“I’ll believe it when I see it!”
How many times have you said that in your life? Or heard it?
So much of how we believe and operate is based on our ability to see tangible evidence. The whole field of science and medicine is all about our desire to have proof that explains the things we see happening in the world around us. And that spills over into everything we do. I don’t think I could tell you how many times Mary Ellen has argued with Ken and I about what clothes she should wear to school on a winter day. She’ll come into the room asking if she can wear a t-shirt or even shorts sometimes. Ken or I will explain that it’s below freezing and she needs to put on a sweater. She’ll insist that it’s warm in her classroom and she’ll be just fine in a t-shirt. We’ll go back and forth and back and forth until she finally realizes she’s not making any progress and goes to put on a sweater. And don’t you know it, the minute we walk out the door to the car, she comments about how cold it is and she’s glad she’s wearing a sweater!
So much of what happens in our society tells us that we need proof before we can begin to believe. And that spills over into our faith as well. In our increasingly proof-driven and visual culture, it is easy to think that faith comes by seeing, but as we see in our scripture reading this morning, sometimes even sight is a fleeting thing, and what we see can be easily confused with what God intends to reveal to us.
This morning, we come to Mark’s account of Jesus’ transfiguration, his mountaintop transformation. Just before the transfiguration, Jesus is traveling with his disciples, and he asks the question, “Who do people say that I am?” The disciples tell him that some say he is John the Baptist or Elijah, while others say he is a prophet. So then Jesus asks the men, “Who do you say that I am?” And Peter says, “You are the Christ, the Messiah.” Now, in the transfiguration, we, along with Peter, James, and John, get to see what that means. What the transfiguration tells about Jesus, though, is probably much more significant than we realize because this vision is so fleeting. The vision that Peter, James, and John are given is quickly taken away: “Then a cloud overshadowed them.” Mark tells us. And that cloud is a powerful symbol, something to which most of us can probably relate. Because here’s the thing, even though we long for visual proof, living the life of faith is often more like navigating in a cloud.
Certainly as Peter, James, and John watched Jesus’ transfiguration unfold before them, they were stunned. They knew the role and significance of Moses and Elijah in Jewish history; to have seen them standing before them would have been amazing enough, but what they also see is Jesus, now clothed in dazzling white, conversing with the ancient Jewish prophets. But just as quickly as this scene appears, it is gone again, hidden by a cloud. And isn’t that so much like our life of faith? We spend months and years struggling to understand the significance of Jesus’ life, ministry, death, and resurrection for our own lives, or to discern God’s will for us. Then, one day, there is this “ah-ha” moment, a sudden instance of clarity, but as soon as we understand what is happening, it is gone again, leaving us with more questions than answers. And so a new round of questioning and wondering begins. Really, this is the norm in the life of faith. There are more questions than answers. And, I think it’s fair to say that growing in faith means that, to a great degree, we become more and more comfortable with the uncertainty, with God’s hiddenness.
Indeed, Jesus’ dramatic mountaintop transformation is a moment of great significance. It is a sign of Jesus being entirely caught up with, even bathed in, the love, power, and kingdom of God, such that it transforms his whole being. This transfiguration is the physical sign of God’s message spoken just moments later, “This is my Son, whom I dearly love. Listen to him.” But the real question is, did the disciples then, and do we today, really see this transformation for what it is, or is our vision and understanding still clouded over?
It’s easy enough to dismiss such events as some sort of odd hallucination. Jewish scriptures and traditions tell of various events like this; when the veil of ordinariness that normally prevents us from seeing “inside” to the reality of the situation is drawn back, such that we can catch a glimpse of the greater reality. And indeed, that is what happens in this moment high atop what was probably Mount Hermon, just north of Caesarea Philippi. But this glimpse of reality is sudden and unexpected, and it likely scared the disciples. As they watch Jesus conversing with Moses and Elijah, Peter also begins to speak, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind as he tries to make sense of the whole scene by tying it to the prominent Jewish festival, the Feast of Booths. According to some Jewish expectation, God would usher in the new age, the “Day of the Lord,” during the Feast of Booths. Peter’s speculation at that moment, it turns out was wrong. And God’s voice from the cloud sounds like a very pointed rebuke to Peter’s speaking-without-knowing: “Listen to him.”
