Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are also available on his blog)
Isaiah 55:1-9
Luke 13:1-9
Traditionally, the time of Lent has been understood as one of fasting, i.e. giving up certain things you might normally eat. And the Sundays of Lent have been kept as feast days, meaning that you could eat those special things you might avoid throughout the rest of Lent.
When I was in seminary, my roommate, an Episcopalian, introduced me to the idea of Lent and fasting/feasting on things unrelated to food (like TV). Our favorite show was the Simpsons, and it was broadcast on Thursdays. So we would tape (yes, VCR; yes, a while ago) the show and watch it on Sunday, the feast day. Perhaps the letter, but not the spirit of the law…
Our conversations this Lent focus on practices we might fast from (or let go of) and practices we might feast on (or take up) throughout Lent, regardless of whether it’s a Sunday or not.
The Luke lesson brings me to our topic today. In it, the crowds push in on Jesus, pestering him the ancient equivalent of the headlines: “Did you hear about what happened to the Galileans, the ones who were at the Temple, whom Pilate had killed? In the middle of worship?” Jesus adds to this man-made horror another story of natural disaster, when a Jerusalem tower fell and crushed eighteen people. The current thinking of the day was that, the worse the death, the bigger the sin. Jesus turns that kind of thinking back on the crowd, and begins what, I would argue, is the Christian response to violence. When Christians see violence in our world, whether it be of the man-made or natural variety, our first and most faithful response ought to be prayer.
Unfortunately, there are those in the church who still believe the same way these crowds did, that the badder the death the worser the sin. And those folk all seem to have TV cameras trained on them. But the Christian ethic developing from this moment in Luke is that Christians, responding to violence, ought first to be brought to prayer, and repenting prayer, the most introspective of all.
Today’s theme could very well be a question of how we respond to stress. It’s a fact a life, this stress stuff. The question isn’t how do we avoid it, but how do we respond to it. Do we buckle under its pressure, or do we give space for prayer? For each of us, the source of that stress is different. It could be school, work, friends, family, colleagues, society. And stress causes us to lose perspective. When Elizabeth and I were new parents, we entered a whole new world, where parents live through the success of their children. And in those early days all we had to go on was the percentiles of height and weight. He was 99th percentile in height! Hurrah! We win! (uh, no, he’s just taller than average) He was 50th percentile in weight! Rats! So average! (uh, yeah, but that’s kinda the point. He’s healthy)
When Jesus is pressed by the crowds, how is he going to respond to the stress? Is he going to give in the common wisdom, and simply echo it back? And, by the way, is common wisdom always right? “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” Actually, it probably means always having to say you’re sorry, since you care about the other person’s feelings. But I digress…
Do we react in those moments, or do we reflect? Have you ever sent an email in a rush wishing there was an “unsend” button? What would it mean, in those moments of stress, to pause; to breathe; to pray? Can we stop long enough to allow some reflection?
I think there’s something of that in the Luke lesson, as Jesus goes on to speak of the fig tree and this parable of the gardener who, despite the fig tree’s lack of fruit, wants to give it another year of care and tending. The fig tree was often used to symbolize Judah or Israel. Unfortunately, Christians have misinterpreted this passage as Jesus’ judgment on Jews and Judaism, leading to the horrors of anti-Semitism throughout church history.
Instead, I think Jesus is suggesting something more basic and sublime: be patient. Jesus is responding, indeed, to those who are quick to dispose, saying, “Wait. Give it time.” Do we do that? In a culture of immediate gratification do we look for immediate success? If it doesn’t work right away, do we cast it aside as a failure? Could this be one of those moments where common wisdom battles it out with itself, telling us to “Go with our guts” as we are reminded that “Patience is a virtue”? Or could it just be possible that our gut might be right; but it would also be OK to check with our heart, our head, and, oh yeah – our God? But I digress again…
Try this simple practice. When stress hits – because it will, when the crowds press in – because they will, and when common wisdom doesn’t fit – because it won’t, then breathe in. Ask, “God, what do you think?” Listen. And if the clarity doesn’t come, don’t be afraid to say, “I don’t know.” Because the answers aren’t always there right away. These practices take time.
