Sermon, March 2, 2003
Last Sunday after the Epiphany, Year B
The Rev. Lowell E. Grisham
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Fayetteville, Arkansas

Gospel -- Mark 9:2-9 The Transfiguration of Jesus

My friend Jay McDaniel likes to say that there are four insights that are the musical score of faith. He says this is what we know when we listen intuitively to the music of faith:

There is a deep mystery in life -- something more -- and it is good

There is a grace sufficient to each moment

There is a wideness in God's mercy

All will be well

Peter, James and John caught an earful and an eyeful of that symphony of faith in the story we hear today of Jesus' transfiguration. They witnessed a certain glory in their friend and teacher Jesus. It was a glimpse into the depths within a cloud of mystery. And though it sounds rather far away from our experience, maybe it is not so strange or distant.

I'm convinced that all human beings experience moments of transfiguration. We've all been touched by mystery. It is something deep, something more in life; and it is good. It has a wideness and a fullness that is more than we can possess, but we can remember mystery's presence. I've felt it in here, in this holy place. I've glimpsed it in many of you. As Gerald May writes, "in the pause between breaths, in the space between thoughts, in the quiet that remains after any sound or activity ceases. All it takes to notice mystery is to look very closely at anything, to appreciate the presence of that thing and the wonder of your being there looking at it." (Will and Spirit, p. 311)

Listen to this memory from Gerald May. "I remember well my first introduction to this kind of seeing. I was eating supper at my fraternity house in college. A friend sitting next to me suddenly grabbed a saltshaker and thrust it in front of my face. 'Look at that!' he exclaimed, 'Have you ever really seen that before? Do you realize it's there, really there right now?' For some reason I didn't laugh at him. For some wonder-filled reason I was too caught up in looking at the saltshaker. It really was there, and no, I had never really seen it before. There was something absolutely amazing about its presence and my presence. Everything is really there, just like that, with absolute mystery. It may be easier to notice the mystery in waterfalls and mountains, in the depths of the night sky, in birth or dying or in human loving. But it is just as much present in a salt shaker, a wall, or a stone. It is in the faces of other people, and in the chairs they sit upon, and in their shoelaces. It is always available, if one can but be willing to notice it." (Ibid, p. 311-12)

Thoughts have a tendency to become their physical equivalent. Another way of saying that, we usually see what we expect to see. In many ways we nurture and create our own reality. If we expect the world to be a threatening, evil place, we will experience the world as a threatening, evil place. Consciousness creates reality. That's why it is important to nurture your own awareness. If you are to hear the music of faith, it helps if you are awake and alert to the deep mystery in life, the grace that is sufficient to each moment, the wideness of God's mercy, and the confidence in God that all will be well.

There are people who live that way. William James calls them the "once born," people for whom religion and living are synonymous. "They live as best they can and accept their being at that. They do not try to do more than their best. Their behavior is responsible, but they assume neither credit nor blame. There is no need for them to try to live, for they are immersed in the process of living." (May, Simply Sane, p. 46) But the rest of us have a harder time. We seem to think we have to do something. We're busy "fixing rather than healing; building rather than growing." (Ibid, p. 47)

Maybe that's why every once in a while God breaks something open for us in moments of transfiguration. Moments when we realize that there is something more, a deep and good mystery in life; and there is a grace sufficient to each moment; that there is a wideness in God's mercy; and everything is just fine, all will be well.

Maybe you've had something happen to you like this transfiguration moment from a woman I know of:

I was standing at the kitchen sink, doing the dishes. The suds foamed up over the water, over my hands. The house was still. For some reason -- I'll never know why -- I just stopped for a moment and looked at the suds on my hands. Thousands upon thousands of bubbles, making that little gentle crackling sound bubbles make. Suddenly the world opened up. The sun through the window, the shadows on the floor. A bird singing outside. The breeze. The world had a kind of humming sound to it, so incredibly alive. And I had this exquisite romance. I was falling in love -- literally "falling" and literally "in" -- totally in love with the world. (Will and Spirit, p. 83-84)

Our world needs some of the wisdom and energy from the reality of transfiguration. There are a remarkable number of people who are immersing themselves into that alternate reality as a way to help nurture healing and peace in the world. The well known author and physician Christiane Northrup brings a transfiguration vision to her intercessory prayers in this perilous moment of history. She invites us to pray this way:

Spend 30 seconds several times a day creating a "virtual" reality of what peace would look and feel like. Imagine that it's a year from now and the economy is flourishing. George Bush is radiantly healthy; the governments of the free world are all cooperating to ensure global harmony and peace. And Saddam and Bin Laden and their influence have disappeared from the planet. Imagine all our soldiers back home and reunited with their families. Imagine a global village in which all of us can travel freely and joyously and with understanding and acceptance of each other's cultures. When thinking about Iraq or North Korea, imagine the women and children. Send your energy and compassion to them. Don't try to change the men of these countries. In fact, don't even give them any thought lest you energize them. Withdraw your energy from them so that you will no longer be "feeding" them. Dozens of studies have documented the fact that our thoughts can and do affect others in profound and measurable ways.

                    (fm. Dr. Christiane Northrup's subscribers' newsletter, c. 2/14/03)

Living within the music of faith is counter cultural. It is a way of unplugging from the multiple invitations to fear. The newspapers and TV and some politicians want to hook us on fear because that's the way they know they can grab our attention. Statistics tell us that our country and schools are safer now than they have ever been, but you wouldn't think that from paying attention to the news. We serve whatever we give our attention to. Will we serve fear or love?

This moment in the Gospel narrative has a fearful context. The first three words that introduce today's reading are the words "Six days later." What happened six days before this moment of transfiguration? Six days ago Jesus told his disciples that everything was going to come crashing in upon them. He told them that he would suffer and be rejected and killed. And he said that they would need to surrender their own lives to follow him. He told them that they would witness in these events true power, the kind of power that always overcomes mere force. That's not naive hoping that everything will turn out alright. That's deep faith. Faith in the something more, the deep mystery in life that is good; faith in a grace sufficient to each moment, even those moments that threaten us with death and destruction; faith in a vast wideness in God's mercy that knows that all will be well, even in the face of catastrophe. Out of such faith one is able to confront life with real courage. Out of such faith comes the true power that overcomes mere force. That is a glimpse into the depths of the cloud of mystery. That is power of transfiguration.

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