Luke 9:29-36 "Listen To Jesus

Today we have come to the end of the Epiphany season. For the past few weeks, we have reflected upon the ways in which God is made known in our lives and in the world. Throughout January and this first part of February, we have pondered the significance of the Light of the World, come at Christmas, and how our lives have been influenced and impacted as a result.

The season of Epiphany began with light – the light of a dazzling star that led the Magi to Bethlehem – and the season also ends with light – the blazing light of the transfiguration that fairly burst the seams of the old ragged robe that Jesus wore.

Epiphany is the season of revelation. It is the season whose focus is God being revealed to us. It is the season of light bulbs going on when we think we “get it.” How fitting then that, symbolically, Epiphany is the season of light.

Of course, Peter, James, and John had no clue that the light of this particular day would be different from any other. The light of the sun had awakened them as usual, its pink and rosy fingers spreading across the dawn sky. The light of the breakfast fire was bright and lively and meant that their second cup of coffee would be steaming hot after all.

Who knows whether these faithful (if sometimes clueless) followers would have an inkling that, before the sunlight had faded first into twilight and then into darkness, they would be catapulted into a sacred moment so powerful that it practically blew their socks off when Jesus invited them to come along while he prayed that morning?

Surely Peter, James, and John made some association with the fact that Jesus was leading them up a mountain when he could have simply walked a couple hundred yards from their campsite to do his private devotions. After all, as obedient Jews, they viscerally understood the significance of mountains and mountaintop experiences, for they towered in the Hebrew imagination and in the sacred writings of the Torah.

It was on a mountain that Abraham chose faithfulness to God over everything else and would have killed his son, Isaac, had his God not intervened with a well-placed ram in a nearby thicket to sacrifice instead.

It was on Mount Sinai that Moses encountered God, with the thunder growling and lightning flashing, and eight days later retraced his footsteps from the midst of the holy black clouds to the Hebrew people who were cavorting in the valley below with their golden calves and graven idols. It was said that Moses’ face glowed like the sun that day of his return, and in his arms and in his heart he carried the Ten Commandments.
But then again, maybe Peter, James, and John made no particular association with the mountain because the writer of the Gospel of Luke tells us that no sooner had Jesus knelt before the Almighty than the disciples fell asleep in the sunshine. And when they awakened, they were smack in the middle of a holy moment like none other they had ever known. This event trumped the water into wine thing, any of the healings they had been privy to, and even that calming the storm bit.

Of course, because the three of them had been snoozing, they missed the part when Jesus actually became transfigured or changed. They simply saw the result: their rabbi bathed in dazzling white, his face shining with the same glorious light that Moses once had glowed with in antiquity.

Jesus was sparkling and those not educated in the sacredness of this story might liken – not him for certain but his sparkles - to Edward Cullen when the sunlight briefly caught him on the plaza in Volterra, Italy, in the recent movie, “New Moon.” And please know that I am not comparing Edward to Jesus. I am comparing their sparkles in order to give you a visual. It was as if Jesus had caught fire from within, the spiritual embers that could not be quenched finally bursting forth with explosive and creative energy.

And to top it all off, Moses the great Lawgiver himself had also made an appearance. He stood on one side of Jesus, and Elijah the most respected Prophet of them all was posed on the other, the trio glowing, their radiantly bright faces glistening. They had clearly been talking with one another, and the disciples caught the last bit of their conversation, something about Jesus’ departure, his own personal exodus, the one he was about to complete in Jerusalem.

But who cares what they were talking about? Peter had bigger fish to fry. Here was a chance to be helpful (and faithful) – and Peter always sought to be helpful (and faithful).

How could he memorialize this magnificent event? How to keep this going was Peter’s chief concern, in spite of the fact, that, as Baptist pastor, R. Alan Culpepper writes, “Faithfulness is not achieved by freezing a moment but by following on in confidence that God is leading and that what lies ahead is even greater than what we have already experienced.”

However - “Booths! Tents!” Peter fairly babbled. “How about building little shrines…”

But before he could finish blurting out his big idea, he was interrupted by a cloud - a cloud and a voice that completely overshadowed him. “This is my son, whom I love – listen to him.”

And that was it. Moses faded back into the deep mists of time along with Elijah, and Jesus looked just like he always did – dressed in the same beige robe with the torn hem and the grease spots where he had wiped his hands after dinner the night before.

