Mark 1:9-15

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Now the Spirit immediately drove Jesus out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him. Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee proclaiming the good news of God, and saying,“The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

I heard one of the fathers who lost a daughter in the school shooting on Wednesday, cry his heart out on national television Friday morning. His name is Frank Guttenberg, and he was a broken man, beside himself with grief and anger and shock and regret. Grief, of course, because his little girl, Jaime, was gone, taken from him, 14 years-old, and murdered so savagely. Angry, of course, because it was all so senseless. Shocked, of course, because – no matter how prolific and popular these massacres have become in our country – we never, ever, ever think this will happen in our town, in our school, to our children. So… grief and anger and shock … of course.

But it was this father’s regret that broke him wide open and choked him up in a way that I can’t shake. His regret was that he couldn’t remember how or if he told his daughter he loved her before she left for school that morning. He acknowledged what so many of us know – that things are crazy so much of the time, that we get busy and distracted and behind schedule – and that that’s how Wednesday morning must have been for his family. So when Fred Guttenberg learned that Jaime had been shot and killed at school, it tortured him to not know for certain if he had told her what was true and more important than anything else he could have said that day – that he loved his little girl.

In this morning’s Gospel, Jesus shows up to be baptized by John, in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heaven’s torn apart, and the Spirit of God descending on him. And the voice of God – the Father – announced, not just for Jesus to hear, but for anyone listening, that Jesus was loved. “You are my son, the beloved, with you I am well pleased.” “You belong to me, you are mine and I love you.”

And then, just like every one of those parents in Parkland, Florida, on Wednesday, and like so many of us do and have done – God, by way of the Holy Spirit, sent the Son … God’s own child … out into the wilderness where he was beset by temptations, by the devil, by wild beasts, and by angels, too. And I imagine Jesus’ ears must have been ringing with those words all along the way: “You are my son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.” “You belong to me, you are mine, and I love you.”

And those words make all the difference, if we let them – they must have for Jesus, and I hope they do for each of us. “You are my child. You belong to me. You are mine, and I love you.”

Those words – those promises – don’t keep us out of the wilderness, or even safe in the wilderness enough of the time. They didn’t for Jesus and they don’t for us, always, either. But I believe those words – the promise of God’s everlasting love for us – are God’s gift precisely because of the wilderness God knows we live in so much of the time. And I believe the promise of God’s abiding love and eternal life are meant to give us comfort and courage; wisdom and understanding; counsel and might; grace and mercy and peace, in the midst of and in opposition to the wilderness as we go. They did for Jesus and I hope they will for us, just the same.

None of us is Jesus, of course. But each of us is a child of God. To me, that means we can’t do it as well or as faithfully as Jesus, the perfecter of our faith, would do. But as brothers and sisters in Christ, we are called and challenged – driven into the wilderness of it all – to try, nonetheless. So as we continue to debate what we would, could or should do in response to the violent, deadly wilderness in which we find ourselves in this country, I think we’re called to enter that debate and to make those decisions with the promises of God’s love for us, ringing in our ears, like they must have done for Jesus.

The promises of his baptism gave Jesus the power to choose forgiveness and to practice mercy. Can they do the same for us?

The promises of his baptism gave Jesus faith in the face of his fears. Can they do the same for us?

The promises of his baptism gave Jesus courage to speak truth to power. Can they do the same for us?

The promises of his baptism, gave Jesus courage to lay down his life, even, for the sake of the world. Can they do the same for us?

The promises of his baptism allowed Jesus to choose peace over power; humility over pride; love over hate; sacrifice over self-preservation. Can those promises do the same for you and me?

I’m so sad for the 17 lives lost in Florida on Wednesday. I’m sad for the young man who did the killing – that he wasn’t told or shown or convinced of God’s love for him, too. I’m sad for all of our kids who think about going to school differently than I ever would have imagined. I’m sad that weapons – for the sake of protection – have become so important to so many of us.

And I’m sad for Fred Guttenberg and for all the parents who wonder when or how or if they told their children they loved them before they died.

But I’m hopeful they’ll realize – and rest assured sooner, rather than later – that their children know now, not just of their earthly parents’ love for them, but that they know, too, of God’s loving, gracious claim on their life, in this world and for the next.

