Grace and peace and good morning.
The word “Lent” comes from the older English lengten, the season when the days begin to lengthen and the nights grow noticeably shorter. This the last Sunday in the season after the
Epiphany, the Sunday before Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. On the old calendar of the Pre-lenten season,
Quinquagesima, 50 days more or less
until Easter, 7 Sundays. But even though
pitchers and catchers report to Pirate City in Bradenton later this week, it
still doesn’t feel too much like spring.
We still need to bundle up for a while. In the old Prayer Book
lectionary the gospel reading appointed for this Sunday before Lent was Luke
18. Jesus sits down with his disciples
and tells them about the journey ahead. “Behold, we go up to Jerusalem, and all
things that are written by the prophets concerning the Son of man shall be
accomplished.” The formal,
intentional beginning of the last leg, from the Manger to the Cross.
In our contemporary three-year lectionary cycle all three years bring
us instead, as we are this morning in Mark chapter 9, up to Mount Tabor, the
Mount of the Transfiguration. Jesus, with Peter and James and John. And there at the top of the mountain Jesus is
transfigured, that wonderful word, clothed in glorious shimmering white, “as no
fuller on earth could bleach them,” in the words of the King James Version. Transcendent.
Supernatural. Our hymn this
morning: O Wondrous Type, O Vision Fair!
These two towering figures of the scripture, Moses and Elijah, standing
beside him, the fulfillment of all the Law and the Prophets. And the voice from heaven thundering the
confirmation and blessing we first saw and heard at the very beginning of the
gospel, at the scene of the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan, as the Holy Spirit
descended upon him, “This is my Son, the Beloved, listen to him!”
Carol Henley, who was a part of our St. Andrew’s family for several
years as priest associate, is going to lead a Coffee and Conversation program
in our “Way of Lent” series on what is sometimes called “Celtic Christianity,”
and particularly to talk about her pilgrimage to Lindisfarne and Iona. One of the aspects that is so characteristic
of the Celtic heritage is this sensitivity to the transcendent. An aspect of reflective mysticism. And one of the phrases that I’ve learned is
that the teachers and writers and spiritual guides in that tradition would
sometimes refer to “thin places.”
Sometimes a particular place of customary prayer, a tree, a spring, a
hilltop--but really a “place” that has a very open kind of definition. Depending on how things intersect with our
“inner space.” How at any time and in
any place you or I might be walking in the neighborhood or on the beach or in
the mountains, or even simply sitting in our own living room, and have a sense
of a moment to catch a glimpse--as it were, “behind the curtain.” Where the character and glory and beauty and
richness of God’s eternal character and presence seems especially close. Close enough to touch, taste, smell. To
catch a glimpse. Not of course to
worship or make some kind of idolatrous shrine out of a magical tree or spring,
but to be gifted in a moment, as we might be gifted at all times and in all
places, with an impression of his presence.
It’s a “mountaintop experience,” as we might say this morning for
Peter, James, and John. The
Transfiguration of Christ, at once fully present to them as they have known him
day after day, eating with them, walking with them, laughing with them, and at
the same time now revealed and made manifest in the fullness of his divine
glory, from before time and forever.
Years later, the testimony of one of the witnesses, in the first chapter
of the book of Second Peter: “For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when
we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were
eyewitnesses of his majesty. For when he
received honor and glory from God the Father and the voice was borne to him by
the Majestic Glory, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,” we
heard this voice borne from heaven, for we were with him on the holy
mountain. And we have the prophetic word
made more sure.”
The confirmation of all that the scriptures have said, the experience
of the “heilsgeschichte,” the Holy Story that God unfolds for us, and the story
into which he incorporates us as well. “You
will do well to pay attention to this,” Peter continues, “as to a lamp shining
in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your
hearts.” I love that: “until the day
dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.” The fullness of God’s blessing.
Friends like our own Dean Byrom and many others have told me of the
very meaningful and inspiring experience it is actually to visit the places in
the Holy Land along the Biblical story, and I’m sure coming to the top of Mt.
Tabor would be one of those inspiring places.
Perhaps it might even be a “thin place” for us, as it was for Peter and
James and John. A place to catch an
inward glimpse. But if we don’t have the
frequent flyer miles to get all the way there, we would be reminded that the
retreat house across the river at Mt. Alvernia, with our friends the Sisters of
St. Francis, is named “Tabor House.” To
confirm that “mountain top experiences” can happen for us anywere. Even Millvale . . . . Or perhaps in this place, or where you walk
the dog this afternoon . . . .
So Last Epiphany, Quinquagesima, the Sunday before Ash Wednesday. What will be announced to us, from the Prayer
Book, on this coming Wednesday, as we
would come to one of the three services on that day here at St. Andrew’s—or
sometimes folks find it convenient to attend the midday service downtown at the
Cathedral, or in some other place near work or school. “I invite you, therefore, in the name of the
Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance;
by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s
holy Word.”
In all that, an invitation to us to be on the lookout for these thin
places. Mountaintops. What can be truly part of our inner
landscape. Thinking of the opportunities
we might see even on display in our service leaflet this morning. The Inquirers Group that Garrett and Dan will
be leading. Our Sunday morning series of
Coffee and Conversation gatherings. A
collection of daily devotional readings, which we have had given to us as a gift
this morning, and which we can pick up today in the narthex or in Brooks Hall, or at our services on Ash Wednesday. Perhaps a pattern of personal devotion,
prayer, reading that we try to develop ourselves.
St. Benedict in Chapter 49 of his Rule, speaking to his monks but
perhaps for monk we can really pretty much substitute any Christian: “The life of a monk ought be be a continuous
lent,” that is, a time of prayer, of repentance, reflection, renewal. “Since few, however, have the strength for
this, we urge the entire community during these days of lent to keep its manner
of life most pure, and to wash away in this holy season the negligences of
other times. This we can do in a fitting
manner by refusing to indulge evil habits and by devoting ourselves to prayer
with tears, to reading, to compunction of heart, and to self-denial. During these days therefore we will add to
the usual measure of our service something by way of private prayer and
abstinence from food or drink, so that each of us will have something above the
assigned measure to offer God of our own will with the joy of the Hoy
Spirit. In other words, let each one
deny himself some food, drink, sleep, needless talking and idle jesting, and
look forward to holy Easter with joy and spiritual longing.” Desserts, alcohol,
between-meal snacks. I’ve seen friends
talk about a “Fast from Facebook,” or video games, or television. No rules imposed from above, but to find a
rule ourselves, an invitation to find just that food mix of prayer and reading
and restraint that will make sense for us, as we would pause here on the
mountaintop, on our way to Jerusalem.
No comments:
Post a Comment