The real Transfiguration of Jesus occurred with each step He took

Sermon by Rev. Joel Crouse

Transfiguration Sunday

Last Sunday after Epiphany

February 11th, 2024

2 Kings 2:1-12

2 Corinthians 4:3-6

Mark 9: 2-9

In a way, if you think about it, Jesus had it easy. His birth was a celebrated event, his place as the Son of God had been set out for him. All his life, people had been telling him he was special.

John the Baptist, certainly among the most holy of men, had announced his coming, and baptized him in the name of God. He was performing healings for the sick and bereft that were seen as miracles.

And now, on this Transfiguration Sunday, we are told of how Jesus, high upon a mountain praying with his disciples, was suddenly cast in a bright light from heaven, and how a cloud appeared, and the voice of God rang out, saying: “This is my beloved; listen to him.”

And so Jesus was transfigured, from a wandering rabbi with special skills at healing, and a wondrous birth story, to a divinity so much greater. God appears in a cloud, and names Jesus for the rest to hear. It could not have been clearer than that.

So that’s what I mean when I suggest that Jesus had it easy. The path to his transfiguration - his transformation – was laid out before him with holy fanfare. He had so many Easter eggs pointing him in the direction he was meant to go, he could have fed 5,000 with the omelette.

The path was not easy - let’s make that clear, as well. Few have travelled a more difficult distance, in the end. But he knew the way to go. It was brightly lit by signposts all the way.

It is not so easy for us to find that same transformative path, at least most of the time. We don’t typically get a cloud, announcing to our friends – announcing to our own selves, that we matter - that we are special—and that people should suddenly see us differently, that we are made for great things.

I would argue that we miss the more subtle ways that God imparts this knowledge to us. But mostly, we have to rely on more abstract ideas to be transformed along the paths of our lives - ideas such as faith and hope. We have to take the lessons of the gospel out of the time in which they are set and align them with our particular modern-day issues. This isn’t always easy. Our own transfiguration journey is not so clearly laid out before us.

So what can we learn from such a wondrous tale? How can the experience of the disciples on that mountain, that moment of divinity for Jesus, help us leap to our own transfiguration – that change we want to make?

Well, there is the obvious one: had the disciples not been on the mountain with Jesus, they would never have witnessed anything odd. And perhaps it also took that quiet space for God to speak in more a forceful way. In that sense, we may think that the disciples – and Jesus – together created an opportunity for the transfiguration to happen. They left the road and went up the mountain – to rest and pray and clear their heads, yes – but also to quiet the noise around them. To be transfigured, we must create opportunity; we must put ourselves in a place to listen or to be challenged or to be mindful.

I think another important part of transfiguration is love. Think of Peter’s request to Jesus up on the mountain: he wanted to stay. But why? Was it because he hated the world down the mountain? Or because he loved Jesus so much, he wanted to save him from the world? Peter, on more than one occasion, is the voice that seems to be pulling Jesus from his path – but why? It is all for love. We know this because of how Peter chose to live afterwards. That love is what made the transfiguration of Jesus so hard on the disciples. It brought them over the hill they had been climbing, to understand what the gospel and Jesus really represented. And what did Peter learn? It was something he continued to struggle with after that moment on the mountain, even though he knew it to be true. Jesus could not be kept from the world, because he was for the world. Jesus could not be who Peter saw on the mountain – and Peter could not be the man who followed that Jesus – without going back down the mountain.

I also think transfigurations require a measure of belief for them to happen. I don’t mean strictly a belief in the gospel, or even for Peter and the disciples, but a belief that God really had spoken in that moment on the mountain. That is still a very fact-based belief: it happened, or I heard it, so I believe. When I have seen transfiguration happen, it has been because people made the leap to believe that peace and healing and hope were possible. I imagine the disciples, there in that moment on the mountain, could see Jesus draped in light. They could see it, they could understand what it meant, it could fill every part of them, because they had already chosen to believe.