And I hope we’ll remember those promises every day that we live, too, until they move us to do what Jesus says to do in this morning’s Gospel: to repent… which is to turn… which is to change in some way, each and every one of us… and to believe in the Good News of God’s love for ourselves, for our enemies, and for the sake of the world, until it makes a difference.

I hope we will repent… that we will turn… that each and every one of us, informed and inspired by our faith in the ways of Jesus, will change something in some way;

…that the promises of our baptism will speak through us more loudly and clearly than the politics that surround us;

…that we will believe in the Good News of God’s love, until the wilderness of this world gives way to God’s kingdom of peace and blessing and love at every turn.

Amen

Mark 9:2-9

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus. As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

Someone once told me they hated the Lord of the Rings movies. That was a hard thing for me to hear. As a die-hard Tolkien fan who has spent countless hours immersed in the mythology and adventures of middle-earth through the novels and films, it’s hard for me to comprehend how someone could say they hated the original trilogy of films; as imperfect as they were.

This person elaborated, saying he stumbled upon the movie on TV and gave up after about a half-hour because he couldn’t understand what was going on. In the course of the conversation it became clear that he had seen just one of the movies in the original trilogy – the last one, The Return of the King.

It’s no wonder he didn’t understand what was going on; there are six hours of film material that sets up The Return of the King. If he didn’t understand what the ring is, why a tiny hobbit and allies had set off to destroy it, or the dynamics of the forces and obstacles in their way, then there was no way he could be invested in the outcome of the story.

In a way, jumping into the story of the Transfiguration of Christ in Mark’s gospel account is like skipping the first two Lord of the Rings movies and only watching a ten minute scene from the third movie. You might appreciate the special effects or a particular line delivered by an actor, but you’re left with no clear understanding of how the scene fits into the larger story, much less what implications the story has for you.

So, briefly, here are the stories you need to know in order to appreciate the story of the Transfiguration.

Episode 1: Moses and Mt. Sinai.

The Lord summons Moses up the mountain where, over the course of 40 days and nights, Moses encounters God through wind, earthquake, and fire. Moses receives a lengthy list of commandments, starting with what we know as the ten commandments, but also including laws about the altar, slaves, violence, property, restitution, festivals, etc. The last thing Moses does before leaving the mountaintop is he requests that the Lord’s favor would be with him and his people. The Lord agrees.

Moses returned to camp with the commandments and finds the people had made a golden calf idol to worship, effectively rejecting the Lord who brought them out of slavery. Moses is furious and smashes the stone tablets engraved with the commandments. The Lord is furious and threatens to destroy the people. Moses intervenes, however, and the Lord’s mind is changed…although the Lord still sends a plague upon the people. One could make the case that the people got sick less due to divine wrath and more likely because Moses had ground up the golden idol and made the people drink it.

We’ll fast-forward decades after Moses’s mountaintop experience to Episode 2: Elijah and the SIlence.

Elijah was a prophet to the Northern Kingdom of Israel. Elijah led a military victory over followers of Baal, which outraged Jezebel, the Queen of the Northern Kingdom. Fearing for his life, Elijah fled from the promised land and went into the wilderness, eventually coming to Mt. Sinai.

Elijah hopes for a Moses-like moment. He wants The Lord to appear in the fire, wind, and earthquake. He wants the Lord to bestow to him the new rules so that he could return to the promised land and usher in a new age of fidelity. He wants to be the new Moses.

But this time on Mt. Sinai, Lord was not in the wind, earthquake, or fire; rather, God was in the sheer silence. Not a "still, small voice" (as has been erroneously translated), but it is in the silence that God speaks. In the silence, Elijah understands what he must do; he must return to the same people who had threatened to kill him and continue to proclaim the prophetic word of justice and truth.

Jesus’s disciples and the first Christians were very familiar with these stories. They understood mountains had played a significant role as important places of divine revelation. They also understood that things go awry once you head down from the mountain and try to communicate your divine experience back in the “real world.”

Fast-forward once more to Episode 3: Daniel and the Mysterious Figure.

Daniel was a noble and faithful Hebrew man whom the Lord rescued from the den of lions. The final part of Daniel’s story involves an encounter with “a man clothed in linen….His face was like a flash of lightning, and his eyes were like burning torches” (Daniel 10:5-6). This luminous figure foretells of a great military victory for the Hebrew kingdom, ushering in a time of prosperity and peace; and concludes with a mysterious statement about the resurrection of the dead. This figure was often understood as a symbol of the Christ or Messiah.

