Transfiguration A, 2023 + Listening for the Morning Star + 2.19.23
St Paul’s Emmanuel, Santa Paula / All Santos Oxnard
The Rev. Alene Campbell-Langdell
We have seen what cannot be
named. That’s my best summary of what
our reading from Peter’s second letter seems to be saying. “We have seen what cannot be named.” To his credit, Peter gives it a valiant try,
“We had been eyewitnesses of [Jesus’] majesty” (1:16). “[Jesus] received honor and glory from God
the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory”
(1:17). “We ourselves heard this voice
come from heaven, while we were with [Jesus] on the holy mountain” (1:18). “Glory” “Majestic Glory” “Holy”: All of these are words attempting to describe
some aspect of the divine. But what do
these words actually mean? Is it
possible to define any of them satisfactorily without ending up going around in
circles?
For instance, an online search for
the etymology of the word “glory” will bring up a reference to glory as the
praise of something or someone who has glory or is glorious. Scroll further down and you will find a
reference to its use in the Biblical Latin to translate the Greek word, “Doxa,”
meaning expectation, and its further use to translate a Hebrew term meaning
“shining” or “brightness.” Search for
the origins of the word “holy” and you will find that it comes from a German
word meaning “blessed” and is also used to translate a Hebrew word meaning “set
apart.” So, “glory” is the praise of
something that is bright and shining and fills us with expectation. It is
glorious! Is the mountain holy because
it is somehow blessed and set apart or is it blessed and set apart because it
is holy?
Much has
been said in recent years of the Church’s need to de-churchify its language—to
use language that can be understood by the stranger walking through our
doors. On one level that is true. Paul writing to the Corinthians made the
point that if the one you are speaking to doesn’t understand what is being
said, it isn’t very edifying![1]
Yet, listen for any length of time to popular music and the religious language
is hard to miss. There are references to
Mary and David, “broken Hallelujahs”[2]
and things that are “unholy” just to name a few. And so today, on this Feast of the
Transfiguration, I wonder if the challenge to us church-folk is less about
using words that everyone understands and more about wrestling both what we
have experienced and what we will never understand—at least in this life.
Today’s celebration is all about
allowing ourselves to be drawn into the Mystery, allowing ourselves to be
filled with hope and expectation at a Light we can barely glimpse, let alone
name. In the reading from Exodus, Moses
is told to climb a mountain and be there.
Our translation uses the word “wait,” but the word in Hebrew and the effect
of the story evokes a progressive drawing of Moses into God’s presence, which
is described as both “cloud” and “devouring fire.” Moses leaves the elders of the people and
begins to ascend with his assistant Joshua.
Then, in verse 12, we are told again that “Moses went up on the
mountain,” but this time there is no mention of Joshua. Moses is alone as a cloud covers Mount Sinai
for 6 days. And then, at last, Moses is drawn
“farther up and farther in”[3]
as Moses enters the cloud and remains on the mountain for a very long
time.
Today we end the season of Epiphany,
another word coined to describe the indescribable. In this case it is an attempt at naming that
moment of revelation when what was hidden is suddenly revealed, when we catch a
fleeting glimpse that there is Something deeper at work in the world. The season’s readings are filled with “signs”
(as John would call them)--signs that Jesus is something more than a prophet or
a healer or a teacher, though he is certainly all of those things. This last day of Epiphany is Jesus’ Coming
Out day when for a very brief amount of time three specially chosen disciples
are allowed to see Jesus’ divinity. And
then, they are told to wait. Specifically, they are told to keep quiet, to
sit with the mystery, “until after the Son of Man has been raised from the
dead” (Matthew 17:9).
Like the disciples, we in the Church
are entering a time of waiting, a time of silence and uncertainty, while we
wait for a resurrection that we don’t understand. This time is symbolized by the period we call
Lent, but don’t mistake the symbol for the reality that it is meant to
teach. For there will come a time in all
of our lives when the pieces fall apart.
There will always come a time when the worst has happened and the
resurrection has not yet come. And when
that time comes, don’t try to run away or escape the inescapable. Allow your expectations to be shattered. Keep quiet and allow your soul to return to
that moment on the mountain when you were surrounded and absorbed by something
or someone that filled you with wonder and changed the way you lived. Let yourself ponder what can’t be named and
listen for a song that is as wondrous and impossible as “morning stars singing
together”[4]
or an angelic chorus over shepherd’s fields or as improbable as a voice
whispering that you are loved by the One who created the mountain in the first
place.
Stay in that place until the
shattered pieces begin to rebuild into something new. There will be time enough for Glorias and
Alleluias when the resurrection happens.
For now it is enough to sit in wonder, drawn into the mystery, listening
for the morning star.
[1] 1
Corinthians 14:9
[2]
Leonard Cohen, “Hallelujah,” c. 1984.
[3] C.S. Lewis, in The Last Battle, Chapter 16, “Farewell to Shadowlands”
[4] Job
38:7
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