It is said that to be human is to
live life not wanting challenges but to still be in dire need of them. You see we as God’s fallen creation
perpetually seek after stability, a sense that things will not change and that
we have at last mastered our own situations.
It is one of the reasons why we humans find addiction such a problem, addiction
is if nothing else a constant need
for something. You see in our spirits,
in our very souls, we know we were made for paradise. We were made to live in an Eden where there would
always be safety, and never a need to worry about food or danger. Despite this, though we were made for that
other world we find ourselves in this one, where hunger, thirst, loneliness,
and violence are all so very real.
Combine the two together and you have recipe for exactly who we are – a
fallen people who seek after stability at any cost, whether it is in fact a
healthy stability never seems to matter.
And so we come to our gospel story. Now by happenstance, the gospel of Mark is receiving a lot of attention in our lectionary, and so far we’ve seen Jesus commissioned at his Baptism and attracting disciples for his earthly mission, we’ve seen him win his first real fight, and we’ve see him overcome even disease and possibly death at the resurrection of Simon’s mother in law. But what we haven’t seen, what we miss by skipping ahead to the transfiguration of Jesus is what turns out to be Jesus’ biggest obstacle to the completion of his earthly mission: Namely the very disciples he recruited for that mission. It is hard to see in English, but throughout the gospel of Mark the disciples are especially selfish and bumbling. They don’t understand the simplest of parables, argue in front of Jesus’ enemies, and then have the gall to ask not only which of them shall be the greatest but also to make the very political move of trying to get Jesus to appoint one person to sit on his right hand and another on his left. It is the very human nature of the disciples that makes what we read in our gospel story understandable.
After six days (so on the seventh) Jesus took Peter, James, and John and led them up a high mountain, places where in the ancient world Divinity is sought after and often encountered. It is here alone on this high mountain that suddenly, in reminiscence of Moses on Sinai, Jesus’ entire body becomes dazzlingly white, whiter than what anyone in the world could bleach them. Moses and Elijah then appear before them and begin to converse with Jesus, but it is not the content of this conversation that concerns Mark. Rather it is the disciples’ reaction to it.
Now, I don’t know about you, but if I’m with one my teachers at a mountain retreat and all of a sudden they become transfigured before me and begins conversing with some of the great figures of my religion, the last thing I would do is think I could interrupt them without a pretty good reason. But this is what Peter does. In our culture, having an employee interrupt a meeting of CEO’s is just annoying and somewhat embarrassing, but in that culture it was not only a SEVERE breach in protocol but was also a mark of extreme arrogance to think you were important enough to do so. But Peter doesn’t stop there. He not only bursts into the office but the first words out of his mouth are literally, “Yo, teach.” To address Jesus as simply Rabbi, to call the person whom you’ve just seen illuminated in Holy Light and conversing with the proverbial embodiment of the Law and the Prophets as anything other than my Lord and my God, is to demean him and give yourself a divine status you in fact do not have. It would be like if Martin Luther himself rose from the grave and taught me everything about Lutheranism personally and I go around and introduce him as “oh, he’s just my teacher.” The inner arrogance that is revealed in that statement is just tremendous. But Peter doesn’t even stop there! He tells Jesus that he wants to build them all shelters, because Moses and Elijah being dead clearly need that sort of thing. But there is something even more going on, here. In the ancient polytheistic world if you encountered something divine you built a shelter for it, whether it was a god or a lesser spirit. By building it housing you enticed it to stay and in some cases you were even thought to bind it to that location. Asking to build them shelters on top of a mountain is in fact asking to build a place of worship reminiscent of the very Canaanite high places Israel was supposed to cut down. We heard “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters – one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” But what that culture heard was , “Yo Teach, thanks for the invite and I’m gonna let you finish, but we just wanted to say we’re going to turn this into an unsanctioned worship site, precisely the thing Moses and Elijah, the people here with you, constantly said not to do.“ Peter, it seems, was a Kanye West of literally Biblical proportions.
God’s response to all this, however, comes as no surprise. A cloud reminiscent of what the Hebrews called the Shekinah glory appeared around them and a voice came from the heavens, “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to Him!” And then it all disappears. The first century was a very turbulent time in Judea, and upon seeing that heavenly vision it would only be natural to seek after the stability of building a permanent place in the ways of one’s own culture. But such stability is not healthy and comes at the expense of the new. If the disciples had their way there would have been no Cross and no resurrection, Salvation of the many dismissed for the psychological comfort of a few.
