Luke 9: 28-43
Good morning. The Last Sunday
after the Epiphany, the Sunday Next before Lent, on the old calendar
Quinquagesima. 50 days more or less
until Easter Sunday. The team planning
the Shrove Tuesday Pancake Supper and Mardi Gras party –the day after
tomorrow--are fully engaged in their preparations, and we are all of us in this
transitional time encouraged to be thinking through the character of our Lent
in 2016.
It’s of course a very old
tradition that Christians set aside this time from now through Holy Week with
particular attention, though everybody doesn’t approach it in the same
way. It might have something to do with chocolate
or alcohol or something. But we all find
different things helpful. Back in the
1970’s when I was still smoking cigarettes I always had the bright idea to give
that up for Lent, which usually turned out to be a lost cause—and probably in
some ways actually a detriment rather than an enhancement of my spiritual
life. Not a time to set yourself up for
failure. This will be the word announced
this coming Wednesday at our Ash Wednesday services, for all of us to hear with
seriousness and intentionality:
“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” (BCP 265).
As you probably know, I often turn in my own intentions about the building
up of my rule and pattern of Christian
life to the Rule of St. Benedict. An
early 6th century guide to the life of an intentional Christian
community that has continued to shape those kinds of communities and the wider
church ever since. And just to notice
what St. Benedict’s Rule says about Lent.
In Chapter 49 he begins, “The life of a monk ought to be a continuous
Lent.” When he says a monk here, we would read that more generally as any member of the
Christian community. “A continuous
Lent.” Which is to say that Lent is
about being more intentional and consistent and consciously focused, not about
adding exotic and extraneous practices and disciplines. We might say that what we would do during
Lent are the kinds of things we know that we really should be doing all the time, but may not always have the focus or
will power to make the time or energy to do.
So Benedict goes on, “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,”
he says, “we can do in a fitting manner by refusing to indulge evil habits”--which
is always a good idea!—“and by devoting ourselves to prayer with tears, to
compunction of heart, and self denial.”
So Lent about not rushing through some arbitrary checklist of prayers
and worship and study in a superficial way, but to take the time to slow down,
to make some space, and to go deeper into our thoughts and emotions. Not to rush a prayer or a reading, but to
allow God’s presence to touch our hearts.
“In other words,” Benedict concludes, “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.” A
certain careful moderation here: a lightness of spirit even Lent, with our eyes
always on the festival finish-line!
A couple of friends of mine have announced that in addition to stepping
back from their usual dinner-time glass of wine and desserts this Lent, they are also going to “fast” from Facebook
and Twitter. Perhaps that’s the 21st
century version of Benedict’s suggestion about a fast from “idle jesting.” Or perhaps in any of these areas if complete
abstinence would be too much, to take a more moderate step. Fasting from some food or drink on Wednesdays
and Fridays, limiting recreational use of the computer to a half an hour a day,
and so on. In any event, to remember
that what we are pointing toward is a way to make space in ourselves for
reflection and growth, and for the joy and spiritual longing of Easter.
In the new lectionaries this Last Sunday after The Epiphany and Sunday
before Lent has been associated with the gospel story of the Transfiguration,
as we’ve heard this morning in the reading from Luke 9, and with the associated
support both in the Old Testament and the Epistle with the account of Moses and
his encounter with God on Mount Sinai.
Something so powerful that as Moses came down again to the people his
face was literally shining with the brilliant glory of the divine light. The
light so vividly radiant that Moses needed to wear a veil before others could
stand in his presence—but as Paul reminds us, with Jesus now the light shines
in such a pure and direct way that no veil will be necessary.
As the Collect for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany has it,
“Almighty God, whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ is the light of the world:
Grant that your people, illumined by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with
the radiance of Christ’s glory, that he may be known, worshiped, and obeyed to
the ends of the earth.”
The passage of St. Luke this morning is rich and actually kind of
complicated. Jesus leads them to the mountaintop, where the fullness of his
glory is revealed to them. The bright
light, and the two great figures of Israel’s life in God, Moses and Elijah,
representing the Law and the Prophets, God’s Word, now unified in Jesus. As St. John would later write, The Word
became flesh. And in this moment the
fulfillment is at the center, the glory of the Cross: “they were speaking of
his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.” Years later Peter would write in the first
chapter of the letter we call Second Peter, “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.”
The last section of the story in our reading Jesus and the disciples come down the
mountain. They find a world in the grip
of evil. Which is of course what we find
every morning when we step outside the front door. The crowd is buzzing, and a father is begging
Jesus to do something, anything, to release his son from the grip of the
devil. So much for the spiritual
mountaintop retreat. And Jesus says,
bring him to me. And before another word
can be said, as the son is being escorted into the presence of Jesus, the demon
explodes, implodes, in a crisis, unable to maintain his hold--and he is
rebuked, cast out, and the boy is at once healed and made whole.
We see with our own eyes what the disciples at the mountaintop have
seen and known, the power and the glory of the Son of God. All about his power, his victory. Nothing can stand before him. To echo St. Paul in Romans 8: “neither death,
nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor
things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature.” We might hear echoing around us Martin Luther
in his great hymn, A Mighty Fortress.
“And though this world with devils filled should threaten to undo us; we
will not fear, for God hath willed his truth to triumph through us; the prince
of darkness grim, we tremble not for him; his rage we can endure, for lo! His
doom is sure, one little word shall fell him.”
He is Lord of all. And so this
wonderful line to conclude our reading, Luke 9:43: “And all were astounded at
the greatness of God.”
That would be my word, my wish for all of us on this Quinquagesima, the
Sunday before Lent, and as we consider the days ahead, as we join his last
great procession, the journey to
Jerusalem and the Cross, all the way ahead to the angel-filled empty tomb and
joyful Easter. That we would open
ourselves, and make space in ourselves, in our hearts and minds and spiritual
imaginations, for him: “by
self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by
reading and meditating on God’s holy Word,” and so like the crowds at the foot
of the holy mountain, like the disciples, in the presence of Jesus, to be
astonished, to be astonished, at the
greatness of God.
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