Transfiguration Year B 2015 Sermon Listen to the Beloved and Shine Mary James Text: Mark 9: 2-9 I lift my eyes to the hills, from whence my help comes, goes the opening line of one of our most familiar and cherished Psalms, Psalm 121. We in New Hampshire know something of the power of a mountaintop, graced as we are here in Wakefield by easy access to mountain views. Whether lifting one s eyes from a lower elevation to regard the mysterious and ever-changing hues looking up at a hulking mountain, or standing on the top of a peak, taking in the sweeping views below, a mountain has a way of giving us a perspective of awe, of wonder, and of awareness of beauty. No wonder that a variety of religious and spiritual traditions hold mountaintops to be sacred places. When Jesus led his friends Peter, James and John to the top of the mountain, probably one called Mt. Hermon, they must have needed a break. We are given a textual clue as to how much in need of prayer and peace the tired disciples and their teacher likely were in the opening line of this Gospel reading: Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And no wonder. This section of their story follows an arduous time of teaching, healing, and feeding of the people whom Jesus attracted. Jesus had also just carried on an exceedingly difficult conversation with his disciples about his true identity, and his coming suffering, death, and resurrection. There had been a particularly difficult exchange between Peter and Jesus, culminating in Jesus strongly rebuking Peter. This was followed by a challenging teaching from Jesus, as he asserted that those who lose their lives for his sake would save their lives. One hopes that if the walk up the mountain was silent and brooding, the walk itself helped the jangled souls of the three men who hiked with Jesus to settle into a more peaceful and centered place. Let s hope then that their consternation had settled a bit by the time of their arrival at the mountain s height, because judging from the reported terror of Peter, James, and John, they were certainly not expecting what did happen.
Though clearly not ready for this resplendent vision, an opportunity for their transformation and for affirmation of their choice to follow Jesus was generously offered to them on that day. What a gift this was in that time of terrible risk and uncertainty for these men, ministering in the midst of mortal danger! God spoke to the three men in the language of their beloved tradition: there was Jesus, shining as Moses once had, and with him appeared Elijah and Moses themselves. Scholar Amy Jill-Levine astutely points out that here on the mountain-top, Moses is placed to represent the covenant of Torah and Elijah the prophetic denunciations of idolatry and corruption. * In other words, the Torah and the Prophets are represented on the mountain with Jesus, suggesting that he is in line in the beloved tradition of Judaism to carry the mantle of the likes of these former giants and giant tenets of the faith. God, in essence, has one command to offer to Peter, James and John from inside the overshadowing cloud: LISTEN to Jesus, God s Beloved Son. There are two take-away messages here for the three friends of Jesus: Listen to Jesus; Jesus is who he says he is. Listening, deep listening, is a real art. It doesn t necessary come naturally to us in the reformed Protestant tradition. We are people who like to act and to speak, both of which are also powerful ways of witnessing to God s love. Yet because we believe in God as the Ultimate Source, it is good for us to remember that it is God who always speaks the first and most essential word. Where are we listening for that in our own lives? Many of us deeply hunger for that first word of God every day, our parched hearts struggling along with a variety of burdens, the desire for a word of affirmation or direction as strong as that of a thirsty person on a hot day for a drink of cool water. But where to start to seek to listen to God? One of the earliest Beatles songs it was called Do You Want to Know a Secret? begins this way: You ll never know how much I really love you/ You ll never know how much I really care; the song then moves into its main body with the word Listen. The song goes on to point out that if the intended listener, the beloved of the singer, will only listen and move in a little closer, she will hear that she is very much loved by the singer. Theologian Barbara Brown Taylor makes
this point in relation to God. In a beautiful meditation on the silence of God, she offers the thought that perhaps God s silence is one of God s ways of inviting us to quiet down, lean in, and listen more carefully for what God might have to say to us. When did we last quiet all the noise within and around us, cup our hands around our ears, and open them wide for God? Last Sunday morning, with worship cancelled because of snow, I decided to listen to the wonderful program On Being on public radio. Hosted by Krista Tippet, on this particular morning the broadcast was of an interview with Mary Oliver, the beloved poet, now 79. Her poems resonate for us New Englanders very deeply because up until recently this is where she made her home. Mary Oliver writes, I learned, by walking around out-of-doors in fields, through woods, on the beach, etc., with her notebook and pen in hand, making notes. She is a spiritual person and finds a deeply affirming and rich voice in that of the natural world; she watches and listens carefully when outside; she is not sure where the poems come from, but she is very attentive to that mysterious source. One poem, I Happened to Be Standing, captures a moment of particularly deep listening that gives something glorious back to her: I don t know where prayers go, or what they do. Do cats pray, while they sleep half-asleep in the sun? Does the opossum pray as it crosses the street? The sunflowers? The old black oak growing older every year? I know I can walk through the world, along the shore or under the trees,
with my mind filled with things of little importance, in full self-attendance. A condition I can t really call being alive. Is a prayer a gift, or a petition, or does it matter? The sunflowers blaze, maybe that s their way. Maybe the cats are sound asleep. Maybe not. While I was thinking this I happened to be standing just outside my door, with my notebook open, which is the way I begin every morning. Then a wren in the privet began to sing. He was positively drenched in enthusiasm, I don t know why. And yet, why not. I wouldn t persuade you from whatever you believe or whatever you don t. That s your business. But I thought, of the wren s singing, what could this be If it isn t a prayer? So I just listened, my pen in the air. ** (Mary Oliver) In the quiet after such a poem, the moment shimmers and shines. Because the poet stopped to listen very deeply, and then thoughtfully and
beautifully has shared that moment with us, we can also shine and shimmer with that beautiful and holy moment. Here we have a mountain-top sized revelation coming through a carefully listening poet, conveyed by the song of a very small bird. Let s put it to ourselves this way: we know in our bones that God loves all of us; the dazzling Jesus on the mountain is proof of this for us all. We have always been taught that God loves us. When did any of us last lean in close enough to hear God say so? How to do it? Well, our scripture for today starts with a mountain. We are from New Hampshire; we speak mountain, and we are a practical people. In our tradition, amazing things seem to happen on mountains and mounts of various kinds. Why not start there? One of these days, soon, might you place your attention on one of our local mountains? From afar or from near, from the bottom or the top or the middle, from your home s window or from a vantage point off of the road, stop and look. Is it morning? Is there a freshness in the air, speaking about the possibilities of the new day? Is snow falling, a reminder of the powers of dormancy and stillness and their importance to new growth? Is it nearly evening, when the pink alpenglow radiates a soft and fleeting beauty that touches the heart? Lift your eyes to the hills, lean in, and hear God s love song to you. And then, shine. Just shine for God, shine through your day, shine, shine with love. Notes: Thanks be to God. *Here I am quoting notes on page 78 of the remarkable The Jewish Annotated New Testament, of which Amy Jill-Levine is one of the two primary editors (along with Marc Zvi Brettler). It was published in 2011 by Oxford University Press. **Here I quote, in its entirety, the poem I Happened to be Standing by Mary Oliver, found in her book A Thousand Mornings, published by Penguin Books in 2012. The poem begins on page 3.