Trials and Transfiguration

Mark 9:2-9

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter, James, and John, and he led them up a high mountain, apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them and his clothes became a dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And they saw there Moses, with Elijah, talking with Jesus.

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 didn’t know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them and a voice came from the cloud, saying, “This is my Son, the beloved; listen to him!” And when they looked around, they saw no one there except Jesus, himself, alone.

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them not to tell anyone about what they had seen, until the Son of Man had been raised from the dead.

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I’m a sucker for “Before and After” stuff. You know what I’m talking about. A good home makeover on HGTV where someone transforms a goldenrod and avocado-colored kitchen from 1978 into a stainless steel and subway tiled jewel for the 21st Century. Or a weight-loss reel where a poor, pudgy, picked-on high schooler becomes a ripped, muscle-bound college kid in just over a year. Or anytime those “where are they now” things pop up and you can see what child-stars from your favorite old TV shows look like as grown-ups.

But the latest iteration of this “Before and After” fascination had me thinking a bit about Transfiguration Sunday and Jesus’ experience up on that mountain with Peter, James, John – and Moses and Elijah, too. Sadly, thanks to the power of Tik Tok and the proliferation of meth, heroine, and other drugs in our culture, the last few years, these “Befores and Afters” are much harder to look at. They show the damage and destruction these drugs can do in less time than a team of contractors can remodel a kitchen or a teenager can reshape and rebuild his body.

I was going to show you what I’m talking about, but decided against it. It didn’t seem right to exploit that kind of sadness and struggle, just to make my point. So trust me when I say – if you haven’t seen them – these pictures (which are actually a series of an individual’s mugshots, over time) show that in just a few months’ time – or a couple of years, maybe – fresh-faces get covered with open sores; bright eyes become bloodshot and vacant; beautiful smiles become smashed-out window panes; otherwise healthy bodies lose their hair and more weight than seems possible. And all of that, of course, is only what we can see changing on the outside.

And, it may be odd, but the reason this made me think of Jesus – and the Transfiguration moment on that mountaintop we just heard about – is because of the first three words we heard from Mark’s Gospel as part of that story: “Six days later…” “Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter, James, and John …” “Six days later…”

Even though this amazing, wonderful, miraculous thing happened up there on that mountain for and with those three lucky disciples, it didn’t happen in a vacuum. And if you check out what Jesus was up to six days EARLIER in Mark’s Gospel, it puts it all in a different kind of light.

See, we don’t know what happened in the meantime because that doesn’t seem important to whoever wrote Mark’s gospel. But, six days earlier, Jesus had had some pretty hard, holy conversations with his disciples. We’re told that, six days before today’s mountain-top experience, Jesus “began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” We’re told that six days earlier, “Peter took [Jesus] aside and began to rebuke him.” We know that Jesus then rebuked Peter and said “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

And we know that six days earlier, Jesus called the crowd with his disciples, and gave them that hard, holy teaching: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” And he said, “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?” And so on…

In other words, the you-know-what is about to hit the fan. Jesus and anyone who followed him – really followed him – were about to find themselves in some deep kimchi, as my high school history teacher, Mr. Huovinen liked to say. According to Jesus, this discipleship stuff; this “following me and fishing for people” business can be hard. It isn’t always pretty, or easy, or safe, or for the faint of heart, either.

And it makes me think about this thing we celebrate in the Transfiguration of Our Lord, and the way it might prepare us for the season of Lent that’s on the way – and for life in this world, really.

Because what happened “six days later” – where we find ourselves this morning – is that Jesus revealed himself to his closest friends as the next, and the best, and as the end in a line of the great prophets of their faith, like Moses and Elijah – the ones who showed up next to him on that mountain. What happened was that Jesus revealed himself in some larger-than-life way as the Messiah and as the Son of God and all of it was in preparation for what was coming next.

And, what was coming next for Jesus was even more unbelievable than what happened on that mountain – even with all of those ghosts, talking clouds, and dazzling white laundry. What was going to happen was that Jesus would be crucified. Jesus was about to share a meal with the rest of his disciples; he would be arrested; he would be denied and betrayed by these very same disciples, Peter, James, and John, just to name a few and then he would die a terrible death – whipped, beaten, mocked, spit upon, crowned with thorns, and nailed to a cross.

