Sermon for February 19, 2023 – The 7th Sunday after Epiphany
Exodus 24:12-18, 2 Peter 1:16-21, Matthew 17:1-9
Change
Over the past few weeks, I have been revisiting a book on Saint Ignatius of Loyola. It delves into how the spiritual practices and leadership traits he developed in his followers can have real world applications beyond a church setting. Ignatius was seeking a deeper connection to God and realized that this comes through prayer. He and a few other like-minded men came together to found the Company of Jesus, or the Jesuits as they are more commonly known. The cornerstone of their company was their commitment to a rigorous prayer life built upon daily self-examination, practiced throughout the day to see how God is moving in their lives. One aspect of this self-examination is the spiritual practice of imaginative prayer.
Imaginative prayer is a variation of the Lectio Devina, in that, you read or hear a piece of scripture multiple times and imagine yourself in the story. Ignatius first grasped the importance of the imagination during his long convalescence from his battle injuries. His key insights about God came through his imagination. The notes he took as he read about the life of Christ filled a 300-page notebook that he treasured for the rest of his life. Ignatius believed that the imagination becomes a tool to help us know and love God.
Ignatius taught that to follow Jesus we must know him, and we get to know him through our imagination. Imaginative prayer teaches us things about Jesus that we would not learn through studying scripture or theological reflection. It allows the person of Christ to penetrate into places that the intellect does not touch. It brings Jesus into our hearts. It engages our feelings.
Imaginative prayer makes the Jesus of the Gospels our Jesus. It helps us develop a unique and personal relationship with him. We watch Jesus’ face. We listen to the way he speaks. We notice how people respond to him. These imaginative details bring us to know Jesus as more than a name or a historical figure in a book. He is a living person that accompanies us on our journey.
This is a practice that I haven't used much, so I decided to give it a try as a different way to enter more deeply into the scripture for this weekend, especially since the story of the Transfiguration is so familiar. At different times throughout the week I sat in different parts of our building listening to the gospel on my bible app and imagined myself in the story.
As I listened to this familiar story, in my mind’s eye I could see the trees and flowers that engulf the mountain. I could feel the warmth of the sun. I could sense being elevated as I felt the wind on my face. I could look out on the valleys as they stretched to the horizon. I felt at peace.
Each time I heard the story I found myself in the same place. I was standing with the disciples. I too wanted to stay on that mountain top in the presence of Jesus in all his glory. And like Peter, I too didn’t want to let go of that moment.
At its core the story of the Transfiguration is about change. The Transfiguration insists that change is difficult, but needed. Change, by definition, is a simultaneous holding on of what was and a looking toward the hope of what can be. And that’s why it is rather excruciating. Change insists that you exist in a place you don’t want to be. Change demands that you abide in a space yet to be resolved. Change creates a sense of grief over what was and yet excitement for what is to come. Which is why change, or transformation, is so difficult, but it is essential to our faith. I suspect Peter is caught in that moment between wanting things to stay the same and knowing that change is afoot.
I think we too can relate to Peter’s situation. How many times have you found yourself caught in the in-between moments? It is that moment when a person is contemplating a path to recovery through a 12-Step program, but isn’t yet ready to go. Or that moment when someone wants desperately to have a relationship with God, but isn’t sure that the church can be trusted because they have been hurt before. It is that moment when you feel like you are being pulled in opposite directions.
In response to the unknown that lies ahead we build tents, which is a rather apt metaphor for this in-between experience. We build around us structures that help to provide some stability and help us cope with the unknown. Yet, those structures often prevent us from moving forward to transforming our lives. The Transfiguration is that threshold moment between what was and what is to come. We get a glimpse of what could be and before we take that first step into the unknown of what lies ahead, we can become paralyzed as we wonder if we are ready.
Yes, Peter wants Jesus to stay. But Peter also needs the memory to stay -- the glory, the confirmation, the assurance, the promise, the declaration -- because he will need it later on; especially as they make their way down the mountain and head to Jerusalem, and all that lies ahead for them as they accompany Jesus to the cross. For him and I suspect for us as well, letting go is almost impossible without the act of holding on. We try to hold on to what is good so that it sustains us through the changes that come with growth and a life lived in this anxious world. Yet, we also hold on to those things that are not good for us, those things that cause division and separation from God, and separation from each other.
As we move into Lent, this tension seems essential; holding on while letting go; letting go of our images and preconceived notions of God; letting go of control; letting go of certainty. We must let go of that which is no longer needed, so that we might take on something new that will propel us closer to God.
We have been given a glimpse of the glory of God through the Transfiguration. Now we must set our gaze to Lent. Over the next forty days we too must make our walk towards Jerusalem, get on that cross and die to ourselves, where we will let go of our disordered attachments and all that separates us from God, so that we may be reborn in Christ. For some of us that means coming to the Wednesday evening collaborative formation opportunity with St. Ben’s, where we will explore vocations and how we live out God’s call on our hearts. For others, it means letting go of something like chocolate, meat, or alcohol, or even fasting from social media. For others, it may mean taking on a new spiritual practice like reading scripture everyday, or engaging in a new prayer practice, like imaginative prayer, journaling, or meditation. Whatever you choose, you have an opportunity to be transformed. Beginning Wednesday with our Ash Wednesday services you are invited to join us as together we seek to not only transform ourselves, but to transform the world around us.