You know, we read this story annually on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday. The writers of Matthew, Mark, and Luke all include it in their Gospels, so we hear it from slightly differing perspectives in a three year lectionary cycle. But no matter whose version we read, every year too many of us get all tangled up in exactly what happened rather that what the story means.
Was it a factual and historical event that you could have filmed on your cell phone and then posted on Facebook? Was it a vision? Was it a story created by the early church to teach that the messiahship of Jesus was supported by the law and the prophets? Or, in the end, does it really matter because the truth of the story lies in its meaning and not in its historic literalness?

Oh, we could take this story in so many directions, for its symbolism is rich and deep. We could reflect upon the astounding similarities between this event at the end of Epiphany and Jesus’ baptism at the season’s beginning. At both times, God’s voice proclaimed Jesus to be his own and so affirmed and confirmed his ministry and his message.

We could point out how Passover that year would not be over before Jesus would climb another mountain, this time carrying his own ignoble cross, there to be executed for stirring up the mob and freaking out Pilate and the Roman authorities who just wanted to keep order in Jerusalem. Not glowing then, Jesus was bleeding and weighted down by the sin of the world – the pettiness, the malice, the betrayal, the cowardice. Yes - mountains figure prominently in the Jewish psyche.

We could ponder the idea of Peter, James, and John obediently following Jesus up the mountain that day, not really knowing what they were in for – and ask ourselves (for we proclaim to be followers too) how obediently we follow, knowing full well that following leads only to the cross, to the death of our old selves. How much do we trust the meaning of the transfiguration? How much do we trust the meaning of Easter?

With that thought in mind, we could also focus on the close connection that Luke outlines between Jesus and the Hebrew tradition of Moses. And that is where I want to briefly go this morning.

The literary similarities are several. First of all, the climax of both narratives happens on mountaintops – Moses on Sinai and Jesus on what we have come to call the Mount of the Transfiguration. In addition, both stories point to an encounter with God that was dazzling and spectacular. Over and above the burning bush thing, Moses returned from Mount Sinai with a face touched by the glow of the Almighty. And at the moment of his transfiguration, Jesus too glowed, but not just his face, his whole being.

However, there is a significant difference between the two encounters with God. As Lutheran pastor, Anne Svennungsen, points out, "On Mt. Sinai, Moses received Ten Commandments (no murder, no adultery, no coveting, you know them) – (but) on the Mount of the Transfiguration, the disciples received only one commandment – listen to Jesus." And surely those latter words have echoed through the millennia to us here this morning.

Listen to Jesus….
Blessed are the poor, the ones who have lost it all. God's kingdom is there for the finding. Blessed are those who are ravenously hungry now, for they shall be filled with food and even with a Messianic meal. Blessed are those who mourn, whose tears flow freely because, for them, joy comes with the morning. Count yourself blessed every time someone cuts you down or throws you out, every time someone smears or blackens your name to discredit you.You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.

Listen to Jesus….
Love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer for that person…If someone grabs your shirt, gift wrap your best coat and make a present of it. If someone takes unfair advantage of you, use the occasion to practice the servant life. No more tit-for-tat stuff. Live generously. Listen to Jesus….Love your enemies. Help and give without expecting a return. You'll never—I promise—regret it. Live out this God-created identity the way our Father lives toward us, generously and graciously, even when you’re at your worst. Our Father is kind; you be kind.

Listen to Jesus….
Don't pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. Don't condemn those who are down; that hardness can boomerang. Be easy on people; you'll find life a lot easier. Give away your life; you'll find life given back, but not merely given back—given back with bonus and blessing. Giving, not getting, is the way. Generosity begets generosity.

Listen to Jesus….
Don’t judge….It's easy to see a smudge on your neighbor's face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, 'Let me wash your face for you,' when your own face is distorted by contempt? It's this I-know-better-than-you mentality again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your own part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor.

Listen to Jesus….
You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives.

Listen to Jesus…
And don't say anything you don't mean….You only make things worse when you lay down a smoke screen of pious talk, saying, 'I'll pray for you,' and never doing it, or saying, 'God be with you,' and not meaning it. You don't make your words true by embellishing them with religious lace…When you manipulate words to get your own way, you go wrong.

Listen to Jesus….
Let me give you a new command: Love one another – all your neighbors. Love everyone – and remember that everyone – everyone in the whole wide world is your neighbor. In the same way I loved you, you love one another. This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples—when they see the love you have for each other and for all God’s children.

Listen to Jesus…..

(Biblical quotes are from "The Message")