I see transfiguration every day. I visit someone who is a little cranky and I give them communion, and they relax, and smile, and they are changed by the gift of God’s grace.

Year after year, on the anniversary of a loved one’s death, I have seen families weep with terrible, crushing sorrow, and then I have seen them, reach a place where, on that day, they can laugh and tell stories and bask in the light of their loved one. This kind of healing through grief is perhaps the closest example, that I witness as a pastor, of the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountaintop. Like Jesus, the loved one did not truly change; but their family loved and believed until they saw the fullness of them, their transfigured presence. And the family understood that their loved one could be gone but also present, lost but also resurrected. That they could be sad, but also laugh. That is the incredible power of transfiguration.

Transfiguration means a change, and usually a holy or divine one. But that doesn’t mean it requires a mountaintop and a cloud to happen. In fact, as we can also see, the transfiguration of Jesus perceived by the disciples began much, much earlier, probably even before he called them from their boats, in the questions they asked themselves in the quiet moments,

Most of the real changes I have seen people make have been much more down-to-earth. They happened without fanfare but with hard work and clear thinking. In fact, even for Jesus, we could argue that while God’s voice was a dramatic touch, a seminal moment, the real transfiguration of Jesus occurred with each step he took, with each person he healed, each lesson he taught. His true transformation happened when the people believed in him and in the gospel he was preaching.

Life isn’t static. Change happens all around us, for worse and for better. We know the statistics on climate change are not good, that the transfiguration of the earth is not heading in a positive direction. We see, so clearly among our Ottawa Lutherans, how the church is changing, morphing into something new - both because it has to, and because it wants to. Society is evolving. Because it has to and because it wants to.

It’s that combination of desire and need that pushes us into transformation. In fact, knowing we need to change is never enough on its own; we must also want to change. We must believe in it.

This Transfiguration Sunday, God is specific with us: Listen to what Jesus has to say. That includes the kind of forgiveness, knowledge, and gratitude that can be transformative in our lives, that can help us more clearly hear the voice of God speaking to us, to bring us more fully into relationship with others. It is not easy.

Because change is not easy. It’s true, we may not have a cloud clearing the fog for us. But we have the gospel, and the life of Jesus, to be a transfiguring influence in our lives. “Here is my beloved,” the voice of God said. “Listen to him.” Listen well, and be transfigured. Amen.

God is not out of reach, nor is God a prize

Sermon by Rev. Joel Crouse

Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

February 4th, 2024

Isaiah 40:21-31

1 Corinthians 9:16-23

Mark 1: 29-39

If you have ever taken an Uber, you know the clever way that the company has ensured that everyone is on their best behaviour. At the end of each trip, the passenger gets to rank the driver on a five-star scale. The driver does the same for the passenger. Your score is averaged out, so that you can see how well you have been perceived. What’s more, it can have consequences on both sides: a low score for a passenger means a driver can choose not to pick them up, or a passenger can decline a driver.

All I know is that by all reports, it appears to be working. Uber drivers have an incentive to be chatty and gracious; and passengers the same. As the world of internet Likes and Yelp ratings has clearly demonstrated, we really enjoy keeping score.

But then, this morning, we have Paul, raining on our parade. For this is exactly what Paul is preaching against: the good deeds and kindness that we boast about, our need for constant affirmation. As Paul writes, the gospels give “no ground for boasting.” Good deeds and kindness are an obligation, with its own reward. If we do it for ourselves, sure, we might feel good. But following the gospel is something we are entrusted to do by God. The gospel is “free of charge,” so that we might make full use of it.

Indeed, Paul goes on, to truly serve others, we cannot place ourselves above them. We must be as them. We must be under the law, to help those who find themselves under the law. And outside the law, with those who find themselves outside of it. To help the weak, we must become weak; that is, we must walk in their shoes. And we must do it all “for the sake of the gospel” so that we may share its blessings.

