Aug 07 | “The Light on your face,” (Transfiguration/Pride Sunday Sermon, August 6th 2017)

“Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. ²⁹And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. ³⁰Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. ³¹They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. ³²Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. ³³Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’—not knowing what he said. ³⁴While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. ³⁵Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’ ³⁶When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen”

Luke 9:28-36

 

It’s good, Lord, to be here.

Good morning, St. Paul’s. I’m so glad to be back. For those who don’t know me, I’m Clare, and I was a seminary student here about four years ago. I couldn’t be happier to have been asked to serve while you search for an interim and enter into this new stage of your ministry. St. Paul’s always felt like home to me, from the moment I first walked in the door. It was the first church I ever stepped into where I felt…ordinary.

This is meant to be a compliment! I’ve always felt that St. Paul’s had a gift for hospitality to those who might not easily fit into other churches or other traditions. It was the first parish I ever went to that was visibly ethnically diverse. It was the first church I ever went to that was economically diverse. It was truly diverse in terms of sexual orientation. We’ve got everything from punks to prudes in this house of God, and that is something to celebrate, every day and on this Pride Sunday, and most especially on this Transfiguration Sunday.

Transfiguration is one of those churchy words that might sound unfamiliar, but everyone knows what it means here, in your heart. It’s one thing for me to tell you the strange story of light-up Jesus and the all-star celebrity guests, Moses and Elijah. For people of Jesus’ time, this was a very important story, so important that it made its way into three out of four gospels. For those people, this story was an endorsement, an affirmation, a commissioning. This was proof that Jesus’ message was worth listening to, and it definitely would have strengthened the bond between Peter, James, and John, perhaps providing them extra fuel for that evangelistic fire they needed to continue their work, during Jesus’ life and after his death. And of course, for those who came to know Jesus after the events of Easter, it would have solidified the authority of those three disciples to teach and witness.

But is this what it is for us, today, here?

For many Christians, it is.

For us…it can be.

But we live in a very different time. Our people, grafted onto the branch of Israel, have charted our own course now. Unlike those who once heard this story straight from eyewitnesses, those who still identified as Jews, we run the risk of no longer seeing this as a fulfillment of received tradition, but something oppositional, something that points to Moses and Elijah and tries to claim them for ourselves without hospitality for the Jewish people from which we came, tries to own them, to say, “See? These guys were on board. When are you crossing the pond? When are you going to accept Jesus?”

It may sound a little oversensitive, but I can assure you that this attitude flourishes in many other churches, and it has played out in ways that all of us shudder to remember, and I know that we are better than that.

So how can we claim this – not only as Christians, not only as Anglicans, but as St. Paul’s in the West End, on Pride Sunday?

I said earlier that Transfiguration is a word that might sound unfamiliar, but that all of you understand, here, in your heart.

It shone from your face the first time you realized that you could live a whole lifetime and never know everything there is to know about this piece of the universe.

It shines from the faces of queer kids when they feel strong enough to claim who they are, from the faces of trans people who receive their new names, like some of our friends have in this church, and that one of my friends will later this evening.

It feels like the moment you decide to stand up for something knowing that it might cost you more than you are comfortable giving…and doing it anyway, because you know it’s right and so the risk is worth it.

It is the light that shines forth from the faces of those who have holy truths to share, those who keep holy company. It is a piece of God that, with the dawn of the resurrection and in the scarlet flames of Pentecost, was laid across our shoulders like a mantle.

It’s then obvious that Pride Sunday is the perfect day to commemorate this story of transfigured shining humanity. There is still so much love and truth to be witnessed to in a world that has trouble affirming goodness and light. We live in a world that still struggles to contain people in boxes, because for some that seems so much easier to handle. For example, despite the beauty and pageantry of today’s celebrations, we are still yearning for every person to embrace the fullness of humanity, for feeling that Pride spirit that is not only about acceptance but celebration of the fleshy nature of humankind. Think about it: Pride is not only about those who don’t fit the so-called norm for orientation or gender expression. It’s also, quite frankly, a celebration of sexuality, of human beings delighting in other human beings, not for exploitation or propagation, but for joy and love. At its best, it’s a celebration of that sacramental truth that when we come together, as a community and as individuals, in intimacy of all kinds including the deepest kinds, there are walls – between individuals and between genders – that are broken down.

This, I think, is one of the good reasons why the Christian church gets so weird about sex. The church realized that it is a physical expression of a much deeper spiritual truth of underlying connection between all things, something which just so happens to be hardwired into us, something that is transformative when done well and demeaning when done poorly, and so deserves respect.

In some ways we can even say this part of Pride is very Anglican, if we consider the importance Anglicans place on the incarnation of God among the created order, and on the communal nature of God made manifest in the Trinity.

This is written into who we are, as creatures and as Christians. Accepting the truth of our fleshiness and pledging to embrace it while simultaneously becoming so much more, is what makes our faces shine, what makes us see miracles on mountaintops.

Now of course, in the story, it is not possible to stay forever on the mountaintop. Eventually, that bottled lightning moment fizzles out and becomes Jesus left alone with his friends. We are not permitted to make a home there, away from the crowds and away from those who would deny the light on our faces. Eventually, we have to come back down. Our task is different from Peter, James, and John, in that we are called not to keep this sacred truth a secret.

I would never tell you that this is an easy thing. Faith is easier on mountaintops with people we know and trust. But if we stay there, we remain only a few. If we go back down, we can one day return, but with so many more. We will be transforming those others, as well as being transformed by them, saving as well as being saved.

We are called as Christians to live out loud.

You as St. Paul’s have definitely been called to live out loud.

So keep your voice and your heart strong. Today, let us journey to the mountaintop and bask in the joy and happiness of those around us, whether it’s in the riotous chaotic colour of the streets, or in a quieter place among your close friends, or alone, staring out at the beautiful blue expanse of the Pacific or into the face of a beloved or a friend.

Tomorrow, take up that rainbow in your heart, remembering that just as it is a sign of the pride we share in who we are, fully realized human creatures, it is also a sign of divine reconciliation, a sign that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ.

It’s good, Lord, to be here.