Let me begin with a poem by Mary Oliver, which I believe will point us in the right direction.. "When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locust, equally the beech, the oaks and the pines, they give off such hints of gladness, I would almost say that they save me, and daily. . .I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness, and discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often. . . Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, 'Stay awhile.' The light flows from their branches. And they call again, 'It's simple,' they say, 'and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.'"
And you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.
Herbert O'Driscoll suggests that in the Transfiguration, it is possible that nothing actually happened to Jesus on that mountain. That, whatever happened, it was within and to the disciples. That the Lord continued throughout this episode to be who and what he always was, the light of the world, the incarnation of the living God in human flesh, but that for a fleeting moment the eyes of the disciples were opened to the unimaginable glory of the incarnation. For a fleeting moment the eyes of the disciples were opened to see the light of God shining forth in and through Jesus.
This is not, in any way, lessening the mystery and the truth of the Transfiguration. O'Driscoll says: "For me, Jesus Christ is Lord. He is always the incarnation of God in human flesh. But for most of the time I am blinded to the glory of this truth that I believe. I worship him. I pray to him. I give thanks to him. God forgive me, for I have spent countless hours writing about him! Yet I find that most of the time I take this glory for granted. I attribute this negligence to the overall busyness of my life, to the limitations of my spirituality, and to my all too human nature. For all this, my prayer is that I will be forgiven ...But every now and again there come moments when the blindness is lifted and, like the three disciples on that mountain, I encounter my Lord transfigured. I assume it is not he who has changed but, in some mysterious way, I who have been changed, at least for a fleeting moment. It may be a moment in worship when wine is indeed more than wine. It may be a human moment, holding a child in my arms and feeling immensely grateful."1
I invite you to recall such moments in your own life. It may be a musical moment, when the beauty of emotion pushes you beyond the limits of your thoughts and uncovers the beat of God's own heart. It may be in the midst of grief or depression, when all of a sudden your battered soul is lifted by an angel and soothed by a spirit from another realm. It may be at the deathbed of a loved one, when the deep ridges of living pain relax into the peaceful healing of death. It may be a moment of contemplative prayer, when the boundaries of your own mind and body melt into a oneness, a communion with the Divine Source of all life.2
I think, for most of us gathered here today, for almost anyone for whom religion is more than a meaningless habit, there have indeed been such moments, when a word was spoken and we heard something more than a word. When we have seen more than the eye alone can see, when we've felt more than we can possibly describe. By a certain combination of words on a page, by the way paint is placed on a canvas or notes on a score, we have been moved because those words, colors and music speak to us of something beyond. Moments when we sense the holy in the distant stars, or suddenly see the brilliance of a tree that's been in our back yard for years. Some moments transcend time and space and, in an inexplicable way, speak to our hearts.3 For, in them, we feel the grace, we catch a glimpse, we "see" the glory of God.
Of course, in such moments, the term "seeing" is really a metaphor for a certain quality of spiritual perception, which involves more than just the physical eyes.. In her book Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening, Cynthia Bourgeault writes: "Spiritual awareness is actually a particular way of perceiving, just as ordinary awareness is a particular way of perceiving. And as with ordinary awareness, there is a sense of identity or selfhood generated through this mode of perception. The big difference between them is that whereas ordinary awareness perceives through a self-centered and self-reflexive consciousness, which splits the world into subject and object; spiritual awareness perceives through an intuitive grasp of the whole and an innate sense of belonging. It's something like sounding the note G on the piano and instantly hearing the D and the B that surround it and make it a chord. And since spiritual awareness is perception based on harmony, the sense of selfhood arising out of it is not plagued by that sense of isolation and anxiety that dominates life at the ordinary level of awareness." Let me repeat: "Since spiritual awareness is perception based on harmony, the sense of selfhood arising out of it is not plagued by that sense of isolation and anxiety that dominates life at the ordinary level of awareness."