After all this, however, God knew it was only fear that was making them speak so; God did not punish the disciples but woke them up as to what they were doing. “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to Him!” We often read this passage as just odd and harsh, but the fact is it was gracious. Even in our culture so far removed from theirs to interrupt your boss and appear like such a raving idiot in front of important people at least warranted losing your job. However, the story doesn’t end that way. Jesus doesn’t reprimand them, doesn’t dismiss them from their position as a disciple or even treat them any differently. Rather he invests in them even more. He shows patience and lets grace transform them into the apostles he needs them to be. You see, there were two transformations on that mountaintop – Jesus’ was just the more obvious.
You have heard me speak now about Mark for some three weeks, on how Mark is writing to Christians in the wake of the Roman siege of Jerusalem. I have talked to you about how Mark paints Jesus as the unconquerable General, as very much the lion Judah. Mark’s point in this passage is to remind us that the biggest obstacle to coming kingdom of God is not a human army or a government, it’s not eldritch spiritual forces… it’s us. As Jesus’s disciples we wound the movement more deeply than what any Atheist Scientist or “persecuting regime” ever could. But that’s okay, because Jesus conquers that, too. I know that because of my own fallen nature, the best I could ever hope to be is like Peter, a fearful well-intentioned knucklehead. But what God does through this fearful well intentioned knucklehead can be pretty amazing.
As such, our gospel lesson lays out two paths before us, both as individuals and as a congregation. Do we believe we are perfect as we are? Do we build permanent shelters and seek after the stability of enthroned ideologies, theologies, and philosophies? Do we continue to pretend that all faith is, is to have an outward expression of permanency: a building, a program, easily recognizable beliefs; or do we admit we are people being transformed by grace into something better?
Then as now there is a whole world out there, a world of people in dire need of a God who loves them; but for too long we as a nation have sought after the familiar rather than the necessary. We cloistered ourselves in our buildings, singing hymns - not to be empowered into a life of service, but to drown out the cries of a society now rotting under its own decadence. I learned this week that the twin cities have been identified as one of the thirteen largest centers for child prostitution in the nation. Tonight alone, at least 45 Minnesota women under the age of 18 will be sold for sex. This happened on our watch. We gathered around the pulpit as preachers fired off sermons about how nice it is that Jesus values the little children. We gave out sweet little Sunday school projects and made flyers for kitche little bake sales. We came to church, we vaguely confessed our sins, we felt guilty about it for a second, and come Monday? We became enamored with the thought that somehow church was enough. Believe me I wish it was. I wish that because I am up here a magic spell would be cast that would somehow save someone from harm, but it won’t. Alcoholics don’t put down the bottle because of a hymn. Abusive parents don’t stop hitting their kids because of 15 minute speech Keven gives in the middle of a church service. They stop doing these things because good people like you and me get pushed out of our comfort zones and do something.
Now you may ask me, Keven, why are you here? If you don’t like the church why are you a part of it? Your right, I don’t like the church. I love it. I love it too much to let it drown in a sea of hypocrisy, of making shelters to house spirits while our brothers and sisters shiver in the snow. I love it too much to see it fade away into uselessness, a peddler toting a worthless Salvation and a God of its own contrivance. I will not let that happen.
However, I am not just part of any church. I am part of THIS church, and I am part of this church for a reason: namely, that this congregation possesses the rare quality of courage as well as faith. When you felt your home denomination was failing you, you had the courage to strike out on your own. When you saw those among you in need, you had the courage to help. When you saw an orphanage in need of repair, a place owned by a foreign people whose native tongue wasn’t yours, you had the courage to gather what funds you could and go. You knew it wasn’t enough to act Christian, you knew we had to be one.
Last week, our Pastoral Associate Craig said something in his sermon that still sticks with me, that the only response to a spiritual renewal, the only response to an authentic encounter with God, is service. As such I challenge each and every one of us to ask God where are we too comfortable, where do we need to pushed in order to fulfill God’s vision for our little corner of St. Paul? Ask, not only as individuals, but as a church for God to burden our hearts in such a way that it draws us out of what is familiar to what is vibrant. Yes it will be scary. Yes we will all end up looking like Peter - like scared well intentioned knuckleheads at best. But you know what? God does some pretty amazing things with those kinds of people. We know the disciples’ story, let’s get out there and see what happens in our own. Amen and Amen.