And after all, the prayer that Jesus calls the crowds to is one of repentance: literally, a turning again to face. Imagine yourself standing, having turned your back on God. To repent would be to turn and face the divine. To rekindle this relationship takes time. So give it the nourishment it needs. Help it to grow. And it will bear fruit.
Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are available on his blog)
Psalm 27
Luke 13:31-35
Our overall theme for Lent focuses on these traditional practices of fasting and feasting. To put it another way, fasting is to put aside something, whatever it might be that can get in the way of your relationship with God. Some have suggested that it is also a good idea to feast, to add something that can strengthen your relationship with God. Our theme today, “Fasting from Darkness; Feasting on Light,” could be the theme for the whole series. To put it simply, to put aside bad things and to take up good things. A more simplistic moral theology you won’t find. But the truth is that this parallels what we ask new members to say. When people join the church, we invite them forward and ask them three questions: do you promise to turn aside from evil and do you promise to turn toward good, toward Jesus and what he offers? And do you promise to do those things in this community? That’s what it means to be a member of the body of Christ.
There are visions of this in the Luke lesson. Jesus’ conflict is beginning to escalate from a religious one to a political one, as Herod’s anger enters the picture. Some Pharisees, we are told, come to him. Perhaps they are really sympathetic, and so they want to warn him. Or perhaps they are jealous and are trying to scare him away. Jesus’ response is straightforward: “Tell Herod what you see. Demons are being cast out, and people are being healed. It’s the work of the kingdom.” He then goes on to link himself with the prophetic tradition, those who speak truth to power in the name of God. And finally comes the lament over Jerusalem.
Jerusalem has symbolic power beyond its actual physical location as the seat of the Temple, the holiest site for the Israelites. It is the center of faith. It is, as the prophets and psalmists say, the “city on the hill”; the “light to the nations.” And yet, it is the place that kills the prophets and destroys the faithful.
My, how times have changed. Isn’t it wonderful to live in a time when religious hypocrisy is a thing of the past? Or perhaps, it’s still with us? We can see the hypocrisy at work in many faiths. But let’s focus on our own community. How many of you know someone who calls themselves a “Christian” but doesn’t act like one? How many of you think of yourself when you hear that description? It reminds me of the Gandhi quote: “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” How true, and how sad, that is.
As a Session, we’ve become aware of this as we’ve participated in a book study, meeting once a week to read the book Unbinding the Gospel. It is an effective look at how it is that we can be church in a changing, 21st century world. And each week, there is a little homework assignment. The most enlightening one was the week we were commissioned to ask five questions of people who were either un-churched (that is, had no exposure to church) or de-churched (that is, had experience of church, but not currently). Among this latter group, most of them described having a relatively good experience in church until something happened. It was usually a disconnect between the faith being proclaimed and the moral lives of the people in the pews. For example, there could have been a sermon about forgiveness, and immediately afterward, people would be gossiping about what she was wearing or whom he was dating. And the lesson was clear: religious people are hypocrites.
As I listened to several people tell their stories along these lines, I heard echoes of my own journey. I, too, had been raised in church; but after going off to college, I returned a much, much wiser person and noticed this disconnect in my own community. I ended up seeking out the advice of a pastor, pushing him on specific questions and issues and asking what the church’s official stance was. He responded to them all with quiet straightforwardness, but then he went on to say something that changed my life. I have no idea if he remembers that conversation or, indeed, if he even remembers me. But what he said was something to the effect of “I think it would be a terrible idea for you to go to church right now.” Imagine: a pastor told me not to go to church! But the gift he gave me was freedom – freedom to explore, question, doubt, learn, study. And freedom to return. And when I did, I brought with me that healthy skepticism, knowing full well that church people aren’t perfect people; instead, church people ought to be people who are reminded on a daily basis that we are forgiven by each other and by God for the many ways we screw up.
In my case, it was a pastor that pointed the way for me. But the truth is that each of us are guideposts. Whether we want to be or not, we are people to whom the world looks to see what Christians are like. We point the way. The question is whether we point to that darkness, or whether we point to that light?
