The Sermons at Calvary
By Father Richard Humke
THE TRANSFIGURED MOMENT
March 2, 2003, Last Epiphany B,
Calvary Church
Some
years ago I was in Britain by myself; and because a hotel room had not come
through as I had expected, I called some friends of a friend, who very
graciously invited me to stay the night in their attractive row house in
Hampstead.
After
I had taken a short and fitful nap in an attempt to overcome the jet lag, I
took off on an exploration of the village of Hampstead, which is now suburban
London. Of course, I headed for the
parish church to see what was there, and next to the church was the parish
cemetery. Not very well taken care of ,
I noticed. In fact, rather poorly
tended. As I wandered through the
cemetery, my eyes paused on a grave stone, which was rather badly overrun by
weeds. I pushed back the overgrowth,
and I then realized what had caught my eye and had caused me to stop. I was standing at the grave of Evelyn
Underhill.
Now
I know that will mean nothing to many of you, though I suspect some of you have
heard of her. Evelyn Underhill was one
of the great Anglican devotional writers of the 20th C., a writer who is most
responsible, I would think, for introducing many people in the English-speaking
world to the mystics of the past centuries.
I paused for a moment in silent gratitude for this somewhat strange
woman, who had spent a lifetime of study in an area that we are just now
beginning to pay attention to once again.
In
the introduction to his book THE LETTERS OF EVELYN UNDERHILL, Charles Williams,
a fascinating but (to me) difficult writer of the early 20th C., wrote of
Evelyn Underhill and the struggle she had most of her life between devotion and
skepticism (I read that one with interest!), between faith and illness, between
doubt and "utter and intimate belief," before she was freed "by
permission of all-ruling heaven" in death.
In
this introduction Williams relates an event that shows the on-going revelation
of the Transfigured Jesus, who for a moment long ago, as told in our Gospel
today, was outwardly changed before the very eyes of Peter, James and John so
that they knew, they knew intuitively, that they were standing in the very
Presence of ultimate Divine Mystery.
He
goes on:
A friend
had come to visit Underhill for tea...in October of 1937. She had just had one of her bad illnesses;
she was seated facing a glowing fire.
Her friend said, "As I entered she got up and turned around,
looking so fragile as though a puff of wind might blow her away, but light
simply streamed from her face illumined with a radiant smile...One could not
but feel consciously there and then that one was in the presence of the
extension of the Mystery of our Lord's Transfiguration in one of the members of
the mystical body...It told one not only of herself, but more of God and of
(God's) Mystical Body than all her work put together.
To
restate, and elaborate on, Justice Stewart's famous statement in a 1964 Supreme
court ruling, "Holiness is hard to explain, but you know it when you see
it."
The
person who told Charles Williams that story knew that he or she had been in the
presence of the Holy, shown through the outward appearance of that person,
Evelyn Underhill. That was an
evangelical moment when Evelyn Underhill's countenance told far more of the God
through whom she lived than all of her writings. The outward appearance was the inward disposition shining
through. Hear that, because it is the
reason I told the long story: the outward
appearance was the inward disposition shining through.
I
wanted you to hear that story because I believe it is a clue to understanding
today's mystical event in the Gospel.
The outward appearance of Evelyn Underhill was her inward disposition
shining through. The outward appearance
of the transfigured Jesus was the inward reality shining through. That's what Peter, James and John
experienced on the mountain.
Understanding that story in the light of possibilities that can still
occur helps us to realize that the story may not at all be a figment of some
imagination but a report of a reality.
This
event that we observe today, the Transfiguration of Christ, is observed each
year on this Sunday before Lent begins.
We often on this day sing that hymn that will close our worship this
morning, "O wondrous type! O vision fair," but may not sing it again
until next year at this same time.
Because we don't sing it often, you may have some difficulty with it;
but I hope that you will pay attention to the words to see how appropriate they
are for this day.
