I know that for many of us, it is mighty hard to centre ourselves in that moment on the mountain that is described in our gospel this morning. Our thoughts, understandably, are with the people of Ukraine, now at war, a sovereign, democratic country invaded by a tyrant. This is the truth of the moment - a truth we knew already existed; a truth revealed by President Putin’s terrible and evil actions this week. And now the world is transfigured by a terrible truth we don’t want to be real but have to face. That is the epiphany of this moment. It is upon us. So it is hard to travel up that mountain with the disciples, hanging out with the ghosts of old prophets; and yet, as we might find when we get up there, it is even harder to leave the safe space of that mountain. There is always a lesson in the gospel, even for us, who seem so far away, living in a different time. What is an epiphany? It is a sudden insight or change of perspective that transforms our ideas of who we are and the meaning of our lives. There is no going back from an epiphany: there is only the before and the after. The transfiguration of Jesus is the epiphany that we have been waiting for all this church season, the place to which we have been heading. There is no going back from this moment; there is only the before and the after. In our gospel, the disciples are hanging out with Jesus on the mountain, enjoying bit of a relaxation away from the crowd. In part one of the epiphany moment, we hear that while Jesus is praying, he shines bright and his appearance changes. But Peter is maybe enjoying the leisure time a bit too much. He is already thinking of setting up permanent residence on the mountain. Cue part two of the epiphany: the voice of God: “This is my Chosen,” the voice of God says. “Listen to Jesus.” We might note that the story of transfiguration appears to happen in those two parts: the first, during a moment of introspection and prayer that is perhaps meant mainly for Jesus himself, to clarify who he is to God and the world. And the second, a booming voice that must have rung in Peter’s ears for days – for ever – a voice that feels meant for the disciples – and for us - to clarify who Jesus should be for us: the chosen voice of God on earth, whose gospel of tolerance and kindness and other-centredness we should heed. As with all epiphanies – this one, famous ones, our private ones – they don’t come out of the blue. They are truths that always existed but were waiting for us to discover. An apple falls from a tree, and Newton discovers gravity; but gravity existed before Newton figured it out. In Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy was a good guy before Elizabeth Bennett realized it. The reluctant hero of popular culture was a hero well before they accepted the idea themselves. And Jesus, well we know, Jesus was chosen from the beginning. Jesus was always chosen by God. The moment on the mountain only reveals what was always true. The lesson of transfiguration Sunday, the last lesson of epiphany is a reminder to us to learn from those epiphany moments. They are truths we have already created, or that already existed, waiting to be found and faced, waiting to guide us forward. Because epiphanies reveal the truth, they are neutral in themselves. Sometimes they force upon us a truth we don’t want to accept but need to face. Waking up to Russia’s invading Ukraine was, for many of us, a moment of that kind of before- and-after clarity: the truth was always there, but we didn’t want it to be true; we wanted war to be peace. But it isn’t. We are in the changed afterward, and, whatever happens, we cannot go back. The disciples wanted to stay on that mountain, and who could blame them? Down on the ground, in the real world, were crowds of needy people. The pharisees were waiting there to persecute them. Down on the ground, in the not-so-distant future, was the cross at the very end of the road. And yet, they could not stay. They knew they could not stay. They had experienced an epiphany - a truth they had always known revealed in the transfiguration of Christ. That was now the only truth in the world that mattered to them, and it would shape them forever going forward. There is another important part in this story for us to remember as well. And it is this: Christ was not actually transfigured in that moment on the mountain; he had always been chosen by God. A truth was not created; it was revealed. It was the same for the disciples and it is the same for us: we are also chosen by God; we are also worthy. The epiphany - the transfiguration - happens for us when we realize it to be true. That moment happens at different times and in different stages in life - if we are open to it. As we leave Epiphany and begin the journey into what appears will be a hard and difficult, sorrow-filled Lent, what is the lesson to take from Transfiguration Sunday? When we are lucky, the truths revealed in an epiphany are easy and wonderful - revelations that lift life. But also when we are lucky, epiphanies show us the lie that couldn’t last and the truth we needed to hear; they become a new guidepost for us. Transfiguration Sunday is both: a revelation to lift our spirits – Jesus is chosen by God. And a guidepost to send us forth: Jesus is chosen by God. In the choosing of Jesus, so we are chosen. We cannot stop every war, we cannot feed everyone who is hungry, we cannot outsmart every false prophet who seeks to destroy for their own gain. But we can come down from the mountain and help where we can. The transfiguration of Christ in the end was not about God’s choosing Jesus; this was always true. It was not about God’s choosing us: this was also always true. The transfiguration is ultimately about this one important, this one essential follow-though. It reminds us again of what is true, and then sends us forth, down the mountain, into the mess of the world, to do our best to heal it. Amen.