During the remaining weeks of Lent, I invite you to look within yourself. Find that light and darkness within. Cast aside the dark. Put it down. Fast from it. And carry that light. Raise it high. Magnify it. But also, I invite you to pay attention to those moments when you are the guidepost for another. May it be God’s light that guides you at those moments that you might guide another.
Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are also available on his blog)
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Luke 4:1-13
This week we begin a series of conversations around the idea of fasting and feasting. For Presbyterians, the liturgical calendar and conversations about Lent are somewhat new. And this is rooted in our history. John Calvin, the great Reformer, was not opposed to the idea of fasting. In fact, he considered it something quite honorable. What he objected to was the idea that the Church determine the times and dates for fasting. But guess what: when you give people the option between fasting and not fasting, what are they going to choose? Ergo, the rediscovery of the liturgical calendar and traditional practices in rhythm with the seasons.
You may have already thought through something you’d like to fast from for Lent. If not, or even if you have, I’d like to suggest that we agree on another approach this year. Let us fast from the practices in our life that tear down and feast on practices that build up. Let’s put aside something we do that we know is destructive and take on something we know is productive.
Our two lessons this morning provide some of the traditional framework for Lent; the Deuteronomy text comes as Moses and the Israelites are in the midst of their forty years in the wilderness, and then Luke echoes those forty years with forty days of Jesus in the desert. It is there that the tradition of a forty-day season of Lent developed. In Luke’s lesson, there are three temptations:
Sustenance. Jesus is hungry; the devil suggests that he use his powers to make bread. But Jesus’ response is that it is not just about survival; it is about life and life abundant.
Power. Jesus is at his weakest physically. Jesus’ knows that the focus is not how much power you have, but whom you serve; and he will serve God.
Safety. Jesus is potentially in danger because of his fasting; the devil suggests he prove God’s protection. But Jesus knows the difference between trusting God and testing God.
My suggestion is that, at the root of these temptations, is fear. And at the root of fear is limitation. We are all limited; and we hate that we are limited. It is when we are most vulnerable that these fears come alive. Again, I’d like to suggest that we look at the three temptations as three fears:
Fear for our survival. Maybe not many of us have really faced such a fear with the economic downturn, but I’m sure some have.
Fear of not having enough power. Even in a democratic society like ours, even when we are in a position of relative economic comfort and privilege like we are, we often don’t feel like our voice is heard.
Fear of danger. Think of our nightly news, with its teaser warnings like, “The tap water you’re drinking might kill you. Details after these commercials.”
When we are afraid, we are more likely to be tempted to make bad choices. Instinct can be good, especially at moments of fear; but let me suggest two counter-examples that prove my point about bad decision-making:
When you’re chased by a bear, what would instinct tell you to do? Run. What happens when you run? The bear chases you. How about going up a tree? Guess who’s really good at climbing trees? The right decision, it turns out, is playing dead; so counter to what our fear would tell us is right.
When your car goes into a skid, what does fear tell you to do? Turn against the skid. But the right decision is to turn into the skid, so you might regain traction and, therefore, control of the car.
Our instincts, when rooted in fear, aren’t always as trustworthy as we might like to think.
So what is the opposite of fear? I’d like to suggest that it’s not courage (courage might tell you to punch the bear in the nose). Instead, I think it’s faith. And faith has very different things to tell us about these three temptations:
Don’t worry about survival. Consider the lilies of the field, the birds of the air. God’s got our back. Do we take our sustenance for granted? Have we gotten used to a standard of living that moves into sinful territory? I remember the first time I fasted; it opened my eyes to how much I take food for granted, from the energy it gives me, to the snack bowls in my house that I would pass without a second thought. Don’t worry about your survival. God is at work.
Don’t be anxious about power. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. And if we really serve God, if we really follow Christ, then we’ll remember the model of true power he puts before us in the form of trust in his weakness.
Don’t fret about security. Trust God’s protection, yes, because God’s got your back. But don’t test the Spirit.