In other words, following the gospel is the reward. The act of doing good is the good we receive. There are no Uber stars in the gospel. God just isn’t interested, we are told in the Psalm, “God is not impressed by a swift horse or the speed of a runner but finds pleasure in those who fear God.” Let us not get tripped up by the word fear – which means, in this context, to stand in awe, to listen to the directions we receive, to hear what God is saying to us.

These last few weeks have been focused on our personal responsibility as Christians, and the directions have been stern. It would seem our tendencies to brag, to flaunt our success, to puff ourselves up with pride, were well known 2,000 years ago, as they are clearly in evidence today. You have only to consult a Facebook feed to see it. It is perhaps the most dangerous risk to our ability to do good. When we need to boast about good deeds, we also need witnesses. We may help only where others we admire can see, and not where we are needed most.

But what is Paul saying: that we cannot feel proud of ourselves when we do good? That we should scorn accomplishment? And Paul wasn’t alone: Saint Augustine and Thomas Aquinas were among those who named pride as the “beginning of all sin.” They were talking about the pride that makes us blind to the needs of others – what psychologists today call narcissism. And perhaps they understand what now makes sense: confident people don’t need to brag; they don’t need to retaliate against those who threaten their self-image. What is hiding underneath the narcissist is not true self-pride, but as Jessica Tracy, the author of Take Pride puts it, “deeply hidden feelings of shame.” This kind of preening, arrogant pride is not about feeling good, Tracy concludes, but about not feeling bad. She argues that we need to learn the difference – between inner self-esteem, the “crown virtue” that pride can be, and the so-called “deadly sin” that leads to unhappiness.

And so, we begin to see that what Paul is preaching has a two-fold goal: his instructions are meant to facilitate the highest form of carrying out the gospel and also to keep those doing so happy. And what we learn is that each of these two aspects is necessary for the other to occur. Boasting of our gospel-led selves leads only to despair – the ways we don’t measure up, for starters. But internalizing the gospel as a way of being, and not as a sum of actions, extends that peace to ourselves. It is difficult to fulfill the gospel with our eyes continually on the prize, so to speak. And it is hard to feel good about ourselves when we are striving for a prize always out of reach.

But God is not out of reach; nor is God a prize. God does just what Paul describes: meets us where we are. What difference does that make for us, the skeptic might ask? What is really different in our life if we see our relationship with a higher power this way? Well, of course, when we can sustain the connection, it makes every difference. We don’t need the gospel to lift us up; we can be the gospel. And when that happens, the very first person we give it to is ourselves. We are the Good Samaritan who helps, the Prodigal Son who is welcomed, the Widow at the Well who is heard. We are the disciples on the fishing boat who are accepted. We are the tax collector who is invited. And having been treated so, we are free to respond. That five-star Uber rating doesn’t matter: we are kind and friendly not to get something back, but because it is the right way to be out of thankfulness for what we first received.

We can live, as Paul says, for “the sake of the gospel.” Because we share already in its blessings. Amen.

In community, all our paths are made smoother.

Sermon by Rev. Joel Crouse

Forth Sunday after Epiphany

January 28, 2024

Deuteronomy 18:15-20 

1 Corinthians 8: 1-13

Mark 1: 21-28

At the beginning of the new year, we set a lot of goals for ourselves – to improve our habits. But science continues to tell us that one thing matters more to our happiness than how much we eat or how often we exercise. What actually matters most of all is our relationships, and the state of our friendships. And yet, how often do we vow: this year I will be a better friend? It occurred to me this week that Paul’s word to the Corinthians is about friendship and relationship. And more particularly, it is about not being a frenemy. Now while frenemy might seem like a new word of a hashtag age, it actually first appeared in the 1800s, as a recent article in The Atlantic informed me. It seems frenemies – that is, people pretending to be your friend and acting like an enemy when you aren’t looking – have been around forever. The article went on to define three kinds: the two-faced frenemy who is pro you when you can hear them, and bullies you in absentia when you can’t; the competitive frenemy who is always trying to win at your cost; and the manipulative frenemy who does things like undermine your confidence.

