The Rev. Joseph Farnes
Last Epiphany, Year A
All Saints, Boise
Have you ever had a mountaintop experience? Have you had a moment where you felt your whole world had changed – you saw something in a brand-new light, you encountered God in a new and surprising way, you had an insight that put you on a new course of life? There is so much energy in such mountaintop experiences.
Like Peter, we want to stay on that mountaintop. We want to abide in that energy and joy and passion. Our hearts are stirred and our spirits are soaring.
On the mountaintop, everything seems clear even as our eyes are seeing all this wondrous light. When we’re on the mountain face-to-face with God Almighty, we want to stay right there because it feels so wonderful and holy. When we’re on the mountain witnessing the transfiguration of Jesus and his conversation with Moses and Elijah, we want to make dwelling places to stay there forever. When we’re viewing the world with a brand-new light full of profound insight, we feel so much energy and life. It feels good.
We might want to stay on that mountaintop experience and savor every moment. We might want to rush down the mountain to share what we’ve experienced and enlighten the world. But the mountaintop experience doesn’t last long, even on the mountain.
In the Gospel reading, the transfiguration seems to last just a minute. Dazzling white, Jesus shining like the sun, Moses and Elijah, Peter managing to talk before he thinks, and then a voice from the cloud: “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well-pleased: listen to him!” The disciples fall to the ground in fear, and Jesus puts his hand on them to reassure them. And it’s all back to “normal.”
I wonder how disappointed and confused those disciples were. The let-down after the mountaintop experience hits hard. We thought the energy would last forever. The excitement from that moment would keep us moving with its momentum forever. But no, that’s not the case. The intensity of the mountaintop experience hits a crescendo and comes back down to earth. Even on the mountaintop, the mountaintop experience doesn’t last forever.
For some people, they keep chasing that experience. The energy and excitement was so powerful – that initial conversion experience felt so good, that moment of insight felt so wonderfully profound! It’s like a new relationship with the butterflies of love; the romantic vibes are so good it feels impossible to think that it would ever feel differently. But that’s the reality – one day you feel head-over-heels in love, and after that you have to keep building that relationship. Good vibes don’t build a relationship all on their own.
Our American culture really doesn’t like that. We like to have good vibes all the time. We want to feel good. Advertisers know that – they bombard us with ads for things that will give us that rush. We buy things online and wait eagerly for delivery and then as soon as we open the box, the shiny newness fades. And so we chase our next high.
This bleeds into religion, too. The initial zeal fades, and the sober reality sets in. We feel so in love with God and neighbor that we think we’ll never feel differently … and then we realize that love is an action word. Loving God seems easy when we have those warm feelings, but loving God takes work to build the relationship. Loving our neighbor seems easy when we have those warm feelings, and then we have to deal with real, flesh-and-blood people we might not feel those same warm tender loving feelings toward. Loving worship seems easy when novelty or nostalgia pluck at our heart strings, but at some point it is discipline that keeps us focused.
When Peter, James, and John came down the mountain with Jesus, I wonder what other feelings they had. Awe at seeing the transfiguration, fear of the voice booming from the cloud … and what about disappointment that it was over, confusion about what they really saw, maybe even anger at Jesus for not showing this to all the disciples and all the crowds. Sure, they feel special in getting to see Jesus transfigured, but what about the crowds that sometimes doubt Jesus, or the Roman authorities who oppress the people? Why does it have to stop?
But the transfiguration ends, and they walk down the mountain. The emotional intensity of the moment passes. The dopamine rush is followed by a crash.
What are we to do?
We keep walking. We keep chewing on our experience – it meant something to us then, and while the rush is gone, it was meaningful for more than just a rush. We had an insight, we saw a vision, we felt the divine presence – those are profound and worthy for reflection, too. It’s not just the dopamine rush.
And so as we turn to Lent, we can reset our expectations. We turn to deeper devotional practices and reflection to try to follow Jesus more closely. But we don’t have to have a mountaintop experience during Lent for it to be worthwhile. Lent walks us slowly and steadily toward the cross. We try to walk alongside Jesus. We make room for grief and pain. We see the depth of love God has for us even if we don’t feel it or understand it. In the Transfiguration, we get a powerful declaration of love – Lent’s proclamation of love is quieter but no less real.
Lent leads us by a quieter way. A quieter way that lets us be in touch with the rest of our human experience, times that are not a rush of joyful excitement but times of grief, confusion, and sadness. Lent brings us to see that God is present at all times, walking with us even in valleys overshadowed by death. We learn to trust that even when we don’t feel excited and overjoyed, God is still present and still working in us. We learn to trust in God more than the feelings of exhilaration and insight. We learn to walk in darkness by the light of faith. In darkness or in the midst of the light of the Transfiguration, God abides with us. May we walk down the mountain with the memory of our mountaintop experience, and trust that our walk with Christ during Lent will be no less holy, no less transformative. Amen.