And all of this was even more unbelievable than what happened on that mountain, really. Why would God suffer? Why would someone who could heal anyone of anything not simply save himself from all of it right from the get-go? And why would Jesus ask the disciples to follow him through all of this only to die and leave them to deal with the emptiness, anger, pain, persecution, and grief that were sure to follow?

I think maybe God did all of that, in Jesus, because God knew that we would know so many people going through it. Or because God knew we would find ourselves going through it, at some point along the way. And we do, do we not – know people suffering and struggling in so many ways? Cancer and cardiac emergencies. Ugly divorces and dangerous relationships. Financial crises; mental health concerns; legal issues; struggles with aging; deep, abiding, grief; relentless addiction; fears, anxieties, and stresses too numerous to name.

So, “six days later,” six days after his hard, holy conversation about his own suffering and struggle, when Jesus orders the disciples not to tell anyone about what had happened on that mountaintop until after the Son of Man had been raised from the dead, I think maybe he wants them – and us – always to see the mountaintop of his Transfiguration, and the one of Easter’s resurrection, too – in connection with the suffering and struggle of our lives in this world. I think he was showing that God is with us in all of it; that God is not afraid of any of it.

I think he might be saying, just wait until you – and they – can see that I’m going through it, too. That we’re in this together. That we’ll all find ourselves coming down from the mountain tops now and again – deep into the valleys of life in this world, more often than we’d like.

Because whether you’re in the throes of a deep, dark addiction, being rocked by a relationship in ruins, or staring death in the face, this is where God does God’s best work – not just in miracles and magic and mountaintop experiences – but by coming down from the mountain, entering into the broken places, and making them whole; by finding what’s lost; by turning shadows into light; despair to hope; sin to forgiveness; by transforming death into new life, even, by a grace that’s hard to believe until you’ve seen it for yourself – which we will – all of us, by the love promised us in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen

Hard Won, Faithful Following

Mark 1:14-20

After John was arrested, Jesus came from Galilee proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled. The kingdom of God has come near. Repent. And believe in the good news.”

As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fisherman. He said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately, they left their nets and followed him. As he walked a little farther, he saw James, the son of Zebedee, and his brother John, in their boat mending the nets. Immediately, he called them and they left their father in the boat with the hired men and followed him.

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Last week, I talked about “Doubting Nathanael,” that guy who hears about Jesus from his buddy Philip, but who is more than a little suspicious that this Jesus from Nazareth could possibly be who they thought he was – the messiah, the Son of God, “the King of Israel,” as Nathanael ultimately declares him to be, in spite of himself.

As part of all of that, I talked about that very churchy word “evangelism,” the notion of sharing the good news of the Gospel with others in order to invite them to faith – what Philip was doing for his friend, Nathanael, with that short, sweet, simple, holy invitation he learned from Jesus, himself: “Come and see.”

And, when it comes to this “evangelism” stuff, I suggested that some of us aren’t inclined to it. We don’t like it. We don’t feel qualified or capable – a lot of us – to talk about our faith. And I suggested that another reason many of us don’t “evangelize” or talk about our faith out there in the world or invite others to Church like we feel we would, could, or should, is because we don’t want to be “one of those kind of Christians.”

And I could feel the shared sentiment in the air when I said that – “one of those kind of Christians” – like many of you knew what I meant. You know, the pushy ones, the “turn or burn,” fire and brimstone, “get saved or else,” Bible-thumping, holy-rolling Christians who see Jesus’ invitation to “follow me” as less “come and see,” and more “get in line, or else.”

Well, when I considered this morning’s bit of Mark’s Gospel this time around, I wondered about another kind of Christian I don’t want to be, and never have been, really, for that matter. And that’s the kind of Christian who just drops everything and follows Jesus. The kind of believer who leaves nets and boats and friends and family to follow this Jesus from Nazareth. The kind of believer with no questions or doubts or suspicions – like the ones Nathanael had. The kind of follower who just buys all of this, who gets caught up in all of this, who gets dragged along by all of this, hook, line and sinker, you might say.

I think too much of the time, we hear this story about Jesus showing up in Galilee after his cousin, friend, and mentor, John the Baptist was arrested, strolling by the lake collecting disciples like so many sea shells by the sea shore, and we pretend that that’s how it’s supposed to work. That it’s that simple.

“Come and see,” I mean. And they do come, it seems. “Follow me and I’ll make you fish for people.” And I’ll be dipped, they drop everything, leave everything, lay it all down, and follow Jesus, like puppies or robots or whatever.