In this season of Lent, I’d like to suggest that we all work on becoming more aware of our fears. That we admit and acknowledge and confess them. And when they come, that we pray a simple prayer: “God, give me faith.” And do so knowing that this faith we desire is alive; it serves; and it trusts in the power of God.
Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are also available on his blog)
Isaiah 58:1-12
I’m the last person who ought to be speaking tonight about how the church should to respond to the situation in Haiti. I’ve never been to Haiti. I know only the broadest strokes about its history. And it is only since the earthquake on January 12 that I have become familiar with the long-standing partnership our Presbytery has with La Gonave and the Episcopal Diocese of Haiti. So to stand before you tonight to offer some word on what the church with a big “C” ought to be doing about Haiti causes me much fear and trembling.
The reported numbers of dead, wounded, and missing are staggering. The photos give us a glimpse; but only that. The work of rebuilding will take far longer than George Clooney or Quincy Jones or Oglethorpe Presbyterian Church can keep a steady spotlight on the place. The truth is that the public’s compassion, our compassion, is limited. The further away we get from January 12, especially for those of us who have no personal connection to Haiti, the less we feel that first sting of agony for people 1200 miles away from us.
But what I know deep down in my bones, in the soul of my very being, is that the Church must respond. And we must do so on our knees, seeking God’s mercy as we respond. It is the voice of God speaking through the prophet Isaiah who drives the point home, especially on this Ash Wednesday, this day where the Church has traditionally begun the fast that leads to the feasting of Easter. A true and faithful fast is one that leaves behind callousness; a true and faithful fast is one that casts aside indifference; a true and faithful fast is one that is willing to let go of our righteous comforts and to be unsettled by the status quo.
Tonight, as we speak of mortality and repentance and grief and hope, we focus on Haiti. We do so because the world is complicit in her suffering, which goes much further into the past than just the January 12th earthquake. And we do so because suffering anywhere is suffering of all. As Paul said, “When one part of the body suffers, all parts suffer with it.” When Haiti suffers, we suffer; or rather, we ought to suffer. If we don’t, we might as well be cut off. To be Christians, to love this one called Jesus, is to be willing to put ourselves in the place of those who suffer and to allow ourselves that incarnate, fleshy agony of those who cry out for help from the Lord.
My hope is that those words of Isaiah will ring in our ears throughout the forty days of Lent, calling us to commit ourselves to easing suffering, wherever it might be, as evidence of our true and faithful fast: loosing the bonds of injustice; letting the oppressed go free; sharing our bread with the hungry; bringing the homeless poor into our house. It is then that light will break forth, that ruins will be rebuilt, that healing shall truly begin.
What more is there to say? I leave that to you. You have come here for one reason or another. My hunch is that there is something about Haiti that draws you here. So let us offer our prayers to God for Haiti. You may have one you wish to say out loud; please do. You may have one you wish to offer in the silence of your hearts. Whatever your prayer, trust that it is the Spirit who helps us in our weakness, even when we do not know how we ought to pray, offering up sighs too deep for words. Let us pray…
From our Ash Wednesday service for Haiti. Dr. Jim Ingvoldstad, who was in Haiti when the earthquake hit, shares some photos (video below) and reflections on his time there and on the spirit of the Haitian people.
From our Ash Wednesday service for Haiti. The band sings the U2 song, accompanied by the choir, as Meghan Brown Saavedra offers prayers for Haiti and the world. Lyrics to the song can be found here.
God of mercy, we pray for all people around the world, who climb mountains, risk arrest and gather furtively with your people in order to give praise and glory to you. We give thanks for the people of Haiti, who in the midst of destruction, famine, and despair, have flocked to their churches, gathered with their communities and broken out in spontaneous prayer and song on the streets. We also thank you for the generous international response to the victims in Haiti. In the midst of this tragedy, we have seen glimpses of our interconnectedness. We have felt compassion and grief, pride and humility, utter sadness and despair for people we have never met, but with whom we are mysteriously but undeniably connected.
