I had the great honor of preaching at Eucharist yesterday at my church, Christ Church Grosse Pointe Episcopal (click here for a link to listen to the sermon rather than read it). The gospel reading is on the Transfiguration and can be found in Luke 9:28-43.
For those who may need captions, here is an alternative YouTube link: https://youtu.be/eNVBgSvLOvs?si=SYAJzId0L2yFm1Ny You need to hit the CC button for the words to appear.
Mountains have been universal religious symbols of the dwelling place or meeting ground with the divine across cultures for millennia. Our Jewish, Christian, and Islamic scriptures are filled with holy mountains: Sinai, where Moses received the commandments; Horeb, where Elijah heard God’s still, small voice; and today, we hear of Mount Tabor, where Peter, James, and John glimpse Jesus’ divine nature.
For mystics, the motif of climbing a mountain as the path to God is very commonplace… and while deeply personal, it is also communal. No sane person would never consider climbing a mountain alone.
My favorite sherpas are young children. I love accompanying them in their spiritual walk because they possess a natural openness to awe and mystery that’s contagious…each one is a unique little mystic.
I remember taking my daughter to the Detroit Zoo butterfly garden when she was about four years old, and when a monarch landed on her outstretched finger, her eyes widened to perfect circles, her mouth formed a silent ‘O’ of astonishment. She stood absolutely still, transfixed by this ordinary miracle. In that moment, she taught me more about prayer than any theological texts I’ve ever studied.
Children don’t analyze or categorize; they simply marvel. This childlike wonder is precisely what today’s objectively bizarre reading from the Gospel of Luke bids us to enter into – and Jesus invites us to recover when he tells us we must become like children to enter the kingdom of heaven.
It’s not child-ish-ness he’s recommending, but a child’s capacity for awe—a quality and distinctive brand of humility that abandons all arrogance and acknowledges – and even celebrates – that creation is full of mysteries that we will never understand.
For us, Clouds parting and booming voices telling us what to do are rare – even in the bible they are rare – and perhaps we can all be thankful for that. I know I get distressed and anxious when I read the news these days, so I’m not sure I could take too many talking clouds.
But many of us have had some mountain top experiences here and there in our lives. Those moments that touch us so deeply, that we are left strangely inarticulate. Experiences that move us, frighten us, teach us, and change us – unexpected collisions with the divine that leave us stunned, wondering how to respond, perhaps even astounded to the point of silence.1
I had one of these moments a few years back. At the end of each session in our atrium we gather with the children around the prayer table to offer up to God our special intentions.
At this time our little ones usually pray for two things: their grandparents who are ill, and their pet(s). Some pets are sick, and some aren’t. If the child doesn’t have a pet, they will often pray for their friend’s or neighbor’s pet. It’s a long litany. Some of these named turtles, fish, and dogs passed away years ago…no matter. They are remembered in our atrium.
But, in class a few years ago, a little girl, I think she was 6-years-old at the time, veered from the norm. I remember she was stuck to me like glue during our atrium session, right next to me the whole time, and when we all sat down around the prayer table, she was intently watching, and waiting for our closing ritual. And when it came time to light the candle and offer our intentions, she scooted up real close to me, so our knees were touching, and said in a small voice.
“My brother…he died in my momma’s belly last night.” I knew then, she had been waiting the whole hour in the atrium to share this news during this sacred ritual around our prayer table with her friends.
On behalf of the group, I spoke a quiet “I’m so sorry, love”, but then we fell into a long, sacred silence. No other intentions were offered that day. That little group of 6 and 7-year-olds just sat there and looked at the candle together…
I was stunned at how completely still they all were… little children mourning, thinking of their friend’s loss. It was a moment thick with God’s presence.
One of the children eventually broke the silence by saying, with great faith and tenderness, “your brother is with the good shepherd now.” And the little girl looked up and solemnly took this in…and even cracked a little smile that communicated she was thinking the same thing. And we ended with these little ones pondering and discussing the mystery of time and how whether we live 16 weeks or 116 years, her brother is just a few steps ahead of us – in the loving arms of the God who created us.
I can only speak for myself, but I really feel this time was a profound, shared experience of awe, wonder, and a kind of communal healing for all of us…as we listened together for God.
In today’s Gospel, when Jesus is transfigured before his disciples—This is a grand invitation to wonder and awe. But confronted with this overwhelming revelation, Peter responds in a very adult way. He tries to manage the situation, to make it comprehensible: “Master, let’s put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.”
Luke tells us pointedly: “He did not know what he was saying.” In the face of divine mystery, Peter’s adult impulse to explain, control, and contain fails.
And I get it. I’m a little confused and uncomfortable even listening to this reading. It’s a tough one. We post-enlightenment adults are often uneasy with this feeling of awe, of being in the presence of something vast that transcends our current understanding of the world.
But in the face of God, the author of love, the creator of babies, and the designer of the universe – what is our alternative? If we understood everything about God with our little brains, then God would not deserve to be God. If this story about a glowing Jesus that heals sick children, who visits with dead prophets, and dark clouds worthy of Verde’s requiem make us uncomfortable, oh well…too bad for us…
Because “This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; rain is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunset as the earth rolls round.”2 “There are billions of persons on this earth and billions more have lived before us. At this very minute, thousands are being born, thousands are dying, thousands are laughing, thousands are doing virtuous acts… How can one heart, one mind, one person be aware of all of this? It’s impossible to imagine, and that’s part of the very definition of God.”3 God is God..and we are not…
God’s intimate, personal presence around and within us exceeds our imagination. “This kind of awe is more than just an emotion; it is a way of understanding”4…a way of drawing near to our loving creator who wishes to be known by us, who longs to communicate with us.
This is my beloved son, listen to him.
And all were astounded at the greatness of God.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful reflecti
Thank you, Lisa. Wh
Nailed it again, Lisa……with humble gratitude:)
Oh Lisa, how can anyone come away from listening to this and not be touched by awe.
I remember the story of the young boy who lost his brother in mommy’s tummy that night when we prayed for the Oxford students who were killed. It is a transfiguring story.
This was just an inspiring and effective moment to share.