February 26th: Feast of the Transfiguration

Click here to read Mark 9:2-9.

Last Wednesday evening, I preached at the Disciples worship service at Chapman University. The new chapel is a sight to behold. It is architecturally, aesthetically, and spiritually breathtaking. My favorite part was the set of stained glass windows. These windows don’t have the exquisitely detailed designs of our sanctuary windows. They are plainly colored with the shades of the lectionary—red, green, purple, and white. And supposedly, they are placed in such a way that the appropriate liturgical color will be dominant during each extended liturgical season. How the designers managed to calculate this is a mystery, but during the long months of Ordinary time, the sanctuary is filled with light filtered through the green glass. It is a beautiful reminder of the deep connection between the seasons of the Church and the seasons of the earth. Today is the last Sunday of Epiphany—the last reminder, for the time being, that God’s light blazes even in the darkness of winter. Beginning this Ash Wednesday, we take a sharp turn into a very different season— a season of journeys, shadows, and sorrow.

Even though I trust the logic and spirit of the liturgical year and the weekly lectionary scriptures, this week I was caught off guard. This being my first year of preaching on a weekly basis, all the curves in the road are still unfamiliar. I had gotten pretty used to working through the first and second chapters of the Gospel of Mark in a tidy, sequential way. Studying Mark’s purposeful narrative offers such a clear portrait of the amazing beginnings of Jesus’ ministry. I was all ready to dive deeper into the second chapter of Mark, all ready to tag along as Jesus eats dinner with Levi the tax collector.

But the lectionary points us to a very different time and place in the Gospel according to Mark. We skip past teachings and parables, healings and miracles, and we land at the foot of a mountain. Today is the Feast of the Transfiguration, and on this last Sunday of the season of Light, we join Christians the world over to gather with Peter and James and watch as a supernatural event unfolds.

Weeks ago, on Epiphany Sunday, we recalled the brilliant star that led the Magi to the newborn Christ child. That light revealed that Christ would be the light of the world. Today we celebrate the fulfillment of that light, the Christchild grown up into a man in dazzling white clothes, conversing with the great figures of the faith. These stories are seasonal bookends of light and life—the first the light of incarnation, and the last the light of resurrection. Here we are given the gift of a foretaste of what is to come, and just in the nick of time. The 40 days of Lent can be exhausting. Even though we need to grapple honestly with the journey toward the cross, we also cannot afford to lose hope. So today we are given a supersized dose of hope—a supernatural sized dose of hope.

The story of the transfiguration is big and marvelous, and if we’re going to be completely honest, it’s a little weird. Peter and James certainly experienced the event as terrifying and strange. Peter offers the feeble suggestion that they build a dwelling—a tabernacle to commemorate the transfigured Jesus in communion with Elijah and Moses. This is a silly suggestion, and Peter knows it right away. For all of the miracles that Peter and James have seen in their travels with Jesus, nothing prepares them to see the Son of Man in full glory. They are terrified. It doesn’t help that this event transpires immediately after Jesus foretells his death and resurrection. These two disciples are startled by the realization that their fraternity with this holy man is even bigger, even more cosmic than they could have imagined.

On that mountain we witness such a medley of glory and confusion. Jesus has taken on a transfigured shine, Elijah and Moses have stopped by for a midnight chat, and Peter and James are trembling with terror. And in the midst of this mountaintop experience, a cloud overshadows the whole mountain, and the thunderous sweet voice of God proclaims, “This is my Son, the Beloved, listen to him!”

Let’s stay here a minute, tarry for awhile in this moment and on this mountain. In our fast-paced world of constant entertainment and amusement, we’re in danger of missing the terrific depth of the transfiguration. Glory is a difficult concept for us to wrap our minds around, for it isn’t a concept at all. The glorified Jesus emanates the presence of the divine source of all light and life and love. This isn’t some second-rate special effects show. This is God, dramatically and purposefully breaking into the orderly brokenness of Creation. God can and does show up— and nothing is ever the same. This moment in time was transfigured, and so too will God continue to burst into history, transfiguring and redeeming the whole of Creation through the glorious light of Christ.

Of course, the moment doesn’t last. Peter’s suggestion to build a tabernacle to memorialize the transfiguration of Christ was a desperate attempt to capture the moment and make it last forever. But God’s glory cannot be contained any more than God’s voice can be recorded and marketed at the Christian bookstores. The moment ends, but the commandment that descended from the Heavens remains: “This is my Son, the Beloved, listen to him!”

Listen to him. We might not have been on that mountain, seeing what Peter and James saw, but they preserved the most important piece of the whole story—God’s commandment to listen to what his Son actually had to say. This commandment is intimately related to the transfiguration, inextricably bound to the revelation of God’s glory.

How so? By listening to the beloved Son of God, we glorify him.

