The Gift of Being
The Reverend Canon Elizabeth Knowlton
Mikell Chapel 7:45 and 9:00 a.m.
Feast of the Transfiguration, August 6, 2006
Today is the Feast of the Transfiguration and a busy day here at the Cathedral. We are going to baptize a number of new babies into our community and also later this afternoon ordain a whole class of permanent deacons, including our own Ed Fuller . And while I'm very excited to see this new class ordained to serving those most in need this afternoon, I think the babies have a distinct advantage today. Because no matter how many pictures are snapped today, how many exclamations about their beautiful clothes they will hear, no one is likely to approach them and their parents and say today the following. “Well, now that you've officially joined our community this morning, what do you plan to do?” “Where will you be serving?”
Don't get me wrong, there are not bad questions. Perhaps the permanent deacons have become so steeped in their baptismal identity, that this question is even valid. But, there is also a real danger that we can become too attached to what we do, rather than who we are. The core of baptism is our new identity we receive. Any later expression lay or ordained, is merely a response to that first commitment. To be reminded as these new babies officially are knit into the body of Christ that we somehow embrace their “beingness” is to remind ourselves of that same need in each one of us.
I was this past week on my annual silent retreat. This is something I began as part of my spiritual discipline in 1998. It was something I started before I ever became a priest, and came out of my deep desire to grow more deeply into relationship with God. While this time is always one of grace, it is usually one of relearning the importance of my identity apart from anything I do. Because I'm not really allowed to do anything the whole time I'm there. I don't make food that is provided. I don't even choose which scripture verses I'll pray with, my retreat director does that. And of course, I don't speak.
It can often take several days to fully settle into a realization that to sit in the presence of God is what I am really called to for that time. And while service is deeply meaningful, the sense of connection I find through being, is profound, deeply transforming, and necessary.
But to stay in that awareness is never easy. It only happens when I can keep my thoughts from racing, my planning gears from whirling, and my inner distractibility from racing off to other lands.
This is most difficult in the beginning and towards the end of any retreat. Towards the beginning it is more about weaning myself from constant stimulation. Towards the end, I am tempted to try and hold onto this experience, so much so that I can miss the gift of that present moment.
In many ways it is the experience we see on the mountain top this morning. And we get quite the impressive display from the Gospel of Luke. Visions of dead prophets, Jesus’ changing before our very eyes, Peter providing comic relief by trying to open a franchise on his experience of mystery, and then in the final climax….God speaks from above. Who can be surprised that the response of the disciples after all of that is to just be stunned into silence?
Like the disciples, I am not sure exactly what I am to draw from such a vision. What does is really mean to see Jesus with Moses and Elijah? What does that shining white glow mean? Like Peter, I wonder what the proper response to such a vision should really be? What should I do in response to such mystery? How can I stay there? How can I build a monument to the experience to ensure I never forget what this moment is like? In my book, a journey into mystery requires extensive planning, and once you're there its up to us to make sure we fully plan our response and don't forget what that was about.
Or is it? I mean, do we expect the babies we baptize here to remember the exact sacramental moment they become partakers of this mystery? Of our mystery? Do we expect it of ourselves? Not entirely or there'd be no reasons to affirm our baptismal covenant through out the years. We'd have no need to recite the Nicene Creed. There wouldn't even really be much need for the sustaining feeding we get every week at the Eucharist. If we could fully grasp mystery, it wouldn't be mystery at all. And while we do many things in response to that mystery, we fall into a trap when we think the doing replaces the mystery of being. We are loved so much by God that we are offered profound transformation that can only be done to us.
But this is hard. Whether we're trying to get to the top of the mountain, or trying to forever pin those experiences down, our live encourage us to act. When we see a glimpse, we want to hold on. As our thoughts race ahead we can make Peter’s three dwellings looked pretty tame. I can only express my surprise that I haven’t been confronted in the midst of all my doing more often with a direct wake up call from God. A call from a cloud that tells me to stop, and listen to what the Son of God can really offer me.
This is not unique to us, since Luke has taken some real care in his editing of this story from Mark. The first verse we hear today reminds us that we have entered into a journey that is already in progress. The text begins, “About eight days after these sayings……” What sayings? Since this feast interrupts the flow of our lectionary texts, we might not immediately remember what sayings are being referenced. These sayings are when Jesus has silenced Peter after he first identifies him as the Messiah.
Jesus has just predicted his suffering and rejection and begun to tell them the demands of their own discipleship. These last eight days have been spent trying to absorb what “these sayings” might mean, and we do not get the impression that they have been resolved before they arrive at the top of the mountain. Jesus will have to continue to predict his passion during the rest of the journey and we will continue to struggle with what that means.
Luke also does not want us to get distracted by finding the exact location where this takes place. It is specifically not named. While the tour guides on Mount Tabor will be happy to tell you it really happened there, Luke invites us beyond these concrete experiences. A vision of Elijah, Moses, and Jesus speaking is also not sufficient for Luke, as it was in the other synoptic accounts. Luke decides we would probably be better off knowing the subject of their conversation. It is to do with Jesus’ departure, literally his exodus toward Jerusalem . Not the destination, but the departure towards a final phase of Jesus’ earthly ministry. This is not just a mountaintop moment, but, a point of departure into the full mystery of Christ’s passion, death, resurrection, and ascension.
While it is difficult at times for us to enter into that mystery; we are not expected to get it on the first try. We are invited to this same mystery at every celebration of the Eucharist and every time we affirm our own baptismal identity. It is an act that we repeat, but we assert theologically that it is time that is somehow different, set apart. The entering of that mystery each week allows us to step away into a moment of eternity.We are grounded in a particularized life experience, but the mystery is that it is not only that. We are not just individual people, but a people linked forever by God’s love. We go through the moments of our life, declaring a hope that they participate in a much fuller tapestry. That tapestry is somehow connected into a much broader fabric. We call it the Body of Christ.
The notion of that whole can give us hope even when we are overwhelmed with suffering and violence in our own time. As evil appears all too real, injustice insurmountable, we struggle forward with faith that it will not be the final word. The glimpse of glory on the mountain today can stay with us as we inevitably make our descent. The gift of Christ is that we do not journey alone, or without hope. The gift is that long before we are called to “do” we are given the gift of being. So maybe this afternoon, before we charge up and congratulate our new class of ordained deacons in this church, maybe we should give thanks for their being. Like the babies in the fancy clothes this morning, their entry into the mystery may be the best gift they offer us today.
Amen
Comments? Contact Beth Knowlton at: BKnowlton@stphilipscathedral.org