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Apr 18, 2022
What does it mean to love our enemy? What is God really asking of us? These are important questions to ask during these days of fractious debate and conspiracy theories, when it seems as if we have lost the ability to listen to one another– even ourselves. Families are divided; friendships have been broken. This week a protestor was interviewed who reportedly felt so strongly about not being vaccinated that he had claimed to have chosen to stand by this position rather than be allowed to visit his 9-year-old daughter who was dying in hospital; instead he was protesting for “his freedom.” Whether or not this was true, he felt it was a reasonable position, even a sympathetic one. But of course, most of us hear that and weep for the daughter. How do you love such a father? When a small group of people are disrupting the lives, the property, the income, and the freedom of the majority, how can we love them? We aspire to Joseph’s example in our first lesson. As we know, Joseph was envied by his brothers for the favouritism they felt their father had shown him. Rather than get over it, however, they conspired to sell him into slavery and left him for dead. Years passed, and Joseph turned this dysfunctional family act into a strength. He chose not to be consumed with bitterness and thoughts of revenge, but with God’s guidance, looked forward to what he might accomplish with the life he had. This turned out to be quite a bit. Joseph became a kind and good leader. Then one day, his brothers appeared before him. They assumed, as they had earlier, that Joseph would use his power to destroy them. Instead, he forgave them and welcomed them back into his life. If that story feels fantastical, it may be because we are holding on to regrets, to slights we are finding it hard to forgive. But ultimately, I don’t think the point of that story is the moment that Joseph forgave his brothers; that was just the natural end to the choice he had made much earlier. That choice was to let go of his anger, of thoughts of revenge, or even hate; and focus on what he wanted to be in life and what he wanted to accomplish. Joseph chose to love God and to love himself, and in doing so, he was able not only to welcome his brothers, but even to give them land and make them successful. He was able to love his enemy. This is a reminder to us: loving someone who has truly wronged us is not a quick fix; it doesn’t happen overnight. Joseph’s journey took years; he grew from a boy into a man and found his place in the world. Did he feel anger sometimes? Did he dream of revenge? He was human, wasn’t he? But he chose to live more above the line; he chose to love himself and to extend that love to those around him; he practiced forgiveness long before he saw his brothers again. If forgiveness is the art of seeing that people, while not perfect, have value, then Joseph practiced it until it was the natural choice. I say this because I know that for many of us, wrongs run deep – indeed, the story of Joseph may trigger thoughts of family or friends who have been unkind or cruel in your own lives. The first lesson may leave the impression that the journey of Joseph was swift and easy; but we know, of course, that it was the opposite. But by not focusing on the past, by deciding who he wanted to be in the future, he found his way to forgiveness. Perhaps, in these times of conflict, both personal and societal, we also need to ask, who is our enemy? In Joseph’s case, is the enemy actually his brothers, or is it the envy that poisoned them? Is the enemy the protest downtown -- the people -- or is it the brokenness in our society that makes people feel they can’t belong, the ignorance and intolerance that foster hate and racism? If those things are the true enemy, then our focus, like Joseph’s, must also shift: what future do want, and how - having vanquished these enemies of envy, ignorance, and intolerance – shall we create it? Even so, the instruction from Jesus in our gospel smarts a little: so if someone punches me, I turned the other cheek so they can punch me again? If someone steals my coat, I am to give him my shirt? What foolishness is this? Yet, what is Jesus really saying? He is reminding us that aggression, when met with aggression, leads only to more aggression. When we have the choice – the option to walk away – we should take it. But Jesus goes one step further – he gives us the great challenge. If we love the ones whom we see as family, that is good, but nothing special; of course we love them. We must also love those we see as beyond the pale, those who hassle and disrupt our lives, those who cause us pain. The reason lies with Joseph, who had decided to live a Godly life, and who, when his brothers came, was able to forgive them. That failure to forgive would not only have dragged Joseph down; it would also have prevented him from accomplishing great things. The loss would have been two-fold: Pain for Joseph; and the absence of grace in the world. Joseph’s brothers, having been forgiven, have the same chance now – to let go of the past, and live a new future. That is the circle of the gospel. So Jesus was not burdening us; he meant to release us. The message is there in his famous line: “Do to others what you would have them do to you.” It is spelled out for us: when we forgive, we are forgiven; when we give, we receive; when we do not judge, we are spared judgement. This is a lifelong practice; a goal to which we all must aspire. When we live up to it, as best we can, we spread the gospel circling all around us. Amen.
