Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”

When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.”

And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

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This Transfiguration Gospel isn’t always my favorite text to preach. I always wonder how it plays and I worry about what questions it raises among cynics and skeptics, with all of its dazzling clothes, shining faces, Old Testament ghosts, and talking clouds. I worry about that because I’ve asked some of those questions, myself many times. What I mean is, it’s weird and hard to believe, and I get that.

But the gist of what happened on that mountain top wasn’t just a magic show. Matthew’s Gospel is very dramatically putting Jesus into his rightful place among the great prophets of God – right up there with superstars like Moses and Elijah. And his disciples, just like the rest of us, are meant to make note of that, to take it to heart, and to wonder about what it might mean for the big picture of God’s plan for the world.

See when Jesus says, “until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead,” they – and we – are supposed to wonder about what awaits him as they make their way down the hill; as he so faithfully chooses to leave that mountain top and head, so obediently, toward Jerusalem and toward the cross and toward his own undoing on Calvary’s cross.

Because what was next for Jesus – and for us – is even more unbelievable than what happened on that mountain. What was going to happen was that Jesus would be crucified. Jesus was about to share a meal with his friends; he would be arrested; he would be denied and betrayed by the closest of his followers and then he would die the worst kind of death on top of it all – whipped, beaten, mocked, spit upon, crowned with thorns and nailed to a cross – before being raised from the dead.

Because Jesus was showing, I believe, that it is in all of this struggle and sacrifice that real transfiguration, true transformation and meaningful change happens. It’s on all of this that our faith is to rest. Not just on mysticism and myth. Not just on miracles and magic. But on real life, down and dirty relationships between God and people and between people and each other.

That’s what, I hope, our discipleship is all about – reminding each other and reminding the world that God isn’t just up in the clouds or hanging around in the mountaintop experiences of our lives. In Jesus, God has been and is down here with us, in the middle of our suffering and struggle. And God invites us to do that for and with others, in their struggle, just the same.

Because transfiguration, transformation, and change, aren’t just for Jesus. Those disciples were meant to be transfigured, too. And all of this came to life in a new, meaningful way for me this week in Fondwa, Haiti. I saw this passage in some really down-to-earth ways that checked my cynical, skepticism about it all, when I paid attention to what we experienced with our friends in Fondwa.

With this Gospel spinning around in my brain all week, this is how I heard it, anew, for a change:

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter, James and his brother John…

… and Ben and Lily, Dave and Linda, Pastor Mark and Haley, too … and he led them up a high mountain by themselves.

And he was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun and his clothes became dazzling white.  … but Jesus became darker, too. Very literally black and brown, I mean.

He looked a little like Luckner, our guide and translator – who had so many answers and so much patience for us along the way.

And Jesus looked like Sister Claudette, a kind, and quiet and humble sort of servant; and he laughed like Stearline and he prayed like Jesula.

He was wise like Sine, too, and as strong as Ji-ber.

And suddenly, there appeared before them Moses and Elijah, speaking with Jesus … so that a lot of things made sense for them in a new way. With Jesus in the company of those ancient prophets and servants of God, suddenly all of his talk about ‘release for the captives, freedom for the oppressed, and the year of the Lord’s favor’ were more meaningful than they had been before. And that stuff about being “salt of the earth” and “light for the nations” and about how the meek would inherit the earth, about those who mourn would be comforted, and how the last would be first and the first would be last held new meaning, too.

Peter said, “Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will make three dwelling places, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.”

Jamalyn said, “it is SO good for us be here. I think we should build 40 houses in three years, just for starters. One for the Dorelian family:

and for Victor’s wife, who doesn’t know exactly how old she is:

and for Eddie and for Eliane and for Elise, and for the Sylvera family, too.

Haitians will do most of the work, we’ll help where we can, and we’ll have support from places and people as far away as New Palestine, Indiana.”

While (s)he was still speaking (because those of you who know Jamalyn know she is very often “still speaking”) suddenly a great cloud overshadowed them … and they were overcome regularly by the beauty that surrounded them.

All those mountains and valleys; the hills and high places; and the stories they tell of the highs and lows – the struggles and celebrations – of the people who live and move and breathe in those mountains with such courage and grace and faith and hope and love.