And this is how one of the most supernatural stories in the whole gospel gets very, very practical. In the course of foreshadowing the glorious resurrection of Christ, we are reminded once again that there is a purpose behind the scandalous incarnation. There is a reason for the life and ministry of Jesus Christ. Jesus did not walk the dusty roads of Galilee only to die that violent death on Calvary. If that were the case, the evangelists wouldn’t have bothered to document the parables and miracles that Jesus shared with his people. The gospel story would be completely alien without the gentle, ordinary, glorious voice of Jesus speaking a new word to Creation.

Listen to him. Listen to him through the call to compassionate giving on this Week of Compassion Sunday. Listen to him throughout the contemplative season of Lent, calling you toward a life more closely aligned with his shining love. Listen to him as you pray, listen to him as you share meals around the holy table of communion. Listen to him through the relationships you nurture with friends and family. Listen to him through the scriptures. And by the grace of God, let what you hear empower you to glorify Christ Jesus, the light of the world. Amen.

Interfaith Council Statement

I just received this press release regarding from the South Coast Interfaith Council, of which South Bay Christian Church is a participating member. The statement responds to the ongoing violence related to the publication of cartoons depicting the Prophet Mohammed in a Danish newspaper. May God's spirit of peace and reconciliation overcome the powers of hatred, intolerance, and violence.

* * *

Now that we have had time to reflect on the tragic misunderstandings and violence that erupted after a Danish newspaper published caricatures of the Prophet Mohammad, it has become clear that this chain of events could have been resolved nonviolently at the local level. Danish Muslims protested peacefully in Copenhagen, petitioned for an apology, and were rebuffed. The Danish Government refused to take their concern seriously, even when foreign diplomats from Muslim countries requested a meeting with the Danish prime minister.

This incident underscores how important it is for local interfaith groups to work together to help resolve these misunderstandings before they become international incidents.

The South Coast Interfaith Council, with a constituency of 250 congregations in the Long Beach-Peninsula-South Bay area of Los Angeles County, as well as in West Orange County, is such a local group committed to fostering interfaith understanding and respect as a path to peaceful coexistence in a diverse society and a global community. We strongly defend the right of free speech while we are nonetheless concerned when such freedom is irresponsibly abused to incite hatred, fear, bigotry or disrespect for any of the world's religions, scriptures, places of worship, races or cultures.

At the same time, we repudiate violence as a response to such insult. Violence, even that borne of frustration or oppression, impedes accomplishing these goals.

We are encouraged, however, that we represent a large, and growing, constituency which includes Muslims, Jews, Christians, Unitarians, Baha’is, Buddhists, Hindus and other people of faith who agree with these values, pray daily for peace, and witness to tolerance in their communities.

Celebrate Life!

Rev. Ginny Wagener, Executive Director, South Coast Interfaith Council

Rabbi Howard Laibson, Temple Israel, President

John Ishvaradas Abdallah, South Bay Sufi, President-Elect

Sunday, February 19th

The gospel story for this morning holds a special place in my heart. This scripture was the centerpiece of the first time I spoke in front of a congregation. I was eleven, and I had been selected to play the owner of the house in the children’s musical. It was a great part to play. I got to narrate the destruction of my own roof.

The scene is Capernaum once again, and the crowd is even bigger than ever. People are drawn to Jesus as if by an invisible magnetic force. Even though Jesus operates beyond the borders of the cultural and religious institutions, the Galileans recognize his powerful spirit. His reputation for teaching and healing has revealed his spiritual authority, and people want to hear and see more from this Nazarene carpenter.

Throughout the first few scrolls of Mark, Jesus has been transgressing boundaries and bending rules—casting out a demon on the Sabbath, for instance, and cleansing a leper by touching him. But Jesus pushes the envelope a little further in the second chapter of Mark. By proclaiming that the paralytic’s sins are forgiven, he’s practically inviting the scribes to be offended.

Jesus responds to their murmurs of blasphemy by backing up his bold proclamation of forgiveness with another impressive healing. The man whose limbs had been frozen with weakness walks away, healed of body and spirit. He is given new life by the Son of Man—with, of course, a little help from his faithful friends.

We like to think of ourselves as the spiritual brothers and sisters of the paralytic’s friends. Their unyielding commitment to bringing their hopeless friend into the healing presence of Jesus is just the sort of passionate dedication to the gospel that the church is supposed to demonstrate. And sometimes we do tear through the roof to make way for the Holy Spirit. Sharing our resources with South Bay Korean Christian Church and Redondo Beach Community Church is a-tear-down-the-roof kind of ministry. Establishing and sustaining the pancake breakfast is a tear-down-the-roof kind of ministry. Supporting Dean Cornwell’s mission in the Congo through prayer and assistance is another tear-down-the-roof kind of ministry.

The Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) tore through the glass roof when we elected Sharon Watkins as our General Minister and President, especially when so many Christian churches struggle to affirm women in ministry.

The Church can and does dig through the roof, and our faithfulness never fails to draw us closer to the forgiving and healing spirit of Christ.

