The Last Sunday after the Epiphany, February 14th, 2010

The Rev. Dr. Katharine C. Black
Exodus 34:29-35
Ps 99
2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2
Luke 9:28-36

This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. AMEN.

The narrative of Jesus' Transfiguration connects his baptism with the Easter glory, but it's not as simple as just going from glory to glory. It's only a matter of weeks for us since the Sunday after the Epiphany when we heard about the baptism of Jesus. "Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."  That epiphany put Jesus on notice from the heavens of who he was. While he had come to be baptized along with others, the voice, the message, was to him alone. His baptism, early in his ministry and early in Luke's Gospel, announced something arresting to him. He'd come along with many people to answer John's call to a baptism of repentance. John had been wandering around, calling people to such a baptism, and his cousin had shown up in the large crowd who'd come to him. Nothing is made of that meeting in the narrative, but we always wonder about who said what to whom during this encounter.

John had a significant following by then, one, which wondered whether he was the Messiah, so long awaited. Considerable speculation went on. John knew he wasn't, but probably he knew it in the way we each know the same. He knew it in a sort of "Ah c'mon," way, "Not me." Then at this community event, Jesus appeared. There are no scenes of recognition, or of the guys asking after each other's mothers. Did they know each other? There aren't recorded instances of their talking together, commenting about life with their mothers and in their families, and their lives on the road. Obviously they'd never had Christmas pictures of each other, yearly, and we have little idea whether they really knew each other, or even recognized each other. The outside observer who describes this keeps silent. What we won't know this side of the Jordan is whether they did know each other, whether they did recognize the change in status after which John declined and Jesus ascended. We don't know whether the narrator was narrating an event remembered in the group memory of the community or was shaping part of a narrative tradition to elucidate who Jesus was and how people could come to understand that changed world. We don't know whether this account was written essentially to be an historical one a or theological. It certainly comes out to be theological, but which way it was written is not clear.

Whichever way, from the baptism on, Jesus is seen to know that he is someone separated out and marked with God's favor in a special, or as it turns out, in an unique way. Knowing the Exodus account of Moses' trip down Mt. Sinai, Jesus would have known that Moses' face shone, "because he had been talking with God." Whenever he went in to speak with God, Moses lifted the veil he wore, but when he came out, he wore a veil because his face was so bright, it was hard for people to look at him. More than Moses' face being bright in some way, Moses showed his people that he had actually spoken with God.

The descriptions convey to listeners and readers that people around Moses saw that he had been in communication with God and to watch out. They were on guard both for and from Moses from then on. They didn't want risk being scorched by his radiance. 

When Jesus heard God speak to him the second time, he had to wonder whether he needed to protect people from a radiant face,  such a visible sign. Apparently such a shining face didn't occur. "Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him." No veils were suggested.

Hear though, in this second occasion of Jesus being marked out by God, three additional points. Jesus is not alone, because Peter, John, and James were there, and so they heard God's words to Jesus. This revelation was not just to notify Jesus of his identity, but was for others to know and spread the word. The three companions were told to "listen to him."  They were being charged to hear the word and spread it, but the narrative observes that they had stayed awake.

While a somewhat odd narrative detail, in an historical account, we, as hearers, know that detail is attached to a theological hearing. We know at another late night occasion, when they would be with Jesus, they will fall asleep. However sad they would be later at "not being able to keep watch for one hour," they show a human reality that it's hard to stay alert even at momentous times. It's easy and common for any person, for all people, to miss key moments by their ordinary humanity. Even people who know that they're with and hearing God's beloved- weariness is weariness.  Not following Jesus in his perfection isn't necessarily about wickedness, but ordinary humanity, and that has always been so.  Staying awake in today's Gospel does squarely foreshadow the Garden at Gethsemane and the Crucifixion. "Cloud-Music by Miguel De Unamuno illustrates some of these impressions.

"A white cloud You are, white as the one
that across the desert guided
the children of Israel; cloud of whiteness,
like a pearl in the limitless black
opacity of the infinite shell
which is Your Father. White cloud stained
by the blood of the sun piercing the earth
to be born again in another world
of its kingdom. White as the clouds,
the spray of the heavens, celestial
cumulus which waters the earth..."

The poem echoes the themes of today's readings. The white and brightness of the Transfiguration and the experience of Moses suggest today's reading. Later the poem continues, "But suddenly

See another cloud casts the shadow of sadness
Across Your livid forehead, and the voice
Of its depths resounds: "This is my beloved Son,
In whom I am well pleased; hear ye Him!
And the snow-thick dawn of Your divine body
sings of resurrection from among the dead, sings
-not says-for Your divine body
is music, and this silent song
(its whiteness music for the eyes)
gives refreshment like the harp of David
to our souls when the spirit of the Evil
One is upon them, and at the sounds
Of Your heavenly breast's harmony
Our pain is laid to sleep...."

This image of music and whiteness narrates this same Gospel in another key, Paul comments, "And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit. Therefore, since we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart." Somehow in our getting to know, to experience, to follow, to observe Jesus we too are at risk for acquiring such a shining face needing a veil to keep from singeing those around us. Somehow for most of us, though, we don't look closely enough at Jesus, or see him vividly enough to be changed, but we are promised to be transformed into the same image from one degree of glory or another.

The imagery in the poem in sound, more than the brightness only of the Moses/Jesus encounters ends this way.

"You are the song without end or confine,
Lord, the sonorous solitude,
and in the concert which links all beings
the epiphany. The spheres sing
through Your body, harp of the universe."

As this season of Epiphany leads into Lent, this poem provides another image of what epiphany is. The poet names Jesus as the song without end, the sonorous solitude and is in the concert that sounds, and so links all beings together- all of that is the epiphany. As Jesus is heard resonating as the harp of the universe, we listen.

That's the music, which is transforming us into brighter selves to serve with Jesus. How we experience this experience of understanding that Jesus is the face and image of God, but is also God in human person is a personal and life-long transformation for each of us. Each of us hears different music from Jesus' body, his harp. Listen to him. Let's hear his voice in the music that draws each of us into our ministries. When we listen to Jesus, we experience the epiphany that Jesus is God incarnate, now in our lives, as much as in the past we imagine him in movie images, which keep that experience far off. Listen to him carefully, and we'll hear together what he's calling us to, what our ministries are. Let's listen for that harp, see the whiteness of his silent song, music for our eyes. May we know his epiphany in our lives, especially as we head into Lent. He'll be with us and guard and guide us into light and into eternity. Good News.

© Katharine C. Black 14 February 2010