A Light Shining in a Dark Place
The Feast of the Transfiguration

Luke 9:28-36, 2 Peter 1:13-21
 
I hope our dove makes an appearance this morning.  She is always with us —sometimes just resting quietly on the window over there.  If you aren't familiar with St. James' dove, you may be in for a beautiful surprise this morning, because sometimes — not always — but sometimes, she is transfigured by the light.  She dances across our worship space and lights gently in unexpected places. Perhaps you will see her shining above the altar on the back wall or maybe she will hover like a hummingbird above Cheri's head or in front of the altar or maybe she will flit across the altar so quickly that you will hardly see her.  You just never know.  She is like a light shining in a dark place. And even if she doesn't appear over here this morning, she will still be with us resting quietly on the window.
 
The season after Pentecost is the longest in the church year.  From Trinity Sunday which was on June 11 this year until the First Sunday in Advent which will be December 3, we dress the altar in green and our vestments are green for the most part.  But there is a special day in the middle of the green which falls on a Sunday about once every seven years.  The date is always August 6.  We celebrate The Transfiguration of Our Lord.  For this one special day, we change our liturgical color from green to white. White symbolizes joy, purity and truth. It reminds us of light so it is especially appropriate for the Feast of the Transfiguration.
 
It is the concept of light that helps us understand the transfiguration of Jesus when the appearance of his face changed and his clothes became dazzling white.  It is the concept of light in our reading from Exodus that is so beautiful. “Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God.”  It is the concept of light in Peter's letter that gives us hope in troubled times: “You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.”
 
Sixty-one years ago today the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, Japan.  An event happened on the Feast of the Transfiguration that changed the world forever.   A calm blue sky was transfigured into a blinding white light. Fifty to seventy thousand people died immediately and countless others were maimed or fatally injured. How ironic on the day we celebrate that Jesus shone beyond all belief with the light of creation, the light of destruction lit up the skies with the bombing of God's creation.
 
The memory of Hiroshima is still with us.  I pray that we will never forget it — but sometimes I'm afraid that we have.  The sobering reality that we live in a world that is not free from man's inhumanity to man is especially apparent when we think about Iraq and North Korea and Lebanon and Israel.  On this day, on this the Feast of the Transfiguration, there are many places in our world where the light from guns and car bombs and suicide bombers transfigures the sky.
 
The cover of the most recent Anglican Digest features the Italian painter, Raphael's last masterpiece — The Transfiguration.  This enormous altarpiece, commissioned in 1517 was unfinished at his death at age thirty-seven, but was completed by his assistant.  It now resides in the Vatican Museum in Rome.  I saw it many years ago when I was traveling in Italy.  The figure of the transfigured Jesus glows with a brilliance that is hard to imagine and impossible to describe.  Perhaps it is the contrast of the glowing  transfigured Jesus with the accusing, agonizing, suffering human forms in the darkness below that has such a powerful impact on those who view it. Jesus is there to bring light to the dark places of the world. The Transfiguration captures and radiates light that even shines on the darkest parts of the masterpiece.
 
I believe, it says, without words, something that today's gospel and Peter's letter say to us.  There is a light shining in the darkness.
 
When Peter suggests constructing three dwellings — one for Moses, Elijah, and Jesus, he is elevating Jesus to be equal with the Law and the Prophets — represented by Moses and Elijah.  However, the apostles are immediately reminded that Jesus is so much more — God's son, his chosen to whom they should listen.  And Peter wants to freeze that moment by building temples or shrines to capture the experience.  It's understandable, isn't it!   But those special moments are special because they aren't ordinary.  They can't be frozen in time.  I believe they are given to us in our lives so in the difficult moments and times, we can remember that there is more and there is hope in God. Jesus, along with Peter and John and James still had to go down from that mountain to walk the road to Jerusalem.
 
Many years later, when Peter writes about the transfiguration, he says, “You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.”  By then Peter knew that the transfiguration would not remove him or us from the real world.
 
We all have to walk our own journey, but there is a promise of much more.  There is darkness in our world but there is a grace that gives us hope when there seems to be no hope.  There is a greater power.  As Peter writes, “For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we have been eyewitnesses of his majesty.”
 
The story does not end with the transfiguration. Jesus still has the walk to Jerusalem — the walk toward his death and the cup he has to drink. There was the mountain top experience and then there was the real world.  It is like that for us, too.  We have experienced the Transfiguration.  He has walked with us and fed us and healed us and lifted us up.  He has been there and is here, not only on the mountain top and in the mountain top experiences of our lives, but also in the difficult times. J ust as he had to walk the way of the cross, so does each of us have to walk on our own life journey.
 
The vision on the mountain does not take the place of the walk to Jerusalem. His light shines in the darkness — in the darkest times for us personally and for our troubled world.  His light shines in the faces of those who are praying for and working for peace in our world.  His lights shines in the faces of those who are providing a light on the road, who are helping others when things get dark, who are there, not only on the mountain top, but down that scary, risky dirt road.  Those faces that walk in the darkness with us are the light of Christ in our world.
 
This past week we attended the Passion Play as part of our family reunion gathering.  Some of the younger children came with us.  The transfiguration was not depicted, but Jesus’ ascension was.  As Jesus ascended into the night, his white robes were brilliant against the dark blue sky.  He was transfigured.  Our four-year-old great nephew, Noah, said in a voice — crystal clear and piercing  like only an excited 4-year-old’s can be, “Mommy, Mommy!, I think this is where we are supposed to clap.”   No one actually clapped but I saw a lot of beautiful smiles on the faces around me.  If we but listen and are attentive, we can find times to clap in our hearts, even when there is darkness in our lives.  Because even in the darkness, the light shines through.
 
When the St. James’ children gather in the garden, they face another child or one of the adults as they sing this song:

“I see the love of God in you;
The light of Christ comes shining through;
And I am blessed to be with you;
O, Holy Child of God.”

They end with a deep bow to their partner and then move around the circle until they have greeted everyone with this beautiful little song.  And almost always, something wonderful happens.  The faces of everyone there are transfigured — children and adults alike.  They shine with the light of Christ.
 
I don't know if the dove has made an appearance this morning because I have been facing you.  I hope she has.   But if she hasn't, she is resting quietly on the window.  The Holy Spirit is always here, just waiting to be present for us on our mountain tops and on our journeys to Jerusalem.  The Holy Spirit is always here offering us the transforming, transfiguring love of God.  The Holy Spirit is always here to assure us that the day will dawn and the morning star will rise in our hearts.

Amen.

The Rev. Betsy Porter
August 6, 2006

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