2nd Sunday of Lent,, February 25, 2024
Helen Weber-McReynolds
Exodus 33: 9-20, 34:4-6, 27-32; Ps. 15; 2 Peter 1: 16-18; Mark 9: 2-10.
You may have had the experience of driving through thick fog. You cannot see where you are going. The mist swirls around you, blocking your vision of the road ahead. You have to slow way down to be able to avoid hitting other cars or even be able to follow where the road leads. Sometimes, if you are walking in fog, it is so thick you cannot even see your hand in front of your face. It is disorienting. It is frightening. You have to watch and listen very carefully to be able to navigate your way safely. You may even have flown through thick clouds. Every few moments, there may be a brief break, and you can see light, but then you may enter another cloud and be blinded again. Finally, the pilot manages to guide your plane above or below the clouds and you can see the way ahead. The sky is clear. You know where you are going once again.
All three of our readings today culminate in amazing brightness, clarity, vision, and radiance. But where in these stories does God’s voice come from? God’s voice comes from the cloud, the uncertainty, the foggy shadow, the area of unknowing and searching and blindness. Maybe transformation is found through dwelling in the cloud a while.
Our Gospel tells us that when Peter, James, and John went up the mountain with Jesus, and saw Jesus transfigured with radiant, dazzling brightness, they were terrified. Peter started babbling, talking crazy. We are told he did not know what he was saying. Then a cloud appeared, casting its shadow over them. And from out of the cloud there came the voice of God, explaining the truth, clearing up the situation, confirming what they already suspected about Jesus- that he was one with God, beloved and sent to speak the truth. Our second reading uses similar language—stating that, when the disciples were on the mountain with Jesus, the voice of the Sublime Presence came from the cloud, honoring and glorifying Jesus, saying, “This is my Beloved, my own, on whom my favor rests.” And our first reading tells us that God appeared in a cloud to Moses, identifying Godself by name, and proclaiming, “I am your God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abundant in kindness and faithfulness.” After forty days, Moses descended from the mountain, radiantly transformed, and with God’s gift of a clear covenant and way of life for the people Israel, written in stone. We know that God appeared to Elijah from a cloud on Mount Carmel, as related in the first book of Kings, chapter 18. And there are other examples in scripture of God “coming upon” people to speak to them, as from a cloud, like when the Holy Spirit is said to have “come upon” Mary, after she consented to become the mother of Jesus.
We all have times of fog and darkness in our lives, when the way is obscured, when we don’t know where we are going. We are forced to slow down and look and listen to discern the right path. To me, this is the meaning of Lent. It is a season to listen for God’s voice, to take more time for prayer and study, to try to be more aware of how God may be calling us. God calls us all to transfiguration, not usually in a sudden blaze of glory, but step by step, with growth in stages. We work and pray for transformation one day at a time, one Lent at a time, one season of clouded, confused vision at a time. But often we are blessed by moments of clarity, of transformation, of resurrection. We can see a way to help our human family members, and we step up and do the hard work to accomplish it. We identify an injustice and we do all we can to work together to change laws or raise money or educate people to make sure things are put right.
In Matthew’s version of the Transfiguration, God’s words are said to be, “This is my beloved Son, in whom is all my delight.” At the Transfiguration, then, we are in the presence of delight. The brightness with which Jesus is described can seem intimidating. Who can be perfect? Who sees things completely clearly? But that’s not what is going on here. God’s love is tender and delighted, not only for Jesus, but for us, though sometimes we have a hard time believing it. And God asks us to participate in that tender, delighted love, by listening for God’s presence, and then passing that holy tenderness on.
Helen Weber-McReynolds
Exodus 33: 9-20, 34:4-6, 27-32; Ps. 15; 2 Peter 1: 16-18; Mark 9: 2-10.
You may have had the experience of driving through thick fog. You cannot see where you are going. The mist swirls around you, blocking your vision of the road ahead. You have to slow way down to be able to avoid hitting other cars or even be able to follow where the road leads. Sometimes, if you are walking in fog, it is so thick you cannot even see your hand in front of your face. It is disorienting. It is frightening. You have to watch and listen very carefully to be able to navigate your way safely. You may even have flown through thick clouds. Every few moments, there may be a brief break, and you can see light, but then you may enter another cloud and be blinded again. Finally, the pilot manages to guide your plane above or below the clouds and you can see the way ahead. The sky is clear. You know where you are going once again.
All three of our readings today culminate in amazing brightness, clarity, vision, and radiance. But where in these stories does God’s voice come from? God’s voice comes from the cloud, the uncertainty, the foggy shadow, the area of unknowing and searching and blindness. Maybe transformation is found through dwelling in the cloud a while.
Our Gospel tells us that when Peter, James, and John went up the mountain with Jesus, and saw Jesus transfigured with radiant, dazzling brightness, they were terrified. Peter started babbling, talking crazy. We are told he did not know what he was saying. Then a cloud appeared, casting its shadow over them. And from out of the cloud there came the voice of God, explaining the truth, clearing up the situation, confirming what they already suspected about Jesus- that he was one with God, beloved and sent to speak the truth. Our second reading uses similar language—stating that, when the disciples were on the mountain with Jesus, the voice of the Sublime Presence came from the cloud, honoring and glorifying Jesus, saying, “This is my Beloved, my own, on whom my favor rests.” And our first reading tells us that God appeared in a cloud to Moses, identifying Godself by name, and proclaiming, “I am your God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abundant in kindness and faithfulness.” After forty days, Moses descended from the mountain, radiantly transformed, and with God’s gift of a clear covenant and way of life for the people Israel, written in stone. We know that God appeared to Elijah from a cloud on Mount Carmel, as related in the first book of Kings, chapter 18. And there are other examples in scripture of God “coming upon” people to speak to them, as from a cloud, like when the Holy Spirit is said to have “come upon” Mary, after she consented to become the mother of Jesus.
We all have times of fog and darkness in our lives, when the way is obscured, when we don’t know where we are going. We are forced to slow down and look and listen to discern the right path. To me, this is the meaning of Lent. It is a season to listen for God’s voice, to take more time for prayer and study, to try to be more aware of how God may be calling us. God calls us all to transfiguration, not usually in a sudden blaze of glory, but step by step, with growth in stages. We work and pray for transformation one day at a time, one Lent at a time, one season of clouded, confused vision at a time. But often we are blessed by moments of clarity, of transformation, of resurrection. We can see a way to help our human family members, and we step up and do the hard work to accomplish it. We identify an injustice and we do all we can to work together to change laws or raise money or educate people to make sure things are put right.
In Matthew’s version of the Transfiguration, God’s words are said to be, “This is my beloved Son, in whom is all my delight.” At the Transfiguration, then, we are in the presence of delight. The brightness with which Jesus is described can seem intimidating. Who can be perfect? Who sees things completely clearly? But that’s not what is going on here. God’s love is tender and delighted, not only for Jesus, but for us, though sometimes we have a hard time believing it. And God asks us to participate in that tender, delighted love, by listening for God’s presence, and then passing that holy tenderness on.
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