Just as faith is about more than seeing, so it is also about more than speaking. In God’s words we might learn a good lesson about listening before we speak; you know the old cliché, “God gave us two ears and one mouth.” But there is more to God’s words than a simple childhood lesson about holding our tongues. “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” As God speaks, he is offering an invitation to examine at the very core how we relate to God; not primarily by speaking, but by listening. Again, this comes down to how we exercise our faith. Just as so much of faith is believing without seeing, so is living in the life of faith about taking time to listen and discern. How often do we speak for God, assuming that we know what God wants for our neighbors or for the world, when really we do not? This is a part of all of us that needs to be transformed, and right here in this passage God tells us how to get started, “Listen to him.”
“Listen to my Son.”
The well-known Christian writer and speaker, Tony Campolo, tells a story about a time that he preached at a chapel service at a Pentecostal college. Before the sermon began, some of the chapel leaders came to Tony and asked if they could lay hands on him and pray for him. Tony knelt at a railing, and the eight men surrounded him, placing their hands on his head. One of the men began to pray, then another, and another. Tony recalls that it seemed each prayer was longer than the last and the hands weighed heavier and heavier with each passing word. At one point, one of the eight men picked up the prayer and didn’t even pray for Tony and his impending message, but instead for a man named Charlie Stoltzfus who lived in a trailer down the street. Charlie had revealed that morning his plans to leave his wife and three children, and the man prayed for God’s intervention. Tony was completely baffled by this prayer immediately before his preaching, and he was really beginning to get antsy with his head was now hurting under the weight of so many hands. But soon enough, the prayer ended and the service began.
All went well, and when the chapel service was over, Tony got in his car and began his journey home. Not long after pulling onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike, Tony came across a hitchhiker whom he felt strongly compelled to pick up. He pulled alongside the man, who climbed into the car. After a few miles, Tony said to him, “Hi, my name’s Tony Campolo. What’s yours?” The man responded, “My name is Charlie Stoltzfus.” Without saying another word, Tony pulled off at the next exit and turned around, heading back toward the Pentecostal college and that trailer just down the street. Charlie kept asking Tony where he was going, and finally Tony answered him, “I’m taking you home.” And that’s exactly what Tony did, driving the ever more baffled Charlie right up to the front door of his trailer. When they arrived, Charlie asked, “How did you know I lived here?” Tony said, “God told me.” Later reflecting that he did believe God had told him through the seemingly strange prayer of that man before the service. Tony walked to the door with Charlie and when his wife opened the door, she was surprised, and even moreso as her husband shared how he had ended up back there. Then, Tony said, “Now, you two sit down. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen.” It was Tony’s second sermon of the day, and it changed the young couples’ lives, as they accepted Christ as their Lord and Savior.
Seeking proof is looking for the easy way out, and talk is easy. But a life of faith in Jesus Christ is far more ambiguous, clouded over in uncertainty, and requiring of us our full attention as we listen for God’s word. Transfiguration is an invitation to go up the mountain and spend time with Jesus; searching and seeking, discerning, hearing, and heeding. But Transfiguration is just as much a dramatic invitation to go down the mountain and listen for Jesus in the valleys, in the turbulence or boredom of everyday life. Sometimes we separate the mountain top experiences from the valley; we think we’ve seen it all, we think we know all we need to know, so we just live our lives without spending time with Christ. But the two can’t really be separated. Faith is “both-and”; the seeing and the uncertainty, the hearing and the heeding; the vision on the mountaintop, and the cloud of unknowing in the world.
Christ’s Transfiguration was all about Christ’s role in the kingdom of God. And our transfiguration is all about our faith in that Christ. Even in the midst of the cloud of uncertainty, listen, and move forward in faith.