…and a voice came [from heaven] saying, “This is my Son, the beloved, with him I am well-pleased. Listen to him.” When they heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome with fear. But Jesus came and touched them and said, “Get up and do not be afraid.” … and they were reminded over and over and over again, by those they would meet – in homes:

…at building sites:

…on the playground they built at the school:

…and in worship, of course, that it was God doing this work; that God was answering the prayers of the people; that God was and is alive and well in their own lives, in Fondwa, and for the sake of the world.

When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus, himself, alone. And as they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them [to tell no one about what they had seen] until the Son of Man had been raised from the dead.

The disciples didn’t catch it because they couldn’t know what we know. But, in spite of what was to come for Jesus – his crucifixion, his death, and his burial – there might have been a hint of a smile on his lips and a wink in his eye, because he hoped for what we know is true: that the Son of Man has, indeed, been raised from the dead.

So they were invited to be transfigured … transformed … changed … themselves. And not to be afraid in the same ways they once were or that we are tempted to be afraid, so much of the time.

And they were allowed to leave the mountain with a different kind of command – to tell anyone with ears to hear about all the things they had seen and heard and shared and received – by God’s grace and with gratitude to their friends in Fondwa…

…the stuff of grace and generosity and gratitude, I mean, for blessings too numerous to count – and that must be shared – in order to change the world with the love of Jesus, as he intends.

Amen

Salt of the Earth, Light of the World

Matthew 5:13-16

[Jesus said,] “You are the salt of the earth.  But if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?  It is no longer good for anything and is thrown out and trampled under foot.”

“You are the light of the world.  A city built on a hill cannot be hidden.  No one lights a lamp and places it under a bushel basket, but on a lamp stand where it gives light to all in the house.  Therefore, let your light shine before others so that they might see your good works and give glory to your father in heaven.

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If you’ve been around for a while at Cross of Grace, you’ve heard some mention here and there about the ministry at First Trinity Lutheran Church – over on 42nd Street and Emerson, closer to downtown Indy. We’ve done ministry in a distant kind of way with them over the years.

We collected Mission Sunday offerings, back in the day, to help them with a backpack program one summer for kids in their neighborhood. A couple of years ago, we joined them on “God’s Work. Our Hands.” Sunday – the nationwide day of service for the ELCA. For that, some of us knocked on doors in their neighborhood, asked people who might need help with minor yard work and home repair projects, and then went to help with those projects and to clean up a park nearby, too. About a year ago, we shared a midweek Bible Study about what it means to be Lutheran-flavored Christians in the world. And just a few weeks ago, one of our handbell choirs showed up to ring at First Trinity, on a Sunday morning, during worship.

Many of you also know that my dad – who is supposed to be retired from ministry – is the permanent supply preacher at First Trinity. When he’s in town and available, he leads worship for and with them on Sunday mornings. I’m asking my Faith Formation class to join him – and them – for worship next Sunday while I’m away in Haiti.

The reason we’re doing all of this – and the reason I think God might be calling us to even more of this shared ministry – is because First Trinity, like so many churches in our world these days, has lost some of its saltiness. (I don’t think they’d mind me saying that.) They are a proud, faithful people, with a rich history of multi-cultural, grace-filled ministry. But, like so many churches in our country, they are riding the struggle bus of low attendance, lack of consistent pastoral leadership, and a general decline in ministry and programming and energy that draws new people into their midst.

All of that, along with the notion that the white, German, Lutheran way of doing church in the world doesn’t always connect with or feel like “church” the way people of color are in their neck of the woods are often familiar with, means First Trinity has struggled to attract and keep people from their neighborhood – their little part of the Kingdom – interested and engaged and connected to their ministry.

But, these are a salt of the earth people at First Trinity, whose work in the world has lost some of its taste. So the Synod has invite us – and I think it would be fun would be fun and meaningful and holy and faithful – to see if we can’t help them get some of their flavor back.

So here’s some of what I’ve been wondering about – some of what has been brewing through prayer and conversation with the folks at First Trinity and the Bishop’s staff – just to get our wheels of possibility spinning:

What if some of us chose to worship at First Trinity some Sunday at 10:45 a.m., instead of or in addition to worshiping here? Your presence will be welcome there. You may find something new and different that you’d like us to do more often at Cross of Grace. You may also be reminded about all we have to be grateful for in this place.

What if, when you hear about an upcoming, shared, midweek Bible Study with our friends at First Trinity, you would consider joining the fun? We learned a lot from and for and about one another the last time we did that.

