The following sermon was preached at saint benedict’s table on Sunday, February 23, 2020.
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable and pleasing in your sight O God, for you are our rock and our redeemer. Amen.
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about climbing mountains. Partly because both of tonight’s readings take place on mountains, but mostly because at the end of April I’ll be travelling back to Spain to walk the Camino de Santiago, the ancient pilgrimage route that people have been walking since about the 9th century. The Camino begins when you step out of your front door with intention and ends at the supposed burial place of the James who features in today’s gospel reading.
The Camino contains a lot of mountains.
People sometimes ask me how I am training for the walk and I laugh because how on earth do you train to walk huge mountains in 30 plus degree weather in Manitoba in February? I mean, where could you possibly go to simulate those conditions.
You can’t.
Having climbed a few mountains in my life now, I have learned some things about them. First, unlike what most kindergarten drawings will tell you, mountains aren’t giant triangles where you go straight up one side and then straight down the other.
Mountains are more complicated than that. It’s not uncommon that in order to climb up a mountain you have to go up a little bit and then down a little bit and then up a little bit again, switching back and forth to gradually reach the top.
And while you are doing that, you often have no idea how far you’ve gone. It’s rare to be able to actually see the top of the mountain as you are climbing because trees or fog or simply the scale of the endeavor obscures your view.
I once climbed a mountain in Banff in foggy conditions, and the only reason I knew I had made it to the top was because Parks Canada had posted a sign that said so.
And there was a gift shop.
Today’s gospel reading begins, “Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain…” (17)
So immediately, I want to know what happened six days earlier.
Six days earlier, Jesus explained to his disciples that he was going to go to Jerusalem where he would suffer, die, and then three days later come back to life and if they really want to follow him, the disciples are going to have to pick up a cross and be prepared to die as well.
This revelation was so startling and unsettling that the gospel tells us that Peter rebuked Jesus for suggesting such a thing was possible and Jesus responded with equal force saying to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan!” (16: 21-23)
That’s what happened six days before today’s story. That’s a lot of information for the disciples to take in and a lot of complicated emotions to sort through and process. Relationships don’t often bounce back from a sharp rebuke like, “Get behind me Satan.”
At bare minimum things would feel really awkward for quite some time.
So I imagine that things are feeling pretty tense, and pretty heavy as the four men begin to climb that mountain. They are carrying a lot more than just whatever the Bible times equivalent of a backpack would have been.
What you carry, determines how you walk. This is true in all aspects of life. Your gate changes if you are carrying a football, or a baby, or a bowl full of hot soup or some disappointing news. In fact, not just what you are carrying, but how you carry it can make a big difference.
If you’re climbing a mountain, it’s easier to carry a heavy weight on your back, then in your hands. It’s also easier if that weight is evenly distributed, if you don’t have something sharp poking you in the small of your back.
It’s even easier is the weight is consistent.
I once put an orange in my bag in the morning and spent most of the afternoon marveling at how much easier it was to walk after I had eaten that orange for lunch.
An orange.
Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, and Lent is a really great season to reflect on all the things you carry with you every day.
Sometimes people use the season of Lent to let something go. To stop carrying something they normally hold on to. It could be chocolate or coffee, but it could also be a particular habit, or an attitude. One year I gave up going to Starbucks – not coffee entirely, no one wants to see me give up coffee – just Starbucks. And I was surprised to discover how I had gradually and unthinkingly formed patterns of moving through the day that included stopping at Starbucks, whether I really wanted a latte or not. I had to give it up, to notice that.
And then when Lent was over I did start going back to Starbucks, but no where near as often.
Sometimes people use the season of Lent to pick something up that they don’t normally carry. It might be collecting money for a charity or adopting a new prayer practice. A few years ago I decided to pick up reading the Rule of Benedict over Lent, and as this is the third year in a row I plan to do that, I guess it’s now a tradition.
What are you carrying? Is there something you need to put down, or pick up, or just rearrange a bit? Lent can be a great opportunity to do just that.
