Something Happened

Sermon

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a Hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood,
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
—Robert Frost

Poet John Ciardi once wrote that we shouldn’t ask “What does a poem mean?” but “How does a poem mean?” The concern is not to arrive at the definition, but to have an experience. Perhaps today, we simply need to be dazzled by the scripture. This passage of the Transfiguration can’t be defined, and it raises more questions than can be answered. Perhaps we should look to it for meaning but not for history. Not necessarily as a factually true story but as a “Truth” story.

In the thin place, on the mountaintop, Jesus’ appearance becomes an unearthly bright white. Then Moses and Elijah (who died years before) appear and begin talking with Jesus. Watching, Peter, James, and John are terrified. Then they hear the voice of God from a cloud: “This is my son, the Beloved.”

We can’t explain this mystery, but we know that something happened, and God was there.

Is it strange that the confusion of Peter, James, and John reminds me of Samuel Jackson and John Travolta in the movie Pulp Fiction? Jackson plays Jules, who is eating breakfast with Vincent (Travolta). (Paraphrased, minus the profanity,) Jules asks, “What is a miracle, Vincent? What happened this morning was a miracle. Whether God stopped the bullet, changed Coke to Pepsi, or found my keys—doesn’t matter. What matters is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved.”

Have you ever felt that God got involved? When have you been touched by wonder?

It seems that every day the question of what to pay attention to in our broken and aching world becomes more urgent. The sermon took a while to write this past week because I was listening to the impeachment trial. I know that some of us can’t really bear to look at more video from January 6. And though we are hoping the COVID-19 situation is improving, headlines say that maybe we are just in the eye of the storm. But, for right now, let’s take a few moments away from thoughts of weather, and impeachment, and COVID, and think about wonder: When have you noticed God getting involved?

What beauty has grabbed your hand and made you stop? The stark, rugged mountaintop, gleaming? Feeling the weight and smelling the scent of a newborn baby? The sudden vision of a rainbow? The glow of a super moon resting on the horizon like an enormous apricot? Your senses flooded with music-making, in a choir, orchestra, or band? Moving with grace in a dance, or flying down a ski slope? Maybe these experiences now feel long ago and far away. But can you recall an experience that lifted you and made you think, “Something just happened”?

We can become overwhelmed by disappointment, grief, and cynicism. We can move through the hours and days without seeing wonder. What is the relationship between wonder and God? Maybe we feel guilty about feeling pleasure when we are so well aware of suffering around us.

Actually, this story of Jesus on the mountaintop, appearing in a dazzling light, this shining experience comes right after Jesus has foretold his death. He knew his actions that challenged the status quo were stirring things up. He told his followers, “Those who lose their life for the sake of the gospel, will save it …”

This story marks a thin place and reminds us of God with us. It’s perfectly timed as we begin the season of Lent. Even when we walk through the worst of what humanity can dish out, the message is this: we are now descending into the valley of the shadow of death. But fear not! Keep this astonishing, mysterious mountaintop story in mind as we go. Carry it like a torch. It can help show the way—because it gives us a glimpse of where all this is headed.

Standing on the side of love can put us at risk. Life calls us to be in the reality of both the tragic and the glorious. Especially in the shadow of death, we must keep alert to moments that knock our socks off.

Back when students were in still meeting in person at school, a man went into his child’s kindergarten class and saw a bulletin board listing what the students wanted to learn in school that year. Most of the statements were things like “behave,” “learn to sit still,” “follow the rules,” and “listen to the teacher better.” One child said, “I want to know why the ocean shines like fire.”

Now there’s a kid who noticed that something happened. And this is how we should approach the story of Transfiguration. If there’s ever a “WOW” moment in Bible, this is it. A transcendent voice says, “This is my son, the Beloved. Listen to him!”

Isn’t that part of why we persist with frustrating technology to worship, even as we miss singing together and hugging? We log in to worship in order to point out and to “see” God, together. To get back on track. In a world that can overwhelm us with tragedy, anger, and fear, these moments of glory can call us back to the way. So, take heart!

See the dazzling light. Follow in true footsteps, even though the path ahead now seems filled with danger and disgrace. God is involved. Even during oppressive circumstances, God is involved, and offering us moments of wonder.

In Alice Walker’s book, The Color Purple, Shug Avery says to Celie:

“Listen, God love everything you love—and a mess of stuff you don’t. But more than anything else, God love admiration. Celie says, You saying God is vain? Naw, she say. Not vain, just wanting to share a good thing. I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it. What it do when it pissed off? I ast. Oh, it make something else. People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back. … It always making little surprises and springing them on us when us least expect. You mean it want to be loved, just like the bible say. Yes, Celie, Everything want to be loved. Us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved. You ever notice that trees do everything to git attention we do, except walk?”

God is always making little surprises and springing them on us.

One March late afternoon, years ago, at Point Reyes National Seashore in Marin County in the San Francisco Bay area, I experienced one of those surprises. It was the time of day when most people have left the beach, and sometimes creatures are out to feed. It was a warm spring-like day. Whale migration was happening, and as I walked along the beach, I was looking for whale spouts. I noticed something very black and white and dazzlingly shiny. It was very near to the shore. I stood very still and waited.

After a few minutes, suddenly, a black and white Orca suddenly popped its head out of the water and looked directly at me. It must have only been about 200 yards away. (I’ve learned that this is called spy-hopping.) The orca looked at me and I looked at him; we seemed nearly eye-to-eye. Everything was on hold and silent for a few moments. Then the orca simply vanished. Vanished. I kept watching, but there were no spouts, no ripples. No breaching or spy-hopping. It was a thrilling, close-encounter moment that left me breathless. From different worlds, we had seen one another. Something happened. I couldn’t explain just why it was so important, but it was. The wonder of it made me profoundly glad. God got involved.

What brings a sense of wonder to you? How do we wade through the fear, the grief, the clamor of the news to open ourselves to wonder? How do we pause to notice that “something happened”? Soak in the “wow” of the moment? See God’s glory? Maybe even fall to our knees with wonder?

Let’s give thanks and praise. And in doing so, we find our way through.