Now, I know you are all thinking of somebody right now, a certain frenemy who perhaps has plagued you at one time or another. The article even had a quiz so you could test whether a friend was actually a frenemy without your knowing it.

But if frenemies are so common, guess what that means: we all probably have a bit of frenemy in us.

And I think that’s where Paul’s words are instructive, because ultimately he is talking about our responsibility to live in relationship with others, and to see our role in the paths that others take, or are forced to take.

On Sundays, we vow to be “in mission for others.” To serve others. To care for them. But as our second lesson points out, this is not just a responsibility that God sets before us. It is the responsibility we hold one another to.

Now sure, it might seem as if Paul is just telling us that old rule: set a good example. In the lesson, it is about those who still eat food that is offered to an idol. Paul, preaching to Christians, points out that this is not what we believe: Food, he says, will not bring us closer to God. But if we join in, are we encouraging them to see their food – and presumably their circumstances – as declaring their acceptability to God? Paul suggests yes.

Just to pause here: Of course, in our modern understanding, we know that a communion among people who believe different things can be a time of sharing and learning.

But Paul is not talking about people who choose different beliefs, worthy in themselves. In speaking to this particular audience, his central point is that we are responsible to other people for how we behave. And so we need to ask ourselves: Do we lift people up on their journey and make their steps easier? Or are we stumbling blocks to others living well and honorably and happily?

That phrase “stumbling block” appears several times in the Bible. In another translation of our second lesson, Paul concludes: I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble.”

In Romans, we are told, “Therefore let us not pass judgment on one another any longer, but rather decide never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of another.”

And in Corinthians, we are cautioned to “take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak.”

A stumbling block is one of those perfect metaphors. We imagine, perhaps, a concrete brick placed in the path of a person, that causes them to trip. In that imagination, the brick was not placed by the one who is tripping – although some stumbling blocks may be. The blocks in Paul’s speech are placed by someone to trip another. A stumbling block is an object of injustice, betrayal, insensitivity, and perhaps most of all, carelessness.

And the point that Paul is trying to make is that we place them in front of people, collectively and individually all the time. Our job is to see the blocks and remove them before the stumble happens. As Paul suggests to himself, “I must be extra honourable, else I cause another to stumble.”

In what ways are we the stumbling blocks for others? We can see how the frenemy archetype puts out stumbling blocks of doubt and uncertainty. But we might also cause someone to stumble by what we don’t do – by not speaking up when we should have done so, or by not offering support to someone in need. And there are plenty of active behaviors that toss out stumbling blocks as high as walls. For example, when we join in gossip or start it. When we post a thoughtless comment online. When we lash out in anger. When we assume we know everything. Each behavior, Paul reminds us, has the potential to influence another. It may be either a stumbling block or a path-smoother.

Our second lesson opens with an important phrase, one we should all remember – especially these days, when so-called “knowledge” is just a Google search away. “Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.” It is when we assume we know all things, to know inside a person, to know what caused an event, that creates a stumbling block. When we seek to understand, when we are open from a place of love, we become path-smoothers.

Think of the time when you might have leaned too heavily on knowledge, and not learned how love told the full truth. In this way, knowledge would have served as its own stumbling block.

According to The Atlantic, a team of researchers at McGill University came up with what they called the six basic dimensions of true friendships. Each one is the antithesis of a stumbling block. Companionship—spending time together. Help—providing selfless support. Intimacy—the ability to share confidences without fear of betrayal. Alliance—standing by one another no matter what. Validation—feeling joy in the success of each other. And Emotional Security—providing comfort and confidence. Not only do these six characteristics of relationship prevent stumbling; they hold us up so our steps are easier.

Jesus was a teacher who saw the world as complicated and taught his followers to navigate those complications. Paul’s words are not meant to divide: they are meant to warn us how easily we can become stumbling blocks to one another if we are not careful. They remind us that both the knowledge and the love of a community are built collectively, with each of us being intentional in relationship. In the end, all our paths are made all the smoother for it. Amen

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2024/01/frenemy-machiavellianism-friendship-happiness/677159/