Here we have two stories of dine revelation happening on a mountain; and one story of a figure clothed in blinding white promising the Lord would lead the Hebrew people to victory on the earth.

With these stories in our rearview, we can now turn our attention to today’s story of the Transfiguration.

The writer of the Gospel of Mark likely thought this was an important story to include in his collection of Jesus-stories because it is so obviously in continuity with well-known Hebrew stories, as we’ve just explored. However, as with all the great gospel stories, it’s power is precisely where the story puts a radical spin on previously-held truths.

Jesus has been very active teaching, healing, and providing for the people suffering great need. At this point Peter has proclaimed Jesus as the Messiah. Only a couple verses later Peter rebukes Jesus for claiming that he would be killed by the religious and political forces. After all, Peter knew of the promise of victory given to Daniel by the mysterious figure. By talking about being killed, Jesus was getting the story wrong.

Jesus, Peter, James and John head up a high mountain and there Jesus is transfigured. His clothes become dazzling white and Elijah and Moses show up and start talking to Jesus.

Peter’s mind in blown. He knows something incredible is happening. Some new divine revelation is about to be revealed. And then it hits him. “Uh-oh, he thinks; I know what happens when people go back down the mountain…and it’s never good.” Peter’s excitement turns to terror.

Once more Peter rebukes Jesus, this time it’s proactive and subtle; but it is a rebuke nonetheless. Peter refers to Jesus as “Rabbi.” In Mark’s gospel, the disciples only ever call Jesus “Rabbi” when they’re about to challenge or confront him. It’s a power move, designed to pin Jesus within the confines of the established Hebrew religion – the one that promised great blessings for the people so long as they remained faithful.

So Peter calls out to Jesus, "Rabbi, it is good for us to be here." But what he's really saying is something like this...

“Hey Rabbi, don’t forget your obligation is to our religion, so whatever it is you’re talking about with those two, be careful. You know what, let’s just hang out up here. We got Moses and Elijah here, which is great. Plus, as long as we’re up here, we’re safe. Whatever you three are talking about is probably bad news for everyone else, and I don’t like giving people bad news. So, what d’ya say. Wanna pitch a tent and never go back down?”

And then comes a loud voice, saying, “This is my son, the beloved; listen to him.”

And there’s the twist of the story. On the top of this new mountain, there is no new divine revelation. No new commandments. No wind, fire, earthquake, or even silence. There is only the acknowledgment that everything Peter needs to know has already been said by Jesus before they summited the mountain.

And what has Jesus been saying recently? He has been talking about how he is going to die and be raised back to life.

Jesus has been sharing a new radical divine revelation the whole time. It’s the same message Peter rebuked Jesus for saying.

God’s purpose is not a military victory over Israel’s oppressors. God’s purpose is peace..

God’s purpose is not to give the Hebrews and Christ-followers all the world’s resources. God’s purpose is for all things to be shared abundantly among all people.

God’s purpose is not a cult of adulation. God’s purpose is the way of the cross.

As one biblical commentator puts it, God’s phrase, “Listen to him!” means that the disciples are to believe Jesus’ word that “rejection, suffering, death, and resurrection are integral to his messianic mission, and that the way of the cross is equally integral and inescapable for all who would follow him (cf. Mark 8:34–38).”*

There is always a chance that we would use the relative security of religion to wall us in from doing the real work of discipleship. The real work of discipleship is cruciform. It is going down from the mountain into the world that desperately needs the message of peace, love, hope, and unlimited forgiveness.

May you be aware of the times when your faith is “Peter-ing” out – the times when you desire to choose safety over service and comfort over care. God is on the mountain just as God is on the cross; but God also comes down from the mountain the same way God comes down from the cross.

The real work of discipleship is cruciform. It is risky and dangerous. It calls us to move away from false assurances and instead to take the leap of faith into a path we cannot see.

The real work of discipleship is cruciform. It is driven by a love “that refuses to “play the world’s power game of domination, exploitation, greed, and deception.”**

The real work of discipleship leads to the cross, where everything that needs to die is put to death; and everything beautiful rises again, and again, and again; because the beautiful things in life will come back to us.

Amen.

* Rodney J. Hunter, Feasting on the Word, p.452.
** Hunter, p.454.

Parkland and the Promises of Baptism

Petering Out On The Mountaintop