Homily at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Last Sunday after the Epiphany

1 Kings 19:9-18

2 Peter 1:16-21

Mark 9:2-9

And you may ask yourself- “well...how did I get here?” These lyrics by the Talking Heads, from their hit 80’s song, Once in a Lifetime, speak to me at this moment, one that I have been anticipating with great joy and expectation as I join you on the first Sunday of being your new rector. “How did I get here?” – the answer as I see it includes many ingredients, including the hard work of your search committee, hours and hours of meetings and discussion, discernment, humor, prayer, and last but not least, God’s patient and gentle guidance. The question “How did I get here” is especially appropriate today because it is the focal point for our readings from Scripture. God ask Elijah, “What are you doing here?” as he awakes from a night spent in a cave at mount Horeb. Peter, James and John face the same question after a climb up a mountain leads to the spectacular and supernatural in an event we call the transfiguration. But the question holds not just for me and these figures from the Bible; it is your question as a congregation and as individuals. Why are you here? How did you end up in this place?

But first, back to me for a moment. This is not the first time I have asked this question of myself. During the summer when I was twelve years old, I went to a camp in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I have to say that I didn’t particularly enjoy being away from home for seven weeks, over a thousand miles from Chicago. But there were many good things about the camp, including a beautiful setting, campfires, and a lake for swimming and canoeing. The thing I enjoyed most, and made that summer bearable, was mountain climbing. I was good at it too – able to carry a heavy pack and keep up with whatever challenging pace the counselor set. There was one trip during that summer that I’ll never forget. It was a three-day trip, where we carried our tents and equipment over a distance of some twenty five miles. That first day, we climbed Mt. Garfield up to a protected area just below the tree line and set up camp. As it was late June, there was still plenty of daylight left after dinner, so several of us decided to hike to the summit to view the sunset. It was a difficult climb on a narrow, rocky path that became steeper with the ascent. As we scrambled up to the top, out of breath, we lifted our heads to behold a sight like none other that I have ever seen. On this pointy peak, we looked out on a sea of clouds all around, which had settled several hundred feet below us. It looked like we were on an island, and we could see several other mountain tops sticking through the clouds as well, like other distant islands. The air was still and comfortable. For fifteen minutes we watched in utter silence as the sun reddened the sky and slipped through the cloudy waters of this aerial ocean. I was stunned as were the others. As the sky darkened, we left our perch and climbed back down to the base camp. I still wonder to this day, how did I get to be there? It was one of my life’s mountain top experiences, an experience of a landscape transformed and of a young boy changed by it.

So when the question “how did I get here” comes to you, it may very well be accompanied by a transformational experience. Therefore I think that it is uncannily appropriate that today is Transfiguration Sunday – the day that Jesus is transfigured before Peter, James and John. This Sunday also marks the transition from Epiphany and the stories of Jesus’ healing and ministry to the season of Lent and the journey to the cross. For some, the Transfiguration stands as an event that signals the glory of Jesus. It is evidence of his divinity, power and glory. It is a foretaste of the heavenly realm where Jesus will dwell in eternity with the Father. These things may be true, but there is a deeper and more difficult reality about transfiguration - Jesus’ and ours.

In order to see this, we need to look at the transfigurations around us. A transfiguration or transformation is about the “trans” – meaning a crossing, process or change of some kind, sudden or gradual. Transportation is about going from one place to another. Trans-continental is a term that implies movement or crossing from one end of the country to the other. I have seen many examples of transfiguration recently – mostly because I have been looking for them. I think they are out there all of the time. This past week, eight workers at a ham processing center in Nebraska shared the largest lottery jackpot in the nation’s history – an amount that was coincidentally perfectly divisible by eight! Each winner will receive $15.5 million, after taxes. One said, ‘we’re still thinking we’re going to wake up from a dream.” A talk show host commented, “Whenever there is a lot of money, everything changes.” With spotlights and an army of reporters and cameramen, the group of eight was lit up, literally and in the imaginations of millions of people across the nation and world, as they were transformed from anonymous factory workers to wealthy celebrities.

