Sunday, February 11, 2024
Spirit of Hope Lutheran Church, Lincoln, NE
Transfiguration Sunday
(narrative lectionary)
watch this service online (reading starts around 22:05; children’s sermon starts around 24:25; sermon starts around 33:26)
Reading: Mark 8:27-9:10
This Sunday, the kids and I talked about superheroes. Specifically, we talked about superheroes like Superman, Spiderman, Batman, etc. who have secret identities. Inevitably in their stories, there seems to come a moment where the people in their lives who know them as relatively ordinary people – as Clark Kent or Peter Parker or Bruce Wayne – catch a glimpse of who’s behind the mask (or the cape and the giant ‘S’) and are shocked to find out that there’s a lot more to this person than they would have ever guessed. For the disciples in this Sunday’s reading, this moment of Jesus’ transfiguration on the mountaintop seems like one of those kinds of moments. Even though they (in theory) know Jesus’ true identity as the Messiah, it’s clear that until this moment, they had no real idea what that meant, and the truth is startling and a bit terrifying for them.
But we also talked briefly about how the gospels aren’t just some dry academic books that were written just for the sake of future posterity. They were written to and for specific communities of people who needed to hear the story. Mark wrote his gospel during the chaotic time immediately surrounding the destruction of the second temple. The people to whom he wrote needed a reminder that the God they served was still a superhero – one much stronger than any powers of empire, temple or no temple. And that story can still remind us and give us hope, that the God we continue to serve is a God of hope and love and peace much stronger than any power in this world.
There is a map of North America that makes the rounds on social media from time to time. It shows every single state and province on the continent, each one color-coded by how close it is to the ocean. There are coastal states in blue, then landlocked states, then double landlocked states. And right in the middle of the map, there is one lone state in red: Nebraska. We hold the distinction of being the only triply landlocked state in North America – meaning that no matter which direction you go, you have to go through at least three other states before you reach the ocean.
So for me, having grown up in rural Nebraska, you can understand why I was well into my twenties by the time I got to swim in the ocean for the very first time. I had dreamed about how beautiful it must be – I mean, as a child of the 80s and 90s, I grew up completely obsessed with The Little Mermaid. So you can imagine my excitement when, fresh out of college, I joined the Peace Corps and they sent me to the Caribbean to serve in the Dominican Republic!
My first trip to the beach was with an older volunteer, my friend Jan. She took me up to the beach at Sosúa on the north side of the island. She even lent me a pair of goggles so that I could actually look around under the water.
Nearly everything about the experience was surprising to me. I had imagined a Caribbean beach with that smooth, white sand that slopes down evenly into the water – but Sosúa was rocky at the water’s edge; I stumbled and nearly fell down an embarrassing number of times before I actually made it into the water. The first time the seawater splashed into my mouth, I was shocked by how salty it was – like, it’s one thing to know intellectually that the ocean is made up of salt water, but I was totally unprepared for the actual taste of it.
So it was all a bit weird. But, still, I was SO stoked to be there; and I was especially excited to try out the goggles Jan had given me. Sosúa is actually a popular spot for snorkeling and scuba diving – so I had all these images in my head of beautiful coral reefs with bright colored fish and tropical plants, and I was super excited to get to see them for myself, up close! So I swam out a little ways, strapped on the goggles, and plunged my face down into the water.
It was… not what I had expected. I saw sand and rocks; here and there, I saw some spiky-looking things that seemed like something I should probably avoid. And as I looked further out, away from the shore, the sea floor dropped down and faded out of view; and beyond that, all I could see was just deep blue darkness.
I couldn’t make it back to land fast enough! Looking down into all that water below me – having no idea what all could be down there – I was just seized with this sense of deep, primordial terror. I was suddenly very aware that I was nothing but a tiny speck of flesh floating on the surface of this vast, unknown, watery abyss. Nothing in The Little Mermaid prepared me for that!
This is the feeling I imagine when I read the story of the transfiguration, which we read today. It’s how I imagine the disciples felt. We are far enough into the gospel of Mark that they’ve definitely seen some stuff by now – they know they’re rolling with an amazing teacher who can do some pretty awesome things. Yet they are still totally unprepared for this episode on top of the mountain. For a brief moment, Jesus is revealed in all his heavenly glory; Moses and Elijah show up to chat with him – unclear how the disciples would have known what those two looked like, but still – it must have been a pretty awesome sight.
In fact, it’s such an awesome sight that it scares the absolute pants off the disciples who are there. Peter is so startled that he starts stammering some nonsense about setting up tents; but he is suddenly interrupted by the voice of God, who thunders down from the clouds, saying, “Hey! This is my Son, the Beloved; shut up and listen to him!”
Up until this point, Peter and the other disciples had thought they understood the assignment. They thought they had a good sense of who Jesus was and what he was capable of. Six days earlier, Jesus had even asked them who they thought he was – and, for once, Peter gave the correct answer. He piped up and declared, “You are the Messiah!” Gold star. Good job, Peter. But within only a few verses, we quickly see that neither Peter nor any of the disciples really has any idea what that actually means.
Their people have been waiting generations for a “Messiah.” They’ve been expecting this powerful figure who would help the people of Israel break free from the oppression of Rome, a mighty ruler who would re-establish their long-lost kingdom. But Peter’s declaration that Jesus is the Messiah marks a turning point in this story. Because from then on, Jesus begins to tell them how all this Messiah stuff is actually going to go down – and it’s not at all what they imagined.
Peter actually argues with Jesus when he starts talking to them about suffering and rejection and persecution and death. He doesn’t yet understand that Jesus has much, much bigger plans than just defeating a single human empire. Jesus is talking about the defeat of sin and death itself.
This mountaintop moment of the transfiguration begins to shift the disciples’ perspective to see that they have signed on for a whole lot more than they initially bargained for. This mission is much more than some military campaign to take back some territory or to reshuffle the cards of power. They have become part of a powerful, radical movement that is out to fundamentally transform the world.
It’s a movement that’s still going – one that we are now part of. But it can be hard to maintain that perspective all the time. Like the disciples, I think that we too can sometimes get complacent in the ways that we think about who God is and what God is about. It’s easy to let church become a nice place where nice people gather to talk nicely about a nice God. But weird and dangerous stories like the story of the transfiguration can help to shake us loose from that a little bit. They remind us that together we are much more than we might think we are. We are co-creators with God of a new kind of kingdom. We are agents of God’s radical agenda of love and liberation and life.
This story makes me wonder where we might experience some of those perspective-shifting moments this week – especially as we prepare for the season of Lent. I wonder what glimpses of God might leave us feeling awed or speechless or even terrified in a way no Disney movie could prepare us for.
But that is what I pray for. I pray this week that we may be weirded out by God all over again. May we be reminded that we’re part of something much greater than we’d ever dare to hope. May we be dazzled all over again by the grace and glory and greatness of God.
This is the Day 
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