March 6, 2011 - Epiphany Last, Year A (RCL)
He only said it twice. God, that is. "This is my beloved Son." The first time, it was by the River Jordan.
Remember the story of John the Baptist?
He was a relative of Jesus, and had spent his adult life
living in the caves and rocks of the wilderness,
and from time to time
traveling down to the Jordan Valley, where there was food and water,
and most importantly,
people,
people who he could tell the news that God had sent him to share,
news of repentance
and the coming of someone great,
people who he could baptize
a ritual washing
for cleansing from sin.
Crowds came out from the towns and villages
to see him, to hear him preach,
to be baptized.
And Jesus
had come with them.
And when John saw Jesus, he protested.
“You don’t need this baptism; I need to be baptized by you!”
But Jesus insisted, and John baptized him.
And Jesus was standing there, knee deep in water, his hair still dripping,
when something like a dove came down and a voice from heaven spoke:
“This is my beloved Son; with him I am well pleased.”
Then silence, for the best part
of three years, three years, while Jesus travelled around the country,
preaching and teaching and healing.
Until one day
Jesus went for a walk, taking his three closest friends with him.
And they went up a mountain, steep enough
to discourage the crowds.
They began by talking, but as the path got steeper and rockier,
they began to get out of breath,
and soon all their attention
was on their feet,
making sure
they didn’t slip.
But then, for no particular reason, maybe because the path got a little easier, Peter and James and John all looked up at the same time,
and instead of their friend ahead of them
all they could see
was a figure dressed in bright white, and kind of shining,
and next thing they knew,
there were two other people there too,
and it looked like it was Jesus but different,
and talking with him
Moses and Elijah, those great figures from their history, the representatives of the law and the prophets, and somehow
they looked the way they’d always expected them to.
And Peter,
well aware of the expectations of hospitality and the strength of the sun overhead,
blurted out the first thing that came into his mind.
“Lord, shall we build you some shelter?”
But while he was still talking
a bright cloud seemed to hang over their heads,
and someone spoke:
“This is my beloved Son; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him.”
And they were terrified,
afraid maybe
that God would zap them,
and it wasn’t until Jesus spoke to them
in the same voice that he always used with them,
and told them not to be afraid, that they dared look up again.
And it was just Jesus in front of them, looking like he always did.
No Moses, no Elijah, no cloud, no voice.
Just
Jesus.
But what’s striking
is what comes next.
If you read on
in the gospel according to Matthew,
Jesus tells them not to say anything about what they’ve seen,
until after “the Son of man”
is risen from the dead.
And they seem to take him at his word. They mutter a bit about Elijah, and seem to think that maybe Jesus is talking about John the Baptist,
though whether they think he’s Elijah
or the Son of man
isn’t entirely clear,
and then they go back to the other disciples
acting
as if
nothing has happened.
No bright shining clothes,
no Moses or Elijah,
no voice from heaven.
And there’s no real reference
to what happened that day
until many years later,
when a letter is written.
It’s a letter
written to a group of Christians, believers in Jesus
who are struggling.
Their faith has been challenged
by people who say it’s just a myth.
And the writer of the letter
wants to reassure them.
“I saw it,” he says. “I saw it, Jesus, shining in glory, on the mountain,
and I heard it, the voice, ‘This is my beloved Son; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him.’
But it’s not just
that he saw it.
Because now, long after the event took place, he can finally
make sense of it.
And part of that
is putting two and two together.
Not long
before Jesus and his disciples went up that mountain,
Jesus had been with them
in Caesarea Philippi.
And there he had asked them,
“Who do people say I am?”
And the disciples told him
what they’d heard.
“Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”
“So,” Jesus asked them, “who do you
say I am?”
And Peter, because it always seems to be Peter who is the spokesperson,
or perhaps it’s just because Peter tends to blurt out whatever is on the top of his mind, while everyone else is still thinking,
Peter says, “You are the Christ!”
You’d think Peter might have remembered that
when he was up the mountain with Jesus. But he doesn’t seem to.
It takes years
for Peter to make the connection,
years till he works out
that the voice from heaven
on the top of that mountain
is the confirmation he needed
of what he himself had blurted out.
the prophetic message is confirmed.
The Holy Spirit has given him understanding.
Yes,
Jesus is the Christ.
In life, many things happen to us.
Some of them are bad. Some are good.
Sometimes they seem to be major, life-changing events.
Other times, we barely notice them. They seem
unimportant.
Sometimes, their impact is obvious.
But often, we don’t quite get
why they happen.
Sometimes
we have to wait.
Sometimes
things just don’t make sense at first. And we have to wait.
sometimes wait many years
before
we really get
what was going on.
Think back over your own life.
Think of the times
when something happened,
and at the time
you just didn’t understand it.
And think of how different those things seem
looking back.
It doesn’t change what happened,
whether it was good or bad.
But looking back
we can see the connections, the patterns, the causes
and the consequences.
The years may not make any difference to how we like
what happened.
But they make a difference
to how we make sense of it.
Things that seemed to be senseless
now reveal themselves
as having shaped us,
sometimes good comes
of something thoroughly bad; or things we thought were good
we discover
were not so
good for us.
Over time, they are woven into our lives.
And what the letter of Peter reminds us
is that it is the Holy Spirit
who can bring understanding.
The Holy Spirit
works in our lives, redeeming the bad,
giving shape to our knowledge of the good,
drawing us every closer
to God.
And that’s something to hold onto,
when things happen, things that we don’t quite understand, that we can’t quite
make sense of.
And in those times,
we are invited to pray,
to pray for the wisdom
and comfort and peace of God
that comes through the Holy Spirit.
This morning/In a few minutes
baby Jack
will be baptized.
I imagine that he won’t
understand what is going on.
He’ll know that he’s dressed in clothing that feels different, shiny and maybe a little bit scratchy. He’ll know
that a stranger is holding him.
He’ll know
that suddenly there is wet stuff on his head.
He’ll feel fingers tracing a cross on his forehead,
and maybe smell something oily and sweet.
And he’ll see a bright flickery light.
Later on
he’ll taste something sour on his tongue.
I imagine
that Jack won’t know
that he is being baptized.
He won’t know
that he is receiving the Eucharist for the first time.
Gradually, as he grows up, he’ll begin to recognize what those things are.
And eventually, we pray, he will begin to understand,
understand about the God who loves him so much,
and Jesus who lived and died for him,
and that from this very moment, he has been marked as Christ's own
forever.
It may take him
a lifetime.
As it does
for all of us.
Today we are reminded
of our own baptisms
which echo
the baptism of Christ.
And as we pray for Jack, we pray for ourselves,
that God will continue to draw us closer,
and grant us understanding.
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2010