Sunday: The Last Sunday after the Epiphany
Reading: Luke 9:28-36
Preacher: Peter C. Lane

The apse of the Church of Santa Maria de Trastevere in Rome is covered in a magnificent gold mosaic. Mary sits next to Jesus on the heavenly throne both adorned in flowing gold robes and surrounded by popes and saints and apostles in vibrant blues and reds and greens. Little flowers, signs of life, burst out at Jesus' feet and all of the empty space is a magnificent gold. Tourists and pilgrims just sit in the pews staring in awe of its beauty. And when some lucky traveler stumbles upon the little box and drops in a Euro to turn on the lights the brilliance is all the more incredible. There is something about God that calls out for, that can only be communicated by dazzling, glorious images. Think of the flying buttresses of Notre Dame or the clean, simple elegance of a New England church or even the Temple of the Emerald Buddha in Bangkok. There is something about how a space communicates the brilliance of God that makes it feel Holy. Even beyond buildings, there is something just about beauty that evokes the divine. Think of when the blooming garb of spring robes the fair meadows and the fairer woodlands. There is a brilliance to God. Even in our space we attempt to get at that part of God that is so dazzling that we would want to veil ourselves if actually in its presence.

Our texts today speak of that unspeakable, ineffable, overwhelming, frightening beauty of God. Helen/Daphne/Kim read for us from Exodus the story of how when Moses returns from Mount Sinai his skin shines "because he had been talking with God." It was so dramatic that the Israelites were afraid to come near him and he took to veiling himself. And Jack read for us from Luke about how while Jesus was praying on a mountain, "The appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white." Moses and Elijah, two great prophets of Israel, both of whom had visions of God on a mountain and both of whom were supposed to return before final judgment joined him. The transfiguration speaks of the beauty and awesomeness of God.

And it is a good place in the story to be reminded of that awesomeness. Midway through their journey with Jesus, the disciples (and perhaps the reader) need a good pumping up. We learned at his baptism from that heavenly voice that, "This is my son, my beloved, with him I am well pleased." And we heard Jesus take that mantle from Isaiah that he would bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, and freedom to the oppressed. But it is not going the way that the disciples thought it would. Immediately before our reading Jesus says he must undergo great suffering, be rejected by the authorities, be killed, and rise again. Suffer? Be killed? That is, admittedly, not the first plan someone would come up with for a transformational leader. The disciples were looking for a more traditionally powerful leader. They were thinking they had a political leader, maybe someone like Moses to help them get freedom from an oppressive empire. The importance of the transfiguration in Luke's story is to remind the disciples and the reader that this is indeed the Messiah. This one who just said he was going to be killed, who worries about feeding people, he is Messiah; God is not having second thoughts. The heavenly voice again speaks, "This is my Son, my Chosen." Talk of dying does not change Jesus status. It defines it.

Brilliance of the divine does not mean removal from the mundane. Jesus brings the brilliance of the divine and the often-harsh realities of life together. The Apostle Paul, who himself saw a dazzling light from heaven at his conversion, describes this reality by saying that Jesus did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped or exploited or held on to. The Church tells the story of God become human that we humans might know something of the divine. God is interested, invested in the everyday, the mundane of life. That is at the core of Jesus' message. That is at the core of the Transfiguration. This guy who had friendships and passions and knows the consequences of his actions is still God's son. The grace of Jesus Christ is that a God known in brilliance threw himself into our brutish lives and was Messiah not because he taught removal, but because he lived among us, ate among us, and died among us. We often use the phrase, "the mystery of the Word made flesh" in our Eucharistic prayer. Indeed, it is a mystery, the glory of the Second Person of the Trinity coming to live with us and show us how to be human. I love the way today's Eucharistic prayer puts it, "Embracing our humanity, he taught us the way of salvation." We are strengthened to bear our cross and be changed into his likeness.

And so our lives are in this text. We have moments of brilliance-honeymoons and the birth of babies and the big promotion. And then we have the slog: figuring out with our partners who can watch the kids when they get sick or dealing with the guilt having to lay off good employees. Our lives are at the intersection of brilliance and cross. In bringing that brilliance, that dazzling nature of the divine and combining it with the hard slog of life, Jesus shows us a way where the challenges in our life might be connected to the brilliance of God. Our decisions about who we hire or who we fire, how we parent are not ephemeral and to be eclipsed but are rather imbued with meaning and value and purpose. Peter's idea of building huts of preserve the moment of ecstatic holiness was a bad one. We meet God on the mountaintop dazzling white at Santa Maria de Trastevere or in the beauty of the organ. But we don't need to stay there. We also meet God in the way of the cross. When two grandmothers die in a week, God is there. When we struggle against injustice and get frustrated by the power of the status quo, God is there. When we wish we weren't so lonely, God is there. Jesus' mountaintop experience gave meaning to the rest of his non-glowing life. If Jesus deeply human behavior can reflect the holy, then so can ours.

The grace of God in Jesus is that we don't have to escape our lives to have meaning, but can find it in the midst of life. Sometimes, thank God, in great beauty. Other times in purposeful self-denial. We are headed into lent where we will spend more time on the way of the cross then we will at the dazzling top of the mountain. The transfiguration in Luke puts that way of the cross in context, it pushes us towards a season of simplicity, confession, and service through a mountaintop experience. If you start to wonder during Lent if fasting is really God's way, remember the transfiguration. Jesus, fully human like us, was God's son.

Ten years ago, while studying in Rome, I used to pray in Santa Maria de Trastevere every day. I prayed about two things: should I marry Erin Pfautz and should I go to seminary. I did both things and they have both turned out swimmingly. While back there a couple weeks ago, I prayed for you all, for this community, for my time as Rector. Jesus lived a human life that we might know the divine. My prayer is that we may we see God in the dazzling and brilliant. My prayer is that we may come to be more and more like Jesus through the way of the cross, knowing that nothing is fairer, nothing is purer, nothing more dazzling.