I Do Believe! Help My Unbelief!

Sermon

Happy Transfiguration Day! Is that not how we all greet this day?! The Transfiguration is odd. When Googling Transfiguration (it’s been a long winter with a lot of illness in my family, I’m using whatever tools I have to make sense of things now), the first image that I saw was a painting by Raphael. Raphael, I recalled, was a famous Renaissance painter, and not just a Ninja Turtle—the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, made famous in comics, cartoons, and millennial movies, were all named for Renaissance artists.

But this painting has a greater historical significance than cartoons (right now, to this point—we clearly don’t yet know what significance the Ninja Turtles or Peanuts or Bluey will play centuries into the future). Raphael’s Transfiguration was widely considered the most famous painting in the world for hundreds of years; it was with him after he died; it was stolen by Napoleon; it was housed in the Louvre, reflected on by countless critical thinkers; it’s now in the Vatican. You should Google it; I had no idea.

There are some fascinating things to reflect on with this Transfiguration, this miracle, this painting and how famous it was. Many historic thinkers, theologians, and painters considered this one of Jesus’ greatest miracles. And yet, I imagine, like me, a majority of you now don’t think of it often. I’m sure we can all think of reasons for that (we have AI tools that can create the transfiguration images of your dreams—or nightmares), but still: this miracle should really comprise more than a Google.

And the painting, like I already said: Napoleon, Vatican, huge figuratively, and literally huge—it’s 160 square feet. If you’re looking at it, you can see, or imagine, the top half, there’s Jesus, dazzling bright, and the disciples in awe. The bottom half, with very little distance, inches between the two scenes, is what happens next in Mark, chapter nine—the healing of a boy who has been brought to the disciples by his father. Though the text says the Transfiguration happens up on a high mountain, in Raphael’s version, the crowd below is within reach. So, you have the dazzling Jesus with three amazed disciples, and inches away, a crowd arguing with the other disciples about why they can’t heal a boy who has been ill for a long time. It’s a striking contrast.

I’m not a Renaissance art expert, obviously. And I don’t want to hold up this painting as exclusively how I think we should think of the Transfiguration (for one thing, all of the figures are white). But I do appreciate Raphael’s contrast of the two scenes; it’s notable that three gospel writers have these scenes right next to each other.

I didn’t read the part of chapter nine where Jesus comes down from the mountain and heals the boy because it’s not in the lectionary, and, frankly, like Raphael’s high-contrast Renaissance painting, it can be scary and too big to take in in one sitting. The summary, though, is that a father has brought his son to the disciples to be healed, they can’t do it, and when Jesus comes down from the mountain after the Transfiguration, he heals the boy. Some of the questions and answers in the dialogue of that healing, which are only in Mark’s Gospel, have stuck with me for as long as I can remember:

²¹ Jesus asked the boy’s father, “How long has this been going on?” The father answers, “Since he was a child. ²² …If you can do anything, help us! Show us compassion!” ²³ Jesus says, “‘If you can do anything’? All things are possible for the one who has faith.” ²⁴ At that the boy’s father cried out, “I have faith; help my lack of faith!”

If you’re looking for short sections of scripture to memorize, for my money, this is one of the best. Another translation reads: I do believe; help my unbelief.

There’s a contrast in this single scripture that reflects the wide span of emotions in these two scenes. You can hear Peter saying, “It is good that we are here and we are terrified.” You can hear the father, “As a parent, I am an advocate for my child; I am out of ideas for how to help, begging for someone else to try. I do believe; help my unbelief.” Even though these seem like two different paintings—two different experiences, a mountain-top experience and a chaotic reentry into the often-frightening difficulties of life—they are framed and held together by our human capacities and limits. These could be descriptions of our own experiences of mountain tops and daily life.

I do believe; help my unbelief. I’ve always identified with those words. One day I might identify more with belief, other days I’m more unbelief; all days I’m somewhere in there. I belong here. I’ve been up mountains and I know these healing stories can sound like we should be able somehow to pray or will ourselves to be better at faith. It seems like we can grit our teeth and hold our core tight (or some other exercise I don’t like) into healing. But that’s like being taken advantage of by someone on TV in dazzling clothes saying if you send them money, they’ll pray for you, and you will be healed. I don’t think Jesus or this advocate, this loving parent, were looking for televangelism.

Here is a better explanation from Sarah Henrich, New Testament Scholar:

“Inherent in the story of the Transfiguration is the promise of a kind of life beyond what is apparent to earthly eyes most of the time. Both Moses and Elijah (appear…); it was believed by many (…) that God would send them to inform humankind that God’s reign was at hand. It is no accident that these two appear with Jesus on the mountain (…) and as the two disappear into the cloud (a telling sign of God’s presence), a voice says to “Listen to Jesus.” {So it seems} Jesus becomes the divinely chosen precursor of the turn of the age.”

Moses and Elijah are huge, possibly literally and certainly figuratively. They represent the law and the prophets, which I think we read as rules and dudes mad about the rules. But it’s so much bigger than that. The law is Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus… all those life changing stories: creation, sabbath, liberation… The prophets of course represent justice and a desire for things to be healed, for things to be righted by God. This is what Jesus came to fulfill.

Henrich continues: “Another theme can be found (…) in this passage of God’s faithfulness. God has not left God’s people without guidance, without help, without hope ever. From Moses to Elijah to Jesus… and including many more persons of faith, we continually are helped to see the way of God in the world, as well as the promise for God’s future for all of us.”

From Moses to Elijah to Jesus and including many more persons of faith we are continually helped to see the way of God in the world. If you painted the Transfiguration, I wonder who would be there, leaving us simultaneously encouraged and terrified? A Biblical heroine? A member of your family tree, your adopted family, your chosen family? Maybe a friend of Westminster or an ancestor you or I wouldn’t recognize?

In the structure of the Gospel of Mark, there are understood to be these three pillars, these three supports that keep you going through the fast paced nitty gritty of life. Jesus’ baptism, which we read at Epiphany, has similar features: bright light and clouds, a voice from heaven, “This is my son, whom I love.” We’ve reached the second support today, Transfiguration, and we’re heading for the third, Jesus’ resurrection.

We get hints of that in all of Jesus’ healings, really; there’s victory over death. There’s infinite grace in the face of our own finitude.

I do believe; help my unbelief.

The voice from heaven says to “Listen to him,” and yet it seems like Jesus says to keep quiet? Also odd, but slightly less Googleable, this is traditionally known as the Messianic Secret, which sounds like a bad romance novel and it has equally unsatisfying explanations: perhaps Jesus was avoiding crowds or didn’t want to cause further political unrest. In other Gospel versions, Jesus doesn’t say this to the disciples directly, they just choose not to tell anyone.

So, I think about Henri Nouwen, who Beth mentioned last week, the priest who wrote Wounded Healer. In a different book, The Inner Voice of Love, which he originally intended as a collection of spiritual imperatives for himself, he writes, “for now, guard your treasure”… Jesus’ baptism and his Transfiguration book end the season of Epiphany. Epiphany is a time of learning things about Jesus, of receiving inspirations and revelations, like your star words. If you’ve experienced or learned something special about Jesus or yourself, it’s okay to keep it to yourself for a while; for now, guard your treasure. You’re allowed time to process, maybe even centuries. You can share the good news of Jesus without sharing every part of yourself.

I can only imagine that the disciples needed time to process their teacher and travel companion transfiguring before them. It makes sense that if you exclaim “I do believe!”, the next sentence that would come out of you would be: help my unbelief. Like Peter said, “Teacher, it is good that we are here.” I’m glad it’s okay if we don’t have anything else to say.

Amen.