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February 26, 2006 - Last Epiphany, Year B

Sometimes
I begin our Sunday sermon
by wondering what on earth the connection is — if any — between the readings. Most of the time
they're not connected at all, except maybe
for the psalm.
But this week
the reverse is true.
This week, the last Sunday in the season of Epiphany,
there is a clear connection, at least between the Old Testament and the New Testament readings,
and that connection is obvious. Both are stories
of transfiguration.

Transfiguration, that amazing transformation
surrounded by light.
For Elijah
it was permanent: he was transfigured
and caught up directly to life with God
with the help of a whirlwind.
Like Dorothy, but never to return
to Kansas.
With Jesus
it was a little different. His transfiguration was only temporary,
a brief period
when his clothes took on an unearthly glow
and it was clear that he belonged
not in this world but another,
accompanied
by the greatest of prophets, Moses and Elijah,
and by the time his disciples had gathered their wits together,
the prophets were gone
and only Jesus remained,
no evidence left
of the wonders they had seen.

And while Elijah was free
to tell the 50 other prophets
who had stayed at a safe distance
what had happened,
Jesus' disciples
were bound to silence.

There are differences
in the two transfigurations.
But for anyone who knew the story of Elijah and Elisha — and the disciples knew it well —
this transformation of Jesus,
especially with Elijah standing there in front of their eyes,
this transfiguration
inevitably reminded them
of the transfiguration of Elijah.
No wonder they wanted to build shelters for Jesus and the prophets, anything to keep them there. Otherwise
if the story of Elijah was anything to go by,
the prophets would be swept away as quickly as they appeared
and with them Jesus,
and all their dreams and hopes
and their faith.

It didn't end like that;
the prophets disappeared
but Jesus stayed,
back to his usual self with no sign of white-shining clothes or prophetic companions,
just a quiet whisper
to tell no one what they had seen,
and they went down the mountain together,
their lives to continue as normal
or at least as normal as it could be
trekking around the countryside
after a man who seemed to have the power
of God.

But if it the two stories
ended differently
there were some things the same,
and those things
were trouble in themselves.
Elijah
had his disciples, prophets
that trailed after him
hoping that the amazing power of God
would somehow rub off on them.
But they were left at a distance,
over on one side of the river,
while Elijah crossed
with his chosen successor Elisha.
Jesus had his disciples too,
the twelve chosen ones, and then a bunch of rabble who trailed him around,
hoping to somehow catch his power
as if it were a virus.
And all of them, the rabble and the twelve,
all of them
were left at the bottom of the mountain
except for the chosen three,
Peter and James and John,
and they went up the mountain with Jesus
to pray.

And there is a kind of bittersweet feel
to both of the stories.
It's clear from the way the story is told
that Elijah knows
that the end is near. He knows
that he will die — however that takes place.
And Elisha knows it too.
His apprenticeship
is all but over.
Only a last journey is left, and if he is lucky
a glimpse of his master
as he leaves this world,
a glimpse
that will leave him with
a remnant of his master's spirit,
enough
to continue his work.
Even the fifty prophets know it.
This life is at an end.

With Jesus
it's both clearer
and more obscure.
Clearer
for us
with the benefit of hindsight
but obscured
for those at hand.

It was only six days earlier
that Jesus had begun to talk about death
less than a week
since he had told them
this life of theirs, this life of his
was coming
to an end.
He told them that the Son of Man
would undergo great suffering,
and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes,
and be killed,
and after three days rise again.
Peter
wouldn't believe it.
"Lord, what are you saying? What's all this talk
about death? You're scaring away
your followers."
And Jesus
rebuked him.

