Embodying Exodus

We have come to the climax, the epitome of our Epiphany season of looking for signs of Christ’s divinity around us and within us. And we’re given this story of amazement, majesty and mystery as we look to a shimmering Jesus on a mountain, imbued with glory and Godliness. A story that well and truly yanks us out of the tropes of our rational, sensible and logical everyday lives and places us in a strange and other-worldly event: where glory is magnified and mystified in the body of Christ.

Jesus’ appearance changes and his clothes become as bright as a flash of lightning. But not only this, Moses and Elijah appear beside him, the former speaking about Jesus’ exodus which was about to be fulfilled in Jerusalem. Space and time seem to collapse in each other in this glorious moment as the past meets the present, prompting and pointing to the future.

And Jesus’ disciples are barely awake to witness it at all. A bad habit that will be echoed when Jesus is praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. They have been jolted awake by this transfiguration but even as Peter realizes how good it is for them to be there to witness it, he misses the point, he misses the mark and tries to capture this moment instead of basking in its mystery. But just as soon as Peter stumbles over himself, a cloud overshadows them, the mist of which, I imagine, fogs their vision, fills their nostrils, drowning out any other sound except for the voice that comes from it, saying, “This is my Son, my chosen; listen to him!” And then, just like that, the moment is over. Jesus is alone again, the brightness as a flash of lightning dims and it is as if nothing has changed.

Except everything has.

This moment of transfiguration where Christ’s literal appearance is changed to reveal his glory doesn’t remain on the mountain but continues, as Moses declares, towards Jerusalem. For an exodus is about to emerge. An exodus that began by the Red Sea – a story of life and liberation from oppression and enslavement – is now continuing and will be fulfilled in the glory of Christ. An exodus Jesus shares just before our scripture that will be laden with great suffering, rejection, and death but ends in new life. And then he invites the disciples to join him, to take up their crosses and follow him promising that if they try to save their life, they will lose it, but if they lose their life for his sake they will save it. But first, before they embark, this moment. This mystery of change and transfiguration to lead them and guide them towards the way of exodus, the way of liberation, the way of glory.

There is something transgressive happening here in the transfiguration – glory is no longer reserved for mountaintops. It is the light on the path towards exodus, liberation, resurrection and God’s kingdom come to earth. It changes Jesus’ face— and it is meant to change the disciples’ faces too. When Jesus and the disciples descend, they are meant to carry this light of glory with them, themselves. But they miss it. They misunderstand it. They still don’t get that they are not mere bystanders. They are called to the same path of exodus themselves, to cast out evil, to heal, and to live and breathe the Good News into the world.

And yet, they fumble. They nearly fall asleep. They forget the power of prayer – why they were on the mountain in the first place. And when the time comes to embody this glory in the healing of a boy in convulsion, they lose their nerve, their knowhow and their faith. Despite standing in the very presence of transfiguration and hearing God’s voice of instruction, they have already forgotten.

And I’m grateful. Because, more often than not, we are the sleepy, forgetful and faithless disciples. We misunderstand or mock mystery. And we downplay the importance of becoming this shining, this radiance and this glory ourselves.

So often we have reduced faith to cognitive thinking, right ways of belief, and rationalization. We try to put Christ and, for that matter, Moses and Elijah in boxes that we can understand, grasp, contain or throw away. We eschew the mystery of this shining and keep it locked in the story of Christ. And this is true particularly in the life of the Uniting Church. We often forgo if not become completely fearful of these moments of wonder and awe, becoming skeptical and avoidant of embodying glory ourselves. We have overcorrected in response to some churches who manipulate moments of mystery for control by throwing it out altogether instead of letting our thinking and our feeling, our rationalizing and our transfiguring, what we can understand and what we can’t explain transform one another. And yet, as it was for Moses and Elijah in their mountain top experiences, these moments of glory, of seeking and sitting in the presence of God’s incomprehensible glory, is the very thing that feeds us, strengthens us and sends us forth on the path towards exodus to become Christ’s hands and feet, Christ’s glory to this weary world.

Because the transfiguration was not meant to be understood. It was meant to be undergone. It was meant to invite us to embody this glory of Christ, to let this light radiate within us and through us for the life of the world. This is, after all, what we were made for. To become bodies made for exodus, for liberation and for radiance. And yet, without crafting our lives to this reality so that we might soak up this God-given glory, this mysterious moment of glimmering and shining, we will not be changed ourselves. Because here’s the truth about the Gospel and about the transfiguration. Christ did not come to change the world, Christ came to change our hearts. This is the answer in the face of a democracy in demise across the sea and the rise of despair, depression and disillusionment: to eat and to drink of Christ’s radiance, Christ’s light and Christ’s glory day by day in our own lives for the life of the world. For though this glory may endure great suffering, rejection and death, it will always rise, rise again.

And we do not take up this cross alone. We stand on the shoulders of those who drank in glory, lived it and breathed it from Sarah and Abraham, Ruth and Esther, Moses and Elijah, to Mary and Paul, so that we might continue the way, the story and the truth of exodus and liberation ourselves.

This is, after all, the starting point for any and every person who wants to follow Christ. To let the way of the gospel where the poor are blessed, the hungry are fed, the rich are cursed, and enemies are loved, enliven our bodies, transfigure our faces and change our hearts. Not just once in a glorious moment on a mountain top but today, tomorrow and forever through prayer and praise, repentance and reconciliation, drinking the wine and eating the bread of this radiance day by day. This the way of exodus. This the way of liberation. This the way of glory.

Because next week, we’re going to be entering the season of Lent. A time of letting go and laying down the idols and empires that tempt and taunt us. We’re going to enter into the desert, in all of the ways it will challenge us and try us.

But we do not go depleted or deprived. We go in the wisdom that our hearts and even our physical appearances will be transfigured and transformed. We go willing to encounter the face and the voice of the living God on mountain tops and mundane moments. And we go on the shoulders of those who have gone before us, who have wandered the dry land, and the deserts of diaspora. We go with Moses and Elijah who knew what it was to be led up a mountain, to bask in the presence of God and to take this glory with them to light the path of exodus, of liberation into the world around them. We go as people of transfiguration. We go as people of exodus. We go as people of glory.

So bask in this memory, this mystery on a mountain. And listen to the voice of the one who is beckoning you towards exodus, the liberation of a God who saves us by changing us.