I am posting today's sermon. I've never done this before, but the strangest thing happened. They say preachers really write the sermon they need to hear, and that's exactly what happened today! I didn't plan it that way, but here's what came out. If you pause to read, I've written an afterward, explaining what I mean here.
Psalm 2; Exodus 24:12-18; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9
What fascinates me about today’s readings is the picture of God that we get here. Exodus has Moses hearing God’s voice directly, going up to the mountain into a cloud that symbolizes God’s presence there, and then on the 7th day, Moses was called out of the cloud and faced, it seems, “the glory of the Lord,” which “was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain.” Remember it was some time later, after his next trip up the mountain (to get replacements for the stone tablets containing the Commandments, that he broke in his rage at the people), when Moses came down with his face shining so much that he had to wear a veil to hide it from the Hebrew people, because it scared them. Clearly standing in the presence of the Lord transforms, yes, transfigures human beings, and it is a frightening experience even for those who see the one who is transfigured.
In the Psalm, the sound of God’s angry voice fills the people with terror. At the Transfiguration of Jesus, the bright cloud that overshadowed all on the mountain top, and the sound of God’s voice, combined with the glowing appearance of Jesus and the appearance of the two prophets there with him, caused the apostles to fall to the ground, overcome with fear. Jesus, as he always does, had to calm them with the words, “Get up and do not be afraid.” Yes, the presence of God is mysterious and transcendent, terrifying, and transfiguring: remember Rudolf Otto’s description of the Holy as the mysterium tremendens and fascinans: that huge mystery that both frightens and fascinates us. We humans don’t really have adequate images or words to describe God’s presence; we make do with clouds and fire and dazzling brightness – but these are only pale representations of the experience that is too great for our capacity to express and describe it. It’s amazing that this great mysterium tremendens and fascinans, this holy and mighty God, stoops to deal with us humans at all. That’s the amazing side of grace, and part of the good news for me – that we have an Almighty God – an All-Mighty God – who does care enough to be bothered with the likes of us, who created us in love, in God’s own image, and who longs to be in relationship with us, regardless of how unworthy we’ve proven ourselves to be of such an honor – over and over again throughout all time.
But there’s another image or question that captures me, as well: what about Joshua? Look at Exodus again. Moses leaves the elders under the authority of Aaron and Hur, and he takes Joshua, his assistant, with him. Then Moses goes up onto the mountain alone. Where is Joshua? Is he waiting at the foot of the mountain all these forty days that Moses is up there? How does he cope with that terrifying cloud and fire, with the terrifying solitude of being neither with his mentor, nor with his people back on the plain of the wilderness? I can almost see him, huddled in his cloak, waiting and waiting, sleeping under a bush, perhaps, or a stone outcropping, watching and listening and wondering, and wishing for nothing more than to return home, to be in safety among the people. But God was protecting Joshua; as you recall, the people were misbehaving quite badly back at the camp. They made themselves a golden calf and were worshipping and celebrating with it. And those people were not allowed to go into the Promised Land. None of those people who were in that camp were allowed to go in; that’s why the people had to wander in the desert for forty years – so that whole generation would die before the people would enter the land. And Joshua was saved from that; Joshua was the one that God saved to lead the new generation into the Promised Land.
It seems that Joshua’s position is the one to which God’s people are most frequently called. We wait, uncertainly. Yes, sometimes we are actually allowed to climb to the top of the mountain and enter into or at least what seems closer to God’s presence. Many of us have strong memories of times when we felt the very near presence of God in all its mystery, all its magnificence, and yes, even in all its awe-full-ness and terror. We treasure those mountaintop experiences our whole lives long. But most of the time we’re Joshua. We’re waiting at the foot of the mountain for a very long time, at least forty days (remember that “forty days” was a Hebrew turn of phrase that meant “a really long time,” rather than precisely forty 24-hour revolutions of the earth). We wait to see what God has to say to us, what course God would set for us, just exactly what we’re supposed to be doing, anyway. We strain our eyes to see, we strain our ears to hear, and we wait. And sometimes we get the great privilege of hearing directly from God in some vision or voice or dream. Other times we hear our marching orders from somebody else who comes down off that mountain top after some very long time and tells us what God wants of us. But the point is that we need to get used to being Joshua. We’re not the big guy, like Moses, that gets to go talk to God directly, and come down with a shiny face. At least we don’t often get to stand in Moses’ shoes. Thank God. Nope, we’re Joshua, huddled at the base of the mountain, or somewhere halfway up, watching and listening and maybe even taking notes as best we can, feeling pretty alone on the journey, neither here nor there, not able to nestle cozily in with the rest of the world, and not allowed the privilege of seeing God’s great cosmic blueprint, either. We’re just trying to get by as best we can till the boss comes down off that mountaintop and tells us what to do.
So, fellow Joshuas, I guess the best thing we can do is hold hands and stick together here, while we wait. We’re called out away from being immersed in the rest of the world with its golden calves and false idols; but mostly, we’re not allowed up on the mountaintop, either. We’re all just waiting for a sign, some direction, some signal that we sense is “right,” telling us what’s next for us. Sometimes the wait seems extraordinarily long and dark and cold. Nights in the wilderness really can get cold, just like they do here on this mountaintop. But we can hold hands and sing our songs and say our prayers and break our bread while we wait. We’re waiting for the Kingdom, of course, not Moses. But we’re still waiting and watching and listening, all the same. We’re still not allowed to relax into all the comforts of the wicked world out there – and yes, it can be very wicked sometimes, as we all know. Sometimes we get tired of waiting (forty days, forty months, forty years – sometimes a very long time), and we grab the reins and plan and plot out our lives, attaching ourselves to one golden calf or another, and often as not, we find our self-directed plans frustrated – or just plain frustrating. We don’t get that feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment that we get when we’re following God’s plan, rather than our own.
So we need, as we head into Lent, to recognize that we’re in the wilderness, too. Maybe the mountaintop isn’t where we’re cut out to be right now. This is a time, more than ever, when we need to be patient and watchful and alert. You never know what you might run into in the dark wilderness, while you’re waiting. We know Transfiguration is happening up on that mountaintop, but we’re down here together, waiting. Let’s stick together, okay? And let’s remind one another that we’re down here, watching and waiting, because, just as God saved Joshua, God just might be saving us for something special. Amen.
It was only as I preached it that I realized that I need to be Joshua for a while. As you might remember from my January 31 post, I was ready and eager to move on to the next project. That has always been my problem, of course -- too many ideas, too many projects, too willing to immerse myself in the next thing. I know what I need to do just now is to take some time to discern, to rest, to really let things settle down and settle in. Lent will be the perfect time to do that. I'm so grateful that the Spirit gave me this sermon!
