Holy Comforters
Last Epiphany-B
Mark 9:2-9
2/22/2009
Jim Melnyk

Much too long ago I had the opportunity to go para-sailing in the Caribbean. It was one of the most glorious experiences of my life. I remember jogging across the beach toward the water, strapped to a parachute and tethered to a small power boat cruising just beyond the breakers off shore – the parachute billowing in the air behind me causing me to “run” in slow motion across the sand – like a cartoon character. But then I was suddenly lifted off the ground – coastline, breakers, and boat stretching out below me as I drifted silently through the sky! It was an incredibly awesome moment! I remember glorying in the beauty of the world around me – of the world below me. The ride could never have lasted long enough for me – the way it felt at that moment in time.
        
Yet – in one tiny little corner of my brain – I had this niggling little thought – I just couldn't let go of the last thing I was told before I took off. As I got ready to leap into the sky one of the operators told me how to land at the end of the ride. He told me to pull down on one of the chute lines as the boat stopped and I would start to drift back to earth. “But,” he warned me, “don't pull on the line too hard, or your chute will fold up and you'll fall like a rock.” Not something you want to think about as you drift through the sky on a beautiful sunny day. Needless to say, I didn't pull too hard when it was time to land, and I was greatly relieved to feel the sand kicking up around me as I came to rest on the beach.
        
I wonder if the Transfiguration wasn't a little like those few moments sailing through the Caribbean sky. Jesus and his inner circle of friends – Peter, James, and John go up on a high mountain to pray. And while Jesus is praying, something utterly fantastic happens to him – something so amazing it nearly defies definition. Jesus is transfigured – transformed – before his friends' very eyes – and they are terrified. What a wonderfully terrible and awe-filled moment that must have been – to see Jesus in all his coming glory – surrounded by the very symbols of the Law and the Prophets – of all the disciples held holy – standing in the company of Moses and Elijah and hearing the very voice of God proclaiming: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!”         
        
Yet, in the midst of all the wonder of the moment there begs the question, “Why?” Why would Jesus take Peter, James, and John up that mountain with him at that particular moment? Why this sudden glimpse into the greater mystery of this Jesus? Why did God choose to say to them as God did at Jesus' baptism, “This is my Son, my Beloved?” And why would God feel the need to add that last line, “Listen to him!”
        
Could it be they all have one very powerful thought kicking around in that tiny little corner of the brain that just won't let go – that little thought niggling at the brain – that thought that won't let go of what Jesus had told them just six days before they started up that mountain?
        
Oh, these disciples had been soaring. They had just figured out who this Jesus person really was. Peter had said it as they gathered around Jesus in Caesarea Philippi, “You are the Messiah!” And nobody argued with him. Jesus was probably thinking, “My God! I think they've got it!” And then – and then Jesus tells them what all this Messiah stuff means. He tells them he'll be arrested. He tells them he'll be beaten. He tells them about the cross. He explains what it will mean to follow him to Jerusalem. And suddenly they're not so sure anymore – it's all a bit more than they want to hear.
        
You see, a crucified Messiah just isn't a part of the common theology being studied in Jerusalem's finest schools of the day – it's not part of the community's conventional wisdom. Jesus is thinking way outside the box on this one – and his followers aren't sure how to take it. There were all kinds of ideas floating around Israel in Jesus' day about what the messiah was supposed to be like, and they were hoping for someone who might clean up the neighborhood, so to speak. Kick Rome out and set things right – someone to reestablish David's throne – or perhaps a great high priest who would set things in order – or perhaps a little of both. The Cross just doesn't fit those perspectives, and therefore some sort of reassurance is in order for the disciples. They need something to help them realize the bone-shattering realities of crucifixion don't have to be the end of all they've worked and prayed for as they followed this Jesus of Nazareth. This brief glimpse of transformation life says that even the horrible agony of the Cross will not be able to stop the power of God from changing the world!
        
This experience of Peter, James and John is meant to remind them – to remind us – that Transfiguration begins now – as we struggle with God's help to live out our baptismal calling to be children of God in a broken and confused world. The story of the Transfiguration is here to remind us of our calling to be God's presence in a world blinded to the light of God's love – fearful of what that light might reveal. And such a calling by God reminds us that the cross isn't always so metaphorical when we proclaim a love of God that challenges powers or goes beyond the polite niceties the world would have us proclaim. The Transfiguration is meant to strengthen us as we learn how to manifest God's compassion in the world – as we learn to take the risk of being Christ for this world – as we learn to offer ourselves with the bold vulnerability of God in Christ.
        
But most human beings, I suspect, really want a sort of “Footprints in the Sand” kind of Savior rather than a “Let's Jump Start the World” kind of Savior. You know the kind – someone who carries us along at our worst moments in life – during the deepest trials – someone to comfort us when the world caves in all around us, and the ground shakes, and the demons roar. But it's been said, “God does not comfort us to make us comfortable. Rather, God comforts us to make us comforters” (J.H. Jowett). In keeping with the fuller definition of the word “comfort,” perhaps we could even say, God goes with us to strengthen us so that we might go with others to strengthen them.
        
When the world stops caving in around us – and we've shaken the dust off our clothes and finally caught our breath – God sends us out into the world as Transfigured People – as people transformed into the likeness of Christ to be “holy comforters” for the people of God whose lives are still slipping into the world's sewer system. It's a hard calling to follow – and sometimes it really takes a glimpse of the Risen Christ in all God's glory to help keep us on track.
        
Sometimes that glimpse comes while we're pounding nails or putting up sheet rock half-way across the country – or watching our children joyfully bring Christmas presents to church for other children they'll never meet. It may come in the face of someone getting a hot meal delivered or someone whose voice is heard for the first time when we stand up together in a cry for justice in the way we govern, create laws, or be the church together. Something we can glimpse in today's N&O headlines as we read about our Presbyterian sisters and brothers in the eastern synod – how they voted yesterday to create a more open and inclusive ordination process. Sometimes all it takes is just a simple look that reminds us of who we are and why God has called us together.
        
I have heard it said that ministries like Habitat for Humanity, Meals on Wheels, or Passage Home offer us the opportunity to walk through the charity door and enter into the arena of social justice. But hands on ministries such as these offer us more than that. They offer us the opportunity to glimpse the power of God working in people's lives – in our very lives – and so transform us even more into the likeness of Christ.
        
To be honest with you, back around mid-January I had pretty much decided to opt out of the Gulf Coast Building Mission. My spirit was bone-dry. I was wiped out – feeling dead. The nation's economic melt-down was beating me down. I was anxious about the future for myself and for St. Mark's – still am a bit. I wanted to curl up in a ball and just take care of myself. I just didn't want to go on the trip.
        
But then our Vestry met at the end of January and said “we need to keep on moving forward.” When we met for Vestry Retreat and they said 2009 needs to be a time of renewed ministry – a call to service – not just a battening down of the hatches to ride out the storm, but a time to move forward with energy and grace. And I experienced a transfiguration – a transformation of my spirit and my soul! I didn't need to wait for today's gospel. My transfiguration took place over the past two weeks – and it has been a glorious experience.
        
In other words, we will not live out our ministries at St. Mark's according to the whim of the economy, rather, we will live out the gospel – the good news of God in Christ – by the transfiguring – the transforming – power of the Holy Spirit in our lives! I am excited about what we will do in 2009 as the people of God at St. Mark's!
        
Our transfiguration begins now – Our transfiguration begins Today – in this place and in each of our lives. It is an incredibly awesome thing – to be called to this Transfiguration Life. May God give us each the grace to shine with the dazzling brightness of the Living Christ! Amen.


©2009 Jim Melnyk