God of justice, we pray for those in Haiti, those in more distant countries and those in our very own neighborhoods who appear to have nothing: no place to lay their heads, no food to fill their stomachs, no medicine to cure their ills, no family to anchor them. We also pray for those who seem to have everything, but whose illusions of self-sufficiency isolate them from God and neighbor. We deserve your condemnation; but instead of rejection, you sent your Son into the world to love us, forgive us, and save us, not just giving us our life back, but giving us new life in Jesus Christ. O God, we ask that you show your presence and your love in mighty and visible ways in the country of Haiti. We boldly ask for miracles of healing, generosity, forgiveness, hope and transformation.
God of wisdom, let all of our actions be guided by your will and your love. Give us the desire to be instruments of your justice and peace. We know from our personal experiences and through the witness of Scripture that you are our true refuge and our strength, a very present and real help in trouble. We desperately want to be fearless; give us the courage to speak these words; to claim them, believe them, and act as through our very life depends on them. When we feel as though we have not found what we are looking for, help us remember that you have already found us, that you reach our to us, offering grace and reconciliation, new and abundant life, and the promise of your kingdom come.
Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are also available on his blog) Tiffany Kromer (Tiffany’s sermons and other reflections are on her blog) Meghan Brown Saavedra
Exodus 34:29-35
Luke 9:28-36
Good morning. Thank you all for coming. My name is Simon, but my friends call me Peter. I also want to introduce you to James and John. If you’re like me, you’ll have a hard time telling them apart, being siblings and all. And some of you might recognize us from our brief cameo in The DaVinci Code, but that’s not why we’re here today.
There has been a lot of talk about some of the things we experienced with Jesus not that long ago, and so we wanted to take this opportunity to help clear up some confusion, hopefully. Today, as the ads promised, we are going to talk about what some people are calling the Transfiguration. It was the three of us who went up the mountain with Jesus, so we want to share with you our own first-hand experience. But first, I’d like to begin by reading to you one of the popular accounts of it that has been circulating, this one written by Luke. So let’s listen to this, and then we’ll each take a few minutes to give you our own point of view.
Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” — not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.
So anyway, that’s Luke’s take on it. We’ve got our own. John, why don’t you go first?
John:
I have a bit of a bad memory, so I’ve tried to keep track of the things we’ve encountered by writing them in a journal. I’d like to share with you what I wrote the morning after this happened.
You know, it seems like just yesterday that my life was totally different. I used to be a fisherman; I had a pretty good life. It was peaceful and comfortable-not terribly exciting, but I couldn’t really complain. Somehow, my life changed before I even knew what was happening. When Jesus asked me to follow him, I didn’t really know what I was getting into. Life as a disciple has been pretty interesting ever since. We’ve traveled all around the country, met so many people who are looking for love and healing, I’ve even performed some miracles myself. But last night was the first time things got really interesting. Now that I think about it, I don’t even know exactly what happened. After all, we had all been asleep when it started.
Last night, the four of us went up on the mountain to pray. Now, I’ve never met anyone who could pray as long and as intently as Jesus. We’d been praying for hours! I guess I must have dozed off in the midst of everything, and the next thing I knew, there was a bright light shining on me. At first I thought it must be dawn, and I was a little embarrassed that I had conked out for so long! I was trying to think up an excuse to explain to Jesus why I fell asleep, but then I saw that it was still night outside. I didn’t have my glasses on, but I think I think the light was coming from Jesus himself. He looked different to me; I didn’t recognize his face and his clothes were bright and shiny. He looked like a ghost, or maybe even an angel. He looked so powerful and so holy. It was like the heavens had opened up on him. I couldn’t help but think of what Peter told me the other day; that he thought Jesus was the Christ.
And then I got confused, if Jesus is the Christ, then why does he always talk about being a servant leader? Why do people have to take up a cross to follow him and why does he always seem to suggest that he will suffer? From what I saw last night Jesus is clearly a king of some sort, maybe even God. And, if he’s God, then why does he need to suffer? Shouldn’t we all be serving him, instead of him serving us?
It seemed like there were some other important people surrounding Jesus last night, but I couldn’t really tell who they were. I was trying to get a better look, but this big cloud covered up the moon and stars and I could barely even see my hand in front of my face. The wind was really loud, but I think I heard someone say something like, “This is my Son, the chosen one, listen to him!” Do you think that could have been God?