What if you added First Trinity and all of this to your prayers, inviting God to stir up something new at Emerson and 42nd street and in the hearts and lives of the disciples at First Trinity, too, so that new faces might show up to get a real taste of the genuine, generous grace they have to offer?

And please don’t misunderstand me, this isn’t all or only meant to look like generosity and benevolence on our part. We have plenty to gain in all of this, too. I think every congregation – even places as full of life as Cross of Grace is blessed to be – are at risk of losing their saltiness. And I think it’s just exactly the kind of thing Jesus is warning the disciples about in this morning’s Gospel.

Even in his day and age – with the Son of Man milling around in their midst – Jesus was watching and warning about the waning of the impact those first disciples might have on the world around them. So certainly, Christians today of every stripe are invited to be mindful of the same: of becoming too complacent; of flirting with apathy; of embracing faith practices that are so comfortable we forget to let the grace of God’s love surprise and unsettle and move us in a new way as God intends.

I happen to believe that the minute we stop leaving our own neck of the woods with the good news of God’s grace is the minute we start to lose our own flavor, lose our own saltiness, lose the vim and the vigor that got us here in the first place. Which is why I’m fairly certain this potential new relationship with First Trinity would serve us in some surprising ways.

Because one thing I know to be true, is that we are blessed and made better every time we get out of our own walls and into the world with the good news we celebrate so well around here. Most of us have seen the difference our ministry in Fondwa, Haiti, has meant – not just for the women’s clinic we helped to establish, or the school we helped to re-build after the earthquake, or the many homes we’ve constructed over the years – but for those of us who’ve been able to spend time with our friends there and for anyone from Cross of Grace who gets to tell someone else about what we’re up to there. That’s the salt of mission and service adding to the flavor of God’s grace in the world.

Likewise, those of us who’ve been able to worship at the Pendleton Prison – just the handful of times we’ve done that – have been blessed and better for the experience. I even get the idea that many of you were moved just to hear about some of that if you were here last Sunday. That’s the salt of worship adding to the flavor of God’s presence for the least of these in our midst.

And the same goes for ministries like Agape Alliance that shares food and friendship with prostitutes on the eastside; the Burmese refugee family we were able to help get settled this past fall, through Exodus International; the “Bags of Blessing” some of you give away as you’re out and about around town; the prayer shawls and quilts that are made and shared with more people than we can keep track of; the blood you donated last Sunday that will end up God knows where, helping God knows who; and the food pantry bounty or the SonRise ministry that benefit and bless, almost exclusively, families who don’t come to Cross of Grace for any other reason. All of it is the salt of generosity, friendship, comfort, compassion, mercy, faith, hope, and love adding to the flavor of God’s kingdom among us – for the sake of the world.

These are just some of the ministries to which God calls us as disciples… as Partners in Mission… as salt of the earth.

And every bit of this is very much about the rest of what Jesus has to say in this morning’s Gospel. We are – at Cross of Grace and at First Trinity and as God’s Church in the world – meant to be like a city on a hill… like a lamp on a stand – shining the light of God’s grace and love and good news for all the world to see. We are blessed to be a blessing, remember. We are given the light, not just to see for ourselves, but to light the way for others, just the same.  

Please hear that nothing about this potential relationship with First Trinity is cast in stone or written in blood or signed on any dotted lines. I have no idea where – if anywhere – all of this could lead. It really is just the beginning of some prayerful conversation and dreaming.

But I’ve heard of churches like First Trinity being re-invigorated by relationships like this and transforming their facilities into homeless shelters or food banks or faith-based community centers. I’ve heard about synod offices choosing to make facilities like First Trinity their home base, instead of paying crazy amounts of rent in cold, boring professional office buildings.

At the very least, I can imagine a mutual, shared ministry were Cross of Grace and First Trinity each have the chance to plant a flag for the kind of grace we share in another neighborhood – a chance to call another place “home” in a surprising way – both of us adding to our circle of Partners in Mission – growing our circle of influence – expanding God’s circle of grace in the world. How cool could that be?

However we choose to engage this invitation – if we do – I believe it stands to add something savory to our already full plate of grace and good news and mission and ministry at Cross of Grace. And I believe it could be yet another way to honor the call, command and promise of our baptism – to let our light so shine before others, that they might see our good works and give glory to our Father in heaven.

Amen