Sometimes, though, the Church resists. Who wants a hole in the roof, anyway? It’s all very cute of the paralytic’s friends to dig their way to Jesus, but someone’s going to have to get up on a ladder and patch up their handiwork.

And sometimes the Church plays the part of the scribes, doubting the power of Jesus and substituting his including love for our excluding rules.

And then sometimes, the Church is more like the paralytic.

Paralysis is a devastating condition, especially for those who once experienced life with use of their muscles and joints. The memory of that former life, full of movement and motion, full of jumping jacks and dancing, can paralyze the mind as surely as an accident can paralyze the spine.

Back in 1956, very few Protestant preachers would have likened the church to the paralytic. The church was anything but immobile. Mainline congregations were bursting at the seams. The nurseries were full of babies and the Sunday School classrooms were abuzz with off-key renditions of “Jesus loves me.”

Fast forward 50 years. Countless mainline congregations are struggling. While the decline in membership and participation is more pronounced in the west, it is a nationwide phenomenon. While congregations like Saddleback Church and Hope Chapel have thrived, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Disciple congregations have misplaced entire generations.

South Bay Christian Church is not alone in this. When I went to Texas last month for a conference on congregational transformation, I sat in a room full of people who told painful stories of dwindling congregations. A sharp majority of baby boomers that had been raised in church nurseries left for good in their early twenties. Some found a home in other traditions, but many spend their Sundays mornings over coffee and newspapers instead of communion and scripture.

Like so many congregations, we are in danger of allowing ourselves to be paralyzed by the memory of a time that is no longer. We could easily get stuck in the recollection of yesteryears. But the world is different. Stores are open on Sundays. Little league games are scheduled for Sunday mornings. The television and internet have trained people to be constantly entertained. And in this post-Vietnam and post-9/11 era, many people prefer to attend churches that offer clear-cut answers to human struggles. The strong tradition of diversity and free thinking in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) does not appeal to many people in younger generations.

We cannot turn back time. Because the world beyond the church is vastly different than it was 50 years ago, life within the church is never going to look quite the same. Besides, we might not want to turn back time even if we could. It’s easy to be sentimental about the past, and make believe that it was perfect. The 1950s were great for many reasons, but we can’t ignore the fact that women were barred from serving as Deacons, Elders, and Pastors, even while some congregations had Klu Klux Klan members serving in those same positions.

So what now? Recognizing that we do, in some ways, resemble the paralytic is not a tragedy. Mark’s story of the paralytic who was forgiven and healed by Jesus is anything but a sorrowful tale. It is a story of hope for the hopeless. It is a story full of good news—especially for the paralytic.

I want us to consider another paralytic. In the 43rd chapter of the prophetic writings attributed to Isaiah, the Israelites were as paralyzed as can be. The Israelites had been exiled in Babylon. Spiritually and metaphorically, paralysis and exile are one in the same. A paralytic is exiled from movement, caged from her own body. And an exile is stuck in a foreign land, bound by memory alone to a time and place that is no longer. Isaiah had the difficult job of helping the Israelites prepare to leave Babylon and be a part of the restoration of Jerusalem. But Isaiah knew that even when the Emperor Cyrus released the Israelites from exile, they might still be exiled in spirit. They might still be paralyzed by the devastating experience of losing their homeland, the center of their cultural and religious life together.

Isaiah relayed this message from God to the people of Israel: “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?”

The Israelites were in danger of binding themselves so tightly to their complex memories that they were incapable of continuing their journey. They remembered the amazing things that God had done for them. They remembered the many ways they betrayed the same God who offered them salvation. The sum of these memories made them heavy with the despair of exiles and paralytics.

And the prophetic word for them is to forget about the past. “Do not remember,” Isaiah said. It wasn’t that the past didn’t have its fair share of wonderment. But if remembering how fantastic it was when God made the sea as dry as a bone meant giving up in Babylon, then the Israelites needed to forget. They were promised that God had forgotten their own sins, even though they had not made full penance for their wrongdoings.

And God made another promise: “I am about to do a new thing.”

God released the Israelites from the prison of their past, and led them out of exile.

Jesus released the paralytic from the sins of his past, and commanded him to walk home.

Do you not perceive it? God is about to do a new thing. It is not a repeat performance of the things of old. It is not a reestablishment of how things used to be. It is a wholly new thing.

A way will be cleared in the wilderness. A river will burst through the desert. A hole will be dug in a roof.

And the way will be a way of love. The river will be a river of mercy. And the hole in the roof will allow the forgiving and healing presence of Christ to reign free again.

Do we believe this, sisters and brothers? Do we believe that in this place, in this congregation, God is about to do a new thing? Are we willing to let the past be past, and open ourselves to the miracle at hand?

Some exiles make a home in Babylon, some paralytics are afraid to take up that mat and walk. And some congregations would rather die than let the Holy Spirit change their old ways. Let us pray we are not such a congregation.

God is extending new spirit and new life to this beloved congregation. The transformation is already happening.

Do you not perceive it?