A sermon preached by the Rev’d Dr Daniel Dries The Transfiguration Christ Church St Laurence – 26 February 2017 May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight: O Lord, our strength and our Redeemer. Amen. Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” The Transfiguration of Our Lord occurs in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke. It is one of few significant events in Scripture that is recorded in all three of the Synoptic Gospels; and even more unusually, this momentous event is recorded in an almost identical form. Before the moment of the Transfiguration, Christ removes Peter, James and John from the larger group. This inner circle is taken to the top of the mountain; to the holiest place. It is at the top of the mountain that Christ is transfigured; his clothes become dazzling white. In antiquity, a vision such as this would often be interpreted as a glimpse into the future. The Transfigured Christ could be understood as a future glimpse of the risen and ascended Christ, the image that we all know in the magnificent fresco that adorns this church. However, the vision shared by Peter, James and John is even more complicated and extraordinary than this. Included in this vision are Moses and Elijah. In the midst of this astonishing vision, Simon Peter offers what seems like a rather odd suggestion: “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” At least in this instance, Simon Peter distinguishes himself as the problem solver; he offers a practical solution to a complex situation. He’s just the sort of person that would make a very fine church warden. In Luke’s account of the Transfiguration, the author suggests that Simon Peter has lost the plot. Luke suggests that Simon Peter did not know what he was saying. In Matthew (remembering that Matthew is the most Jewish Gospel), Simon Peter’s suggestion to put up tents is not seen as odd behaviour in any way. In this most Jewish Gospel we find Jesus, Moses and Elijah together in this holy place; and Simon Peter realises that this is the moment he has been waiting for all his life. He wants to establish residency there on top of the mountain. He does not want to leave that holy place, and who can blame him? The Revised Common Lectionary, that is the lectionary we use, places the feast of the Transfiguration on the Sunday before Lent. Some traditionalists argue that the feast should be observed on the 6th August, as it is in the Book of Common Prayer. Just to add to the fun, the Roman Catholic Church observes the Transfiguration on the Second Sunday in Lent. The rationale for observing it today is that we see Christ in all his glory, before he begins the descent to the cross. The Transfiguration also makes a powerful statement about the importance of place. If God is everywhere, why must we gather at an inconvenient time and sit on uncomfortable furniture to feel closer to the divine presence in our world? If God is in the natural environment, why would we experience God’s presence in a place made with human hands? The term transfiguration can be slightly misleading. Matthew tells us that while Christ spoke to them ‘the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white’. Icons and images of the Transfiguration suggest that Christ was transformed at this moment into something or someone else; that is what the word ‘transfiguration’ implies. However, this event did not change or transform Christ; it dramatically changed the way that these three disciples would see him from now on. Nowadays when something extraordinary is taking place, all present reach for their smart phone, desperate to capture the
moment, and missing out on it at the same time. Desperately wanting to hold on to that moment Simon Peter wanted to remain. Simon Peter wanted that moment to be frozen in time. Many of the mountains of Europe are adorned with magnificent medieval stone monasteries, reflecting this yearning to remain on the mountaintop, somehow feeling nearer to God. Peter, James and John were not permitted to remain there; most of us cannot remain at the mountaintop either. Sunday by Sunday, we gather in this sacred place in our attempt to go to the mountain top. Although God is indeed everywhere, discerning God’s presence out there can be a very great challenge indeed. And so, we choose to climb to the mountain, not because that is where God hides, but rather because that is where we able to focus on God’s presence; the mountain is where we come to be transformed. During the week ahead, this church will be transformed into a much more sombre place. Icons and flowers will disappear; the colour violet or purple will dominate, and the liturgy will be deliberately less joyful. It is a recognition that we cannot dwell on the mountain top; even Christ could not remain there. He brought his disciples to the foot of the mountain, assuring them that human life involves trials and suffering. No doubt many of us are already thinking about how can observe a meaningful Lent; how we can deny ourselves and possibly loose one or two kilos in the process. One of liturgical components that we are denied during Lent is the Alleluia; the Hebrew word that simply means Praise to Yahweh or Praise the Lord. Today we sing or say Alleluia for the final time until Easter Eve. This is a liturgical tradition that dates back to 5th Century. It is a very definite affirmation that we cannot live on top of the mountain. Life cannot be joyful all the time. The rather quaint practice of ‘burying the Alleluia’ is still practiced in some very traditional churches. The idea is that the word Alleluia is written across a large piece of parchment. At the ends of Vespers on this final Sunday before Lent, the parchment is rolled up, taken out in procession to the churchyard and buried, only to be dug up again on Easter Morning. As far as I can see, this is just about the only quaint liturgical tradition that is not practiced at Christ Church St Laurence. Perhaps this is only because we don’t have a churchyard. We could dig up the road, but there is more than enough of that going on at the moment. As we celebrate the mountaintop experience today, we acknowledge that even Christ was forced to leave mountaintop and live out his humanity, with all of its challenges and unavoidable suffering. As we move into Lent this week, we replace the glory of the mountaintop with a less-joyful environment. Denying ourselves, even a little, reminds us that human existence can never be immune from suffering and loss. We know that this will make Easter all the more uplifting and inspiring. We can sing our Alleluias again in a place of wonder and delight. But, as we prepare to willingly go down the mountain, we must never forget that there are those who live there permanently. There are so many in our world who don’t have to go without, because they didn’t have anything to begin with. There are so many in our world who don’t have to relinquish a little joy, because they didn’t have it in the first place. There are so many in our world who don’t have to go down from the mountain, because they have never known the exhilaration of being there. As we prepare immerse ourselves into the starkness and sorrow of Lent, we must remember that there are many who live there all year round, but not by choice. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.