I guess I just saw a different side of Jesus last night. He’s always been so wise and compassionate to everyone we’ve met, but he’s so humble. Jesus is clearly a lot more powerful than he leads people to believe he is. I wish he’d act more powerfully sometimes: we might get a lot more done and attract a lot more followers. If they knew how powerful he was, maybe people wouldn’t question him; maybe Jesus could even make them listen to him, if he’s really the Christ. And if everyone saw and heard what happened last night, then they’d think Jesus really might be God’s Son. And, I’m sure that if people thought Jesus might be God’s son then he can forget about all that having to suffer nonsense. People wouldn’t want to risk upsetting God like that, right?
That’s what I wrote right after it happened. If I only knew then what I know now, that Jesus’ humility and humanity wasn’t a downfall, didn’t make him weak, but actually made him, made God, truly powerful. But, what do I know? I’m still trying to figure it all out myself. Maybe my brother James can help you understand what happened.
James:
I was really baffled about what we witnessed that night, too. At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Oh, and, John, you don’t need to feel guilty about falling asleep…there’s something about that mountain that allows your whole body to rest in God. At that point, we had been traveling hard with Jesus for a while, and we needed to retreat from the crowded streets…we needed to rest. But you know how much I love to sleep. In fact, the only part I miss about being a fisherman is the afternoon naps on the boat, especially on those sunny days when it is too hot to move but too beautiful to work.
I saw the same thing you saw, John, and, like you, I couldn’t seem to place the two men who were with him. Luke and Peter claim they were Moses and Elijah. But all I know is that last night’s show wasn’t about those two men—it was like God was putting the moon’s spotlight on Jesus. That voice from the cloud had to be God. It just had to be.
There are certain things people have said to me in my life that have always stuck with me. My father told me at a very young age that I was a good fisherman. That stayed with me and means a lot to me to this day. There are a lot of things Jesus has said that have stuck with me too. He is such a good friend. Ever since we met him that day on our boat, I knew that our lives would never be the same. Before I met Jesus, my goal in life was to one day run my father’s fishing business…to keep the Zebedee family name and success alive!
Now, I am not one to make rash decisions. I tend to be a person that thinks long and hard before he acts, which doesn’t make me tons of fun at parties, but it does make me successful in business. And John can tell you that I am a very particular person who has been known to blow up when I am passionate or upset about something. But on the day we met Jesus, something happened that I have a hard time putting into words. Jesus walked on our boat and caused our nets to be filled with an abundance of fish. And then, he asked us to follow him and said to us, “from now on, you will be catching people.” When he said that, it is like Jesus caught me and there was no doubt in my mind that I had to follow him. I had no idea why I should follow him, but something deep within me told me it was the right thing to do. What Jesus said that day stuck with me and now my life is completely different…it’s like my life has a deeper purpose, a deeper calling.
What God said to us in the pillar of cloud that night stuck with me too. God said, “This is my Son, my Chosen, Listen to him!” I’ve listened to Jesus so far—I’ve followed him and I get up every day trusting that God will provide for our needs and see us through anything we encounter. Yet, Jesus taught me every day to live life differently than everyone else around me. And, I admit that it was sometimes really hard to listen. And if we disciples had a hard time listening, I can imagine the crowds of people and religious officials we encountered may have had an even harder time listening. And, once this dawned on me, I was afraid. I was afraid that the people we were to encounter were not going to listen to Jesus and they were going to misunderstand him and they might even hurt him for what he is saying. And now I get chills just saying that because people did misunderstand him and killed him for what he said.
All I know is that if Jesus could befriend this selfish, angry fisherman and his little, spitfire brother, AND change their lives, then I believe that Jesus can change the world…
At the time of the transfiguration, I felt really tired, more tired than usual. Leaving our family and friends and job was really hard and there are moments when I get homesick and wonder if I’m doing the right thing. What I take from our mountaintop experience last that, weird as it was, is that I need to listen to Jesus. I need to listen to him because he is chosen by God. What we saw and heard and experienced that night refueled me and got me moving again. It got me back on track with why I decided to follow Jesus in the first place—because he change my life and I know he can change everyone’s life if they just listen to him.
