Glimpsing Glory

So much of our faith life is bound up in the act of remembering.

You’ve heard me talk about how the kind of remembering we do is not merely a wistful mental exercise, but is about drawing the past into the present in order to re-member the Body of Christ anew.

When we are re-membered through the act of blessing, breaking, and sharing bread and wine, we get a glimpse of who we really are in Christ, and this glimpse encourages us to keep moving toward the fuller realization of the hope and promise we have witnessed as a result.

Such glimpses are vitally important, because without them, we might easily accept the worldly narrative that there is no reason to hope—that tribalism, factionalism, and disintegration are all that await us—that the inevitability of our self-destruction is the only possible end to the story of humanity.

There are more than enough news stories, anecdotal evidence, and global trends that amplify this prevailing narrative, and I’m sure you have felt tempted to accept them as gospel on more than one occasion.

But if you have ever gotten a glimpse of another way—if you have ever witnessed the delayed gratification and glory that arise from a cruciform way of living in community—then it will be difficult to convince you that the short-sighted and self-serving narratives of the world are truly worth pursuing.

One of the reasons I give thanks to God continuously for St. Paul’s is because I have witnessed glimpses of the reign of God here among us, and those visions give me reason, as our patron saint says in his letter to the Philippians, to keep “pressing on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.”

I have seen individuals who speak different languages find common understanding in service and worship.

I have seen members and guests rejoicing as one while knowing themselves as equals before the all-embracing grace and love of God.

I have seen the lame healed and leaping for joy, I have seen the broken in spirit rise and reach out to others who are still struggling in the mire, I have gotten a glimpse of God’s eternal table where the wine of reconciliation and the bread of resurrection never fade because I have shared meals of celebration in this community that convince my soul that this is the way that leads us to the eternal life that Jesus has revealed.

Have you seen similar signs that have drawn you deeper into the practice of this way we call faithful?

Have you, too, witnessed glimpses of the truth and majesty of our God that keep you focused and pressing on toward our mutual goal in Christ?

For Peter and the other disciples, the revelation on the Mount of Transfiguration was one such moment.

I imagine that they carried that glimpse of the shining-faced, dazzling-clothed, prophet-surrounded Jesus with them as they went down the mountain into a world that was increasingly inhospitable to the message and mission of God that was entrusted to them.

When Jesus was arrested and crucified, and when Peter’s own life was threatened because of his affiliation with the Galilean, the memory of the mount of Transfiguration must have been dim and distant.

Who among us has not also been tempted to deny the truth that we have received, especially when under heavy duress and when the world seems to be falling apart all around us?

Who among us does not know the feeling of buckling under pressure and the sting of a failure of courage when our hopeful voice and witness could help another or steer a system to greater health and integrity?

The Peter who writes in our Epistle today knows what it means to be bathed in the brilliance of the Transfiguration, and also knows what it means to inhabit a dark place of denial and despair that is only cast out by the luminosity of the resurrection.

So, when he encourages the fledgling Christian community to attend to the fully confirmed prophetic message as to a lamp shining in a dark place, he is speaking from his own experience of weakness and redemption.

Peter knows that the lamp of hope and promise is fragile, and he knows that his own light was almost extinguished before being rekindled by the grace of God.

Which is why he dedicates the rest of his life to sharing the vision with all who will hear it, why he is able to face extreme pressure and resistance from the Roman empire and his fellow religionists, and it is why he eventually goes to his own cross—because he can no longer deny that Jesus’ way IS the way that truly leads to life.

As we stand on the cusp of another Lenten season—a time to once more get in touch with the heart of our faith and to face our own limitations in living fully into it—it is good to remember what our ancestors witnessed on the mount of transfiguration.

We can be thankful for what they saw and how the vision led them to a deeper practice of faith.

But we should also move beyond appreciation of their own experience and seek to bear witness to the ways in which the same Christ that was transfigured on the mountaintop is offering us glimpses of the reign of God in our world even today.

To share the visions we experience in this community with a world that is hungry for authentic connection—to look for and name signs of the inbreaking of God’s way in the institutions and interactions of our age—to build upon and reinforce lasting narratives of hope and promise even if their flame is flickering and fragile.

The end of the Epiphany season of brilliant revelation and manifestation is upon us, and we have seen where the road leads.

Let us once more follow the transfigured one with hope and courage, and move together into the transformative Lenten season of testing ahead.