It seems fitting to compare the spiritual perception of light - of glory - to a musical chord that we experience, not just with the eye or the ear, but with the whole of our being ... just as in the Transfiguration on the mountaintop, the experience of God's glory involves the whole of their being, the light shines forth in Jesus, almost blinding to the eye, the cloud that manifests God's presence, envelops all of the participants, while the Divine voice declares: "This is my Son, the Beloved,. Listen to him!" Perhaps what we need most in our own day and age is to suspend our disbelief that God can indeed come among us, to believe that the Holy One continues to communicate with us - that the earth itself and our own lives here are fitting vehicles for conveying that glory to one another.4
Thomas Merton, the great 20th century mystic, monk, and writer, recalls his own experience of transfiguration. "In Louisville, Kentucky," he writes, "at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all these people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness ...like waking from a dream of separateness ...This sense of liberation from an illusory isolation was such a relief and such a joy to me that I almost laughed out loud...To take your place as a member of the human race...I have the immense joy of being a ... member of the race in which God...became incarnate. If only everybody could realize this. But it cannot be explained. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun." There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun. But of course, that is precisely what I am attempting to do today.
Saul Bellow asked, "What if some genius were to do with common human life what Einstein did with matter? Revealing its energies, uncovering its radiance." We are capable of so much more than we realize. Sometimes people with a terminal illness discover a quality of life in their last days, which far surpasses anything they have known before, a quality of life that has previously passed them by. . . . Well, the truth is, we are all terminal. Every day is a gift and an opportunity. If we will open the eyes of our spiritual perception, then epiphanies, moments of God's presence, lie like unopened gifts at every turn of the road and every stage of the journey. As we uncover this hidden radiance, we realize that the God beyond us is also right here in our midst, in this very life we have been given to live. This is the meaning of Transfiguration for us. "Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, 'Stay awhile.' The light flows from their branches. And they call again, 'It's simple,' they say, 'and you too have come into the world to do this ... to be filled with light, and to shine."
The Transfiguration, of course, marks a major turning point for Jesus and his disciples, a turning point that is mirrored in our liturgical year. This is why the story of the Transfiguration is read every year on this Last Sunday after the Epiphany, just before the season of Lent begins. Epiphany is all about the glory of God shining forth into the world. But now that same glory, the light of God's presence, is choosing to enter the wilderness and journey with us into the very depths of human darkness, suffering, even death. For this is the turning point that will bring Jesus to the Cross. On that Cross, the light of God's glory will shine even into that place of deepest human darkness. For there, the power of death will finally be broken. There, that darkness will finally be dispelled by the light that the darkness cannot overcome. The end of the story is that, finally, the light of God's glory shines forever from the empty tomb of Easter. But Jesus, and his disciples, including you and me, have to go through the whole experience in order to get to this glorious end.
In our gospel story, Peter did not want to go through the whole experience, instead he wanted to stay up on that mountain-top. Peter said, "Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.' He did not know what to say ..." Perhaps this is why Jesus ordered Peter and the disciples to "tell no one about what they had seen until after" the death and resurrection of the Son of Man. They had to go through the whole experience in order to really understand it. Jesus says, in effect, "don't try to tell it until you know the whole story." And is that not how life often is? So often, we only understand the pattern and meaning of our life experience as we look back and see how the various pieces of life's jigsaw puzzle really do fit together to make a unique and meaningful whole. It was not until after Jesus' death and resurrection that the disciples could fully understand the meaning of his life and teaching. Like those disciples, we too have to make the whole journey of life, some parts of the journey being dark and difficult. But, by faith, we too have been given a preview of how and where that journey ends. By faith, we too have been given a glimpse of the light of resurrection, we have seen the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. And so, we too can continue our own journey in faith, wherever it may take us.
On the last night of his life, April 3, 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr., spoke these words in Memphis, Tennessee: "I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I have been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And so I'm happy tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."
My friends, Lent and Life now stretch before us. The Cross does indeed loom on our horizon. But whatever that may mean to us personally, whatever that Cross may be for us personally, whatever this season of our life may bring, we can continue our journey down the mountain, and we can continue our journey in faith. "For the same God who said, 'Out of darkness, let light shine,' has caused his light to shine in our hearts to give the light of revelation - the revelation of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." And so, with the eyes of our hearts enlightened, we can now see, even in the shadow of the Cross, the glory of the coming of the Lord.
1. Herbert O'Driscoll
2. Susan R. Andrews, paraphrase.
3. Brett Younger, paraphrase.
4. Synthesis, paraphrase.