Peter, what did you get from our experience that night?
Peter:
Thanks, James.
I think the main thing that I remember is that I just didn’t want to leave. Yeah, I’m sure it was Moses and Elijah that joined Jesus up there, and I remember just not wanting to go back down that mountain! It was, well, it was what I thought we had been preparing for all that time. We were, at least I was, following Jesus around convinced that he was the Messiah, which meant that we were headed for greatness! Power! Glory! And then, on top of Mount Tabor, standing next to him, Moses and Elijah appear! It was the confirmation of everything I had just assumed up to that point. It was so, um, holy! I had never had an experience like that before, and I wasn’t sure if I ever would again. I wanted to stay in that moment for the rest of my life. I mean, who wouldn’t want to stay, build a shrine even, and maybe make a living collecting entry fees from tourists?
But, as hard as it was for me to leave, I can only imagine what Jesus must have been going through. Unlike me, he actually understood what it meant to be Messiah: not glory, honor, and power; but humiliation, suffering, and death. It meant being the vessel of God’s grace, judgment, and reconciliation with the rest of us. I mean, up to that point, we had been a bunch of wandering teachers and faith healers in the bucolic Galilee. We had been among simple people just like us, shepherds and fishermen. But from the top of that mountain, we looked to the South; and before us, we saw the plain of Jezreel stretching out to the Gilboa mountains, which marked the border between the Galilee and the Samaritan country. And even further to the south, beyond the eye, lay Jerusalem. Jerusalem! Knowing what he knew about Jerusalem, Jesus must have been tempted to stay up there, too, just like me.
Anyway, enough about that moment. Because whatever you want to think about it, which ever account or rumor of it that you’ve heard that you choose to believe, I don’t think any of us are convinced that it’s the sequence of events that’s all that important. If it is, if we spend all our time trying to figure out exactly what happened and in what order, then we’re all we’re doing is trying to stay up on the mountain. We’ve gotta come down from those moments and head back into our lives; but as transfigured people of faith; transformed; changed.
And I think, if I can be so bold as to sum up for the three of us, what John would say is important about that mountain top is service. We got this amazing glimpse of how powerful Jesus actually is, and yet there he is always telling us that we ought to serve just like him. Do ya’ll remember when I got so bent out of shape about wanting to wash his feet instead of him washing mine? But that wasn’t his point: he was setting an example for us, so that we would be a blessing to others as he was, and is, a blessing to us.
And for James, I think it’s all about that change that God can make in our lives, especially if we just listen to Jesus. Then we, too, can be transformed into something that we don’t even recognize. Not perfect, mind you, but changed; living different lives than we ever might imagine. I’m not really one to speak, of course, since Jesus once called me “Satan” and told me to get behind him. But if Jesus can change James, and me, then, well, what could he do with each of us?
From my perspective, it’s all about getting down that mountain. If you’re anything like me, then there are those mountain top experiences in your life that you never, ever want to end. You want to keep them, preserve them, have them again and again. But if that’s our approach, we might as well put them in formaldehyde, because they’ll never be as alive as they were in that moment. Have you ever been to a party that’s so great that you never want to leave? And then, later on, have you had that moment where you realize that the party’s no fun anymore, probably because you are trying so hard to make it fun? That’s kind of what I’m talking about.
But it’s also so much more than that. If we had never gone down that mountain, we never would have made our way to Jerusalem. And let me say a word about Jerusalem, which, for me, was the most horrifying thing I have ever lived through. I went from the mountain top down into the pit. I blew it; I pretended I never knew this Jesus, this dear friend, this wondrous teacher, this miraculous Messiah. I was so paralyzed by fear that I tried to get out of it. And then, when he was arrested, he saw me. He looked out that prison window and he saw me. And that look withered me to my soul. I knew what I had done, and I knew how much I had hurt him. And that’s something I never want to experience again as long as I live.