And it bugs me a little bit that someone thinks I’m “that kind of Christian,” just as much as it bugs me that some might think I’m “the other kind of Christian,” I mentioned earlier.

What I mean… And what I know about so many of you… And what I have learned from reading about those very same disciples we just heard about – James, John, Simon, Andrew, Nathanael, and all the rest – is that this faith we share is hard won; it’s rarely, if ever, easy; it’s hard to come by, to cultivate, to cling to, and to even care about some days. And when we just read little bits of the Gospels like this one – and what a lot of people preach and teach about it – we aren’t getting or sharing the whole story. When we pretend that everyone should be able to just drop everything and follow Jesus, we’re not being fair or honest about what this journey of faith and what life in this world are really like a lot of the time.

Because let’s not forget about how hard it was for these disciples to keep up with following Jesus so faithfully in those early days. Yeah, they left their boats and their nets and their dad that day by the lake, but they missed the point and misunderstood his teaching a lot of the time, too. They had amazing experiences where water became wine, where Lazarus was raised from the dead, where people were healed. They, themselves, passed around a couple of loaves and a few fish to feed thousands of hungry people on more than one occasion. Peter walked on water for crying out loud.

But the story goes that he sank like a stone, too, when his faith failed him out there on that water. And Lazarus died again somewhere along the way, too. And those disciples got stingy with the good news they’d received. And, in the end, despite all they’d seen and all they had to celebrate in their time with Jesus … in spite of all that faithful following … they denied him; they betrayed him; they deserted him; they left him hanging, quite literally, in the end.

Which is to say, again, this faith stuff is hard won, not easy, difficult for a lot of us to come by, to cultivate, cling to, and care about some days. And I think Jesus knew that and knows it, still. And I think it’s why he said then – and invites us, always – to “come and see” and “follow me,” nothing more and nothing less.

Peter Marty is a Lutheran pastor and editor of the Christian Century magazine, for which he wrote a piece last month about a man in his congregation who was coming to terms with the imminent death of his mother. The man, Jason, was 44 years old, his mother, Marie, was dying in the ICU. And Jason was utterly out of sorts about it all – never having been inside a hospital before and not resting in or wrestling with, any measure of faith, whatsoever.

So, in the ICU waiting room, trying to minister to Jason, whose mother was hours away from death, Pastor Marty was asking himself some pretty hard questions. Like, “to someone of unbelief sitting beside you in a hospital waiting room, how do you describe the power of faith, the significance of hope, or the meaning of life?” And, “How do you realistically acquaint them with the riches or comfort of faith during a 20-minute sit-down?”

Pastor Marty’s answer was, sadly, “You don’t.” And I think, sadly, most of the time, he’s right. None of us has encountered Jesus, strolling along the seashore with an easy, “Come and see” and “Follow me,” that does the trick.

As Pastor Marty writes, “Faith is a deeply ingrained condition formed through steady habits, disciplined practices, and reliable instincts that take shape over long stretches of time. It’s a way of life that acquires its layers and contours incrementally, developing ever so gradually and often imperceptibly.” He says, it’s something “like the parent who doesn’t notice her infant’s changing appearance until she comes home from a weeklong trip and can’t believe how much her child has matured in her absence.”

With that in mind, with the struggles that surround us in this world, and with the ones all of us are yet to encounter along the way, I hope we can be careful, compassionate, and realistic about how we receive and share this story of those first disciples who seem to so easily drop everything and follow Jesus.

Don’t get me wrong, their first steps were bold and brazen; beautiful and faithful; inspiring, even, to be sure. But, again, I know it’s not always so easy.

Because they were knuckleheads and naysayers, doubters and deniers, cynics and skeptics, fearful and faithless, too. And again, I think Jesus knew and knows that about all of us, just the same.

And it’s why our invitation is to follow in his footsteps. Not believe without question. Not denying that our fears are real or that they get the best of us too often, either.

But following with whatever faith we can muster – putting one foot in front of the other – loving, forgiving, showing mercy, giving generously, praying daily, worshiping regularly. Following as closely as we can – especially on our hardest days. Following Jesus – trusting that God is always somewhere out ahead of us … making a way for us and to us whether we believe it, understand it, can see it, or not. Following this Jesus – because his is the way and the truth and the life – and it makes a difference for us, come what may, in spite of ourselves, and for the sake of the world.

Amen