The disciples are carrying a lot of heavy feelings as they climb that mountain. And when they finally arrive at the top, Matthew tells us that Jesus was, “transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. (2-3)
Now as a quick Biblical refresher, both Moses and Elijah died a long time before this story took place. Or actually, Moses died a long time before this story took place, Elijah didn’t actually die at all:, he road straight into heaven in a horse driven chariot made of fire, but that’s a story for another time.
Moses and Elijah are not the disciples’ contemporaries. They are heroes from the past, men they have read stories about. More symbols that people. Their presence alone would have been disorienting.
So the disciples climbed the mountain feeling out of sorts and now they are witnessing a conversation between two men from the history books and Jesus looking nothing like the Jesus they are used to.
Jesus’ face is shining like the sun and his clothes are dazzling white.
Which seems scary and disorienting to me and I think I’d have been tempted to say, “OK, I’m out,” and start back down the mountain on my own or to cower behind a bush in fear, but that’s not how the disciples react.
Peter says, “Lord, it is good for us to be here.” (4). Peter looks around at what is happening and declares that it is good.
So good, in fact, that he offers to make three dwellings one each for Jesus, Moses and Elijah. (4)
Or at least he starts to make this offer, because we are told that he didn’t even get to finish his thought, “While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with him I am well pleased; listen to him.” (5)
And now, the disciples are afraid. “Overcome by fear” they fall on the ground. (6)
The disciples are face down on the ground quaking in fear, having just heard God say that they should listen to Jesus.
And what is the first thing they hear Jesus say? “Get up and do not be afraid.” (7)
But Jesus doesn’t just stand at a distance shouting at them to smarten up and stop being so afraid, no Jesus approaches them, touches them and says, “Get up and do not be afraid.” (7)
Before they hear his words, they feel his reassuring touch. And they do as they are told.
Sometimes the gospel writers casually just slip in these amazing little details that are so easy to miss. Jesus touched them. He saw they were afraid, he came right up beside them, touched them and said, “Get up and do not be afraid.”
It’s beautiful.
Now I want to invite you to engage in a little speculative imagining with me.
I don’t think that the disciples were focusing on the beautiful scenery that surrounded them as they climbed that mountain. Rather I suspect they were focused on trying to wrap their heads around everything Jesus had told them or perhaps on how to make an uncomfortable situation a little more comfortable.
When they arrived at the mountain top, I don’t think it was the panoramic view that held their attention. Rather I suspect that they were so focused on the amazing sight of Jesus transformed and the two men who joined him that that was all they could see.
And then when God came and spoke declaring Jesus was beloved, I think they focused on the dirt at their feet as they fell to the ground. If their eyes were open at all, that dirt was all they could see.
But now after having seen all the things they have seen and experiencing Jesus’ gentle touch and reassurance that they do not have to be afraid, I wonder if they were finally able to stand up, look out, and take in the view.
Which is something I want us all to do together tonight as well. Jesus and the disciples will not stay on the mountain top, they will walk down the mountain and continue walking until they reach Jerusalem. The things Jesus said would happen will indeed happen. He will die.
And we’re being invited to come down the mountain and walk alongside them.
Lent is a season where we remember and focus on difficult things. Beginning on Ash Wednesday with a reminder that we are all dust and to dust we will all return, we’ll enter a desert season moving us gradually closer to Christ’s death on a cross.
But before we leave the mountain and enter the wilderness, let’s take a look at all we can see from the top of this mountain. Because from here we can see the entire story, from here we can see Jesus resurrected on Easter Sunday. From here we can see that Christ’s glorious transformation on this particular mountain top is not the end, but only a part of the entire story.
So stop, take it all in, and then, when you’re ready, take a deep breath and begin the climb back down the mountain into Lent.
And know that when you do, Jesus is walking right beside you.
In the name of our glorious God who Creates, Redeems, and Sustains.
Amen.