In
today's Gospel we hear the story of Peter, James, and John accompanying Jesus
up a mountain (perhaps it is the present-day Mount Tabor in Israel -- at least
that is where one visits to commemorate the Transfiguration). At the top of that mountain, in an event
that words could hardly describe, they experienced a transfigured Jesus. They had an experience that words could
hardly describe: they looked into the
eternal nature of Jesus through his changed, outward appearance. They saw him in a new light, is one way of
saying it. He appeared to them altered
and glorified, transfigured, so that they came away knowing that this Jesus
with whom they had been was more than an itinerant rabbi. Through him they had seen the very glow of
God.
If
you were to read more of Mark's Gospel, rather than the snippet in this
morning's reading, you would see in the passage immediately before today's
reading that Jesus had just predicted his own suffering and death to them, and
he had warned them of the cost of discipleship: "If any want to become my followers, let them deny
themselves and take up their cross and follow me."
He
said that to his larger group of disciples, but then he took with him to the
mountain the three men who would be the leaders of the Jerusalem church: Peter, James and John. And on that mountain he allowed them see
something else. He allowed them to see
that the suffering and the cross, which lay ahead, would not be the last
word. He gave them a foretaste of his
vindication as well. He strengthened
their faith and their courage by letting them see, for ever so short a time,
into the mystery of his very Being.
THEY
SAW WHO HE WAS, greater than Moses and Elijah, the two great representatives of
the Jewish law and prophets. They saw
that he was greater than a healer, greater than a teacher. He was their Messiah, full of the glory of
God, which radiated from his being at that time. This event helped to prepare them for what lay ahead, though they
forgot it all as they approached Jerusalem and the Cross.
They
hadn't been ready to understand or accept Jesus' full revelation, as seen in
this Transfiguration, too early in their time with him. They needed to be with him for a while
before they were ready to behold his glory.
So Jesus waited for this revelation to take place toward the end
of his ministry among them.
Emily
Dickinson says in a poem.
The truth
must dazzle gradually,
or every man be blind.
Yes, indeed, the truth of the Transfiguration
would have blinded them had it occurred too early in their time with
Jesus. Slowly the truth had been
revealed to them.
You
see, the opening up of the mystery of God to our awareness is also a
gradual thing, lest we be blinded, taking place over a lifetime for those who
are open to seeing the mystery of God in the mundane -- to those who are
open to seeing the mystery of God in the mundane. For most of us there is no instantaneous conversion to the
Faith. A few people have that, and I
won't deny it. But for most of us life
moves on in rather daily ways until sometimes, sometimes, at least for those
who are open to it, the truth dazzles in an unexpected way. And we see a reality that is otherwise
hidden from our eyes. Let me give you
two examples of what I mean.
Perhaps
you have stood on the shore of the Gulf of Mexico one evening at the time of
sunset, or perhaps you have looked out through the beautiful haze at the Great
Smokies, and in that moment you knew -- you knew! -- if only for one brief
moment, measured in seconds or even nanoseconds -- you knew that there
was something more to reality than what first meets the eye. You had a moment of the transcendent. You see, I think you stood in a transfigured
moment, a moment that comes rarely to any of us and is always missed by those
whose eyes are closed to mystery. A
transfigured moment when a deeper reality shines through.
Or
perhaps (long ago for some of us) you went into your child's room one evening
at midnight and you looked down at his or her slumbering form and beautiful
face, and you forgot how difficult that child had been that day, and you
thought your heart would break because you could not bear the pain of gratitude
for very long.
It
is at such times that we realize that we stand before mystery, we stand in a
transfigured moment, when the inner reality shines through the outer form. Such moments are few, and they pass almost
before we realize what they are, as if their truth would dazzle too much so
that we could not bear them for very long.
So you had best be alert and expectant, gazing at the reality of the
created order for the presence of the Holy and Infinite. It is there -- if only we would take
the time to see it.
Be
open to the transfiguring moments that come in your life so that you may see
beyond the surface to what lies hidden,
yet wanting so much to be revealed to those whose eyes are open.
Richard
H. Humke