Six days later, though,
Peter
was one of the ones
that Jesus took up the mountain,
one of the chosen three.
And like Elisha
they were privileged enough
to see their master
in all his transfigured glory.
But for Elijah, transfiguration and death as we know it
came instantaneously;
for Elisha
the challenge to continue his master's work
came immediately.
But for Jesus there was a gap.
He was transfigured, but it would be some time
before he would die,
days stretching into weeks
of fearful
anticipation.
And for his disciples
those chosen three,
it was as much as anything
a time of confusion.
They had seen their master
transfigured,
white and glowing and talking with the great prophets.
And then
it was all over.
And life
was supposed
to go on as usual?
Death was coming, they had heard him say that, but when? How? What were they supposed
to do?
If this strange transfiguration
had anything at all to do
with the stories of transfiguration from their heritage, stories about Elijaha and Elisha, for example, then maybe
their job as witnesses
was to pass on the message, to take up the work of Jesus.
Except he'd just told them to keep quiet,
and at any rate, he was right there beside them,
No wonder they seemed confused.

It's a little bit clearer
for us in retrospect.
We have the whole story, beginning to end. We can compare Elijah and Jesus, Elisha and the disciples,
and see the parallels.

Because
the transfiguration
in both cases
was the sign
of the end of one ministry
and the beginning of another,
even though
in the case of Jesus
the sign came far in advance
of the events
of ending
and beginning.
Jesus' transfiguration,
with its appearance of the prophets,
Jesus' transfiguration
with its voice from heaven,
demanding
that the disciples listen to him,
Jesus' transfiguration
was a sign that this death he had been speaking of
this death
that they did not want to know,
was not a failure,
but an essential part
of Jesus' ministry.
And would be the beginning
of their
new ministry.
It was time to get ready.

And the transfiguration
begins to make sense
of Jesus' comments
just six days earlier,
not just about his death,
but his call to anyone who would follow
to take up their cross
and follow him.

When Elisha
saw Elijah
transfigured and disappear,
he turned, and picked up Elijah's mantel, his cloak.
And with that clock, symbol of Elijah,
he took up a Elijah's ministry.

There was no cloak
for Peter and James and John to pick up
after Jesus' transfiguration,
or
after his death.
But remember his words? "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me."
There was no cloak
but there was a cross.
And the ministry
that Peter, and James, and John
would take up
was the ministry that Christ
had
on the cross.
A ministry
of reconciliation.

We weren't there, with Peter and James and John, on that mountain with Jesus. But we have inherited
the same ministry they did
the ministry of the cross, the ministry of reconciliation.
That's what we are called to, if we call ourselves Christians, followers of Christ.

The news this week
has made it obvious
how much need there is
for this ministry of reconciliation
in our world.

We've heard of Christians and Muslims
killing one another in Nigeria.
Religion and race
have become tangled up together,
and it seems nothing
can stop the violence.
It's easy
to point the finger
at people far away.
But there have been some difficult questions raised
here in the US too.
Is the concern about a United Arab Emirates owned company
running some of our ports
about security,
or is it, as some have suggested,
a veiled form of anti-Arab racism?
There is no easy answer,
but we must at least face the question. And ask, what would it look like
if we as Christians
made an effort
to be reconcilers
with our Arab and Muslim
brothers and sisters?

And anti-Arab feeling
is not the only kind of racism
our society has to face.
This month has been Black history month,
but I've seen very little mention of it
in the media.
This afternoon we will host a celebration of black history month
for the Swedesboro Woolwich community.
Trinity Church has a long history of being an integrated church — our records show marriages and baptisms and funerals of black members dating back to at least the early nineteenth century.
I wonder how many of us are planning to attend, as a way of honoring our black sisters and brothers, and remembering our shared history in this place?
And I wonder how many of us
are willing to take up the ministry of reconciliation, not just with our black brothers and sisters, but with the other minority communities around us, the Puerto Ricans and Mexicans and Chinese immigrants
who live in our community? Are we wiling to reach out to them, to offer them friendship
in the name of Christ?

That's just one aspect of reconciliation; there are many others, places and times when we need to reach out to people who don't look like us
or don't act like us
or don't think like us. But all of them are costly. They involve stepping outside our own safe spaces
to meet others,
offering love
to people we might think unlovable,
taking risks
to make others
welcome.
They are costly. But that is what the cross is about. It cost Jesus his life.

This week
we begin the season of Lent. And as we do, I invite you to consider
how you might take up
the cross of Jesus
and join him
in the work of reconciliation.

Sermon ©Raewynne J. Whiteley 2006