Apr 18, 2022
And so, on this third weekend of the protest in our city, with the bonfires still lit on streets and in parking lots, and the trucks clogging up the downtown core, we find ourselves left to contemplate these most eloquent and graceful words from Jesus. The scene is set for us. Jesus is walking among a crowd of needs. People from all walks of life. People needing to be healed. Others looking for purpose. Wanting to touch Jesus, to feel his power; and to hear him, and know him. And Jesus, we are told, looks at the disciples – looks at us – and gifts us with the Beatitudes. And what do they mean for us in these modern days? What should they tell us during this tumultuous time of protest? During this uncertain time of pandemic? In fact, they define the very nature of discipleship. The challenge for the disciples of the gospel is to find a way to keep that path when times are most trying. When we are hurt, when we are angry, when we are fearful of the state the world is becoming, and the best approach seems to fight violence and aggression with an equal response. And yet, on this Sunday, we find ourselves reminded of our core responsibilities: to care for poor, for those who are powerless, and for those who are filled with sorrow. We are not to be trapped by wealth or cruel laughter. Taken another way, the Beatitudes are a very direct message to each and every one of us – of the qualities to which we should aspire. They remind us that God is closest to us when we are most open to hearing from God. When we need God the most, the gospel echoes loudly in our ears. Blessed are those who are humble, for that is the way to see the reign of God. Blessed are those who are hungry – for knowledge, for understanding, for self-awareness – for in that search we will be satisfied. Blessed are those who grieve, for having loved even what is lost leads to laughter again. Blessed are those who defend justice in the name of the gospel; it may not be easy, but the reward will be worth it. And what of the woes? Those are our missteps: wealth for wealth’s gain, selfsatisfaction, and laughter at the expense of others. For those missteps, the warning is dire: a price will be paid, a hunger will come, sorrow will follow. And then this last one, at the very end. Left to leave its mark upon us: Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that, Jesus says, is a person who believes in whatever works for the moment, and not in whatever is needed to make the difference. And so, how might that discipleship fit into the protest that has seized our city and our country, that suggests a grim force of intolerance, misinformation, a destabilizing of civil society. This very week, a woman called St. Peter’s to ask if protestors could use the space to stay overnight while they were in town supporting the protest. “If we were good Christians, she said, we would make room.” That is a challenging notion because we are supposed to make room for everyone. But in this instance, we need to look to the example of Jesus. For people who came, asking him questions, Jesus always answered. But he invested his time with those whose questions were not listened to, those who had no voice at all. With only so much room, he made space for those who had nowhere else to go, for those who were poor or afraid. This week I was asked to sign a “In Solidarity with our Neighbours” letter from clergy of downtown Ottawa Christian churches. I was hesitant to sign because I didn’t want to add to the polarization that is so evident around this protest. A colleague called and asked: “Joel, why haven’t you signed the letter?” I hummed and hawed, and he cut me off and said, “Do you know what it’s like for me to walk downtown as a black man right now? When you don’t sign the letter, you are saying it’s okay for me to have to continue to feel this way.” Our society survives when we unite. And sometimes, we must unite with others against forces we know to be wrong. We must stand allied with people of colour and the Jewish residents who say they are now afraid to walk their own streets. We must call out those whose sense of freedom means trampling the rights of others to live freely. We must risk this, even if it means that some people may call us bad Christians. This is the challenge of discipleship, and it is the most important line in the Beatitudes. For to keep them, we must be agitators for the gospel; we must be controversial; we must speak up. Sometimes, we need to be angry for the sake of others. We must walk, as Jesus did, among the crowd in need, and with our voices, help them find theirs. Amen
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