There are money transfigurations and also those of violence. On Wednesday in Iraq, a group of unknown assailants set off bombs in the golden dome of one of Shiite Islam’s holiest shrines in the town of Samarra. The holy site contains the tombs of two 9^th century Shiite leaders considered to be descendants of the Prophet Muhammad. It also marks the place where Imam Mehdi, a messianic figure, is said to have been taken up into heaven. The devastating transformation of the shrine was capture by the Tribune in before and after photos on Thursday’s front page, with one picture showing a profile of the golden dome and the other showing a decapitated structure with sky visible through the place where the dome had rested. Twisted metal and debris filled the center of the shrine. In a matter of seconds, a sacred place had been transformed into a broken, shattered mess. And in the following days, crimes of violence and revenge have erupted in cities throughout Iraq, moving the fragile political situation ever closer to all out civil war.

There are transfigurations of Biblical proportions. In just twenty-four hours, hurricane Katrina moved over the Gulf Coast, wiping out neighborhoods and entire communities with intense winds and crashing water. And just when some thought New Orleans has been spared, a silent destruction set in with flooding waters rising above many rooftops. Many of us know people who have been dislocated – perhaps forever, from the city of jazz and Mardi Gras. Katrina has transfigured a region and transformed lives on a scale that few could have imagined.

Transformations are visible on a smaller and carefree level. Friday evening was the pinewood derby for my son’s Scout Troup 66. Kids and parents crowded around a table displaying what had been sixteen rectangular blocks of pine, now transformed into speeding wedges of paint, polish, water putty and glue. An equally amazing change had come over the dads, as they seemed to be as enthusiastic, if not more so than their sons.

Some transformations are more gradual. A red leather book has been put together for me containing pictures of many of you. I have looked through the pages many times already, taking in the faces and families of this parish. As I read the names – like Mark, Donna, Margaret and Martin; Phoebe and Amelia, Sarah, Mike, Bruce and Elliott; Dan, Barbara, Dru, Phil; Kendall and Cooper, I look forward to discovering the lives, hopes, dreams, stories and fears behind the glossy, two dimensions neatly contained on pages of a book. Over time, these pictures will take on a whole new meaning for me, as the images of unknown faces are transformed for me into icons of real relationships, built in worship, ministry and service.

Finally, a transformation will be accomplished in this very place while we are gathered together this morning. We will take ordinary bread and wine and present them to God in thanksgiving, obedience and remembrance. With our prayers, God will change these gifts into the body of blood of Christ, that we will take and eat, and take with us into the world and our lives beyond the walls of this sanctuary.

Each of these examples of transformations, from lottery, to hurricane to the Eucharist has a common reality. In each of them, there is a process or change – some of them wrenching, or mysterious or predictable. None of them happens in isolation. They involve a community of workers, friends, neighbors or parishioners. There is always something to be learned – a lesson to take away. And although there is change, something of the original is still present. The lottery winners are still people, who will find that life’s problems are changed but not solved by money. The Shiite shrine is damaged, but its history, significance and meaning cannot be wiped away. The derby cars are still pine, with knots and rings of the trees they were once apart of. The bread and wine of the Eucharist remain simple gifts that are holy but not more so than when they come out of the baker’s oven or wine press.

How did I get here? Why are we here? I return to the question that I began with. We can get a glimpse of the answer in the words of the collect, when we prayed to be strengthened to bear our cross and changed into the likeness of the only-begotten son. Strength and change and strength for change. These are the ingredients of transformation...which is a process, which is community, which involves new insights for life – but which never turns us into something we are not or forgets who we are in our humanity, our pain, joy, mistakes and accomplishments. Jesus is transfigured, but the true glory of God is revealed in the climb down the mountain, and in the coming days as the cross draws near. The light of the transfiguration shines not into nothingness, but illumines the path ahead – the path is ahead of us as individuals and as the community of faith that is St. Mark’s.

Amen.