Beloved Friends-
This Sunday offers two moments, of mystery and grace, as we mark the end of our journey through the season of Epiphany and celebrate the wonder of the story of the Transfiguration. As we turn listen to the words of Matthew (17:1-9), we will be transported to what Celtic spirituality describes as a “thin place,” a moment when the clear distinction between “the now and the not yet” or the separation between heaven and earth becomes somewhat allusive and transparent inviting us to see or feel or hear the Divine more fully and clearly. In this particular story, we see Jesus unveiled, transformed, transfigured. His full identity, if only for a moment, and to a few, shines through in glory.
Just prior, the Disciples had been trying to really figure out Jesus’ identity, and as is often the case, Jesus points to answers by using the rhetorical technique of posing more questions asking them: “Who do you say that I am?” Peter, ever the eager student, answers with: “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” Sounds pretty good, but as we read on, we see he doesn’t quite understand the meaning of his words.
It is now six days later, and Jesus has taken Peter, James, and John up a different mountain where the questions of identity continue. We’ll explore the answers and the story as it unfolds together this Sunday.
I love the description of this moment offered by author Madeleine L’Engle in her wonderful book, The Irrational Season. She reminds us this invitation to see differently is something that can change our lives. I hear them as both a promise and a powerful invitation suggesting that facing into the Transfiguration is at least in part about opening our eyes to see again. A time to notice who and what and how God’s love comes to us in unexpected, sometimes transfigured ways; on a mountain top or in a kitchen, out in nature or in the workplace, in the quiet of the night or in the business of our lives.
Suddenly they saw him the way he was, the way he really was all the time,
although they had never seen it before,
the glory which blinds the everyday eye and so becomes invisible.
This is how he was, radiant, brilliant, carrying joy
like a flaming sun in his hands.
This is the way he was — is — from the beginning,
and we cannot bear it.
So he manned himself, came manifest to us;
and there on the mountain they saw him,
really saw him, saw his light.
We all know that if we really see him, we die.
But isn’t that what is required of us?
Then Perhaps, we will see each other, too.
Come home this Sunday and be fed at the Table of Love set for us each week. Perhaps in the days ahead, we will learn to see each other in new ways too.
May you never forget you are loved.
Lisa