But…because I did, when he appeared to us again, I knew deep down, all the way to my bones, that amazing knowledge of being forgiven. I had heard him talk about forgiveness hundreds of times. But to have someone that you have so utterly betrayed, especially when you come to realize that you have betrayed God’s very self, to have that person forgive you and entrust you to keep on following and teaching in his name, well, let’s just say that’s something that I never would have known if we had stayed enshrined on top of the mountain.
If we can leave you with one thought today, it would be this: faith is a verb. It is something that travels with us on a journey from the mountain top to the pit of the valley. It moves us beyond what we think we know along a path toward what it is that God would have us know. It will take us to places that are new and weird and uncomfortable to us. It will make us friends with people we’d rather not hang out with otherwise. But it is, whether we know it or not, what we all really yearn for.
Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are also available on his blog
Isaiah 6:1-8
Luke 5:1-11
Think about the language we use to talk about jobs. We call it a “vocation” – literally, a calling. We call it a “profession” – almost like an affirmation of faith. Or we say, rather hyperbolically, it’s “what we do for a living” – what, you mean breathe? In other words, we use near-religious language to talk about something we don’t feel too sacred about.
I think about this language when I think about my own family’s vocational journey. It was 1933 when my grandfather started Marthame Sanders & Co. General Contractors. My dad started working there after high school. After college and the Army, he went to work there full-time. Eventually he became President of the company. He had no choice.
My sister and I would spend our summers working there as well, even into college. But in 1990, the world changed for us dramatically. The company went bankrupt, a casualty of Atlanta’s building bust that year. My grandfather died. My father had a stroke, probably from the stress, and went into a deep depression that he dealt with his whole life. In fact, even though his mother lived another ten years, he never told her that the company had closed. I was away at college at the time. I had already made the shift away from engineering (a 37 on a math mid-term may have had something to do with that). And even though my dad never for a moment assumed that I would follow in his footsteps. It was there that I began my long and circuitous journey toward the ministry.
Being the third generation of Marthame Sanderses, I sense some kinship with Simon Peter and James and John, these citizens of Bethsaida, these sons of sons of sons of fishermen. It’s an intriguing lesson, this story of Jesus approaching the fishermen and calling them to be disciples. There are two things that jump out at me: Jesus, though a child of Nazareth, knows their job better than they do. And Jesus also sees something in what they do that can serve God.
What is it that Jesus would say to you about your job?
We’re continuing our conversations about living our lives in the balance. Is our job in the balance? Do we put the proper amount of time into it? Do we keep our work in perspective? Because of the jolt the economy took this year, those of us who still are fortunate enough to have jobs might be looking over our shoulders, working harder and longer to justify ourselves and our jobs. But the question is: what do we really do for a living, for a breathing?
If Jesus saw you, what would he say? Would he invite you to sell for him? Teach or study for him? Build for him? How would he see your vocation, your profession, as something that you can do for him?
There are three possible approaches. The first is to leave your nets behind and do something completely different. It’s the most terrifying option, because it’s what you know. But what is it that you know on an even deeper level? What is your “vocation”? What is it that you “profess”? What do you do “for a living”? Is it hauling in nets day after day that speaks to the core of your being?
The second possibility is to use your talents for God’s sake. There are many within the community of OPC who do just that. They bring their gifts of hospitality, financial know-how, organizational skills to bear on our community’s life. Some bring those skills directly from their jobs. Others are unable to profess them for money and so it is the church that gets the benefit.
Then there’s the third way of looking at it. How is it that you can serve God at your job? I’m not necessarily talking about offering Bible studies at work, or inviting co-workers to morning prayer. But I’m suggesting that we might be careful about segmenting our work life off in a corner where the rules of the kingdom of God somehow don’t apply. Do you take your values with you to work? Your love of family, friendship, humor? Your desire for justice, mercy, forgiveness?
I invite you, this week, to do one thing. First thing in the morning, pray. Even before you hit the snooze button. And pray this simply prayer: “Help me be faithful to you in all that I do today.” Notice what changes – in you, in the world around you. Give it at least a week, on a daily basis. I’m willing to bet that you’ll hear Christ calling to you from the lakeshore. May we all have the courage to follow.