Sunday before Lent 2012 Breathing Space
Today’s Gospel story, the
story of the Transfiguration is always read on this Sunday in the year. It is
the last Sunday before Lent begins. For the next six weeks or so, the Church’s
mood is reflective and penitential – a time when we let ourselves become aware
of what needs to change in us and in the world. Jesus turns his face towards
Jerusalem, but just before he does so his followers have this vision of glory. It
is the calm before the storm, the glimpse of heaven before the horror of the
abyss. But we might very reasonably ask what good it is does. When Jesus hangs
on the cross what difference will it make to Peter, James and John to have seen
this?
The answer to that question is,
apparently, none at all. It certainly doesn’t seem to have any effect on the
way they respond. They all run and hide. They are in despair. It is not until
after the resurrection that they talk about this episode, that it starts to
make any sense to them. It doesn’t sustain them through the tough times at all
– they don’t even mention it. When they most need it seems to have been wiped
from their memories.
So what is the point of it at
all? It doesn’t even seem to advance the plot.
To understand this tale we have
to remember is that Mark isn’t just telling a story in his Gospel. He is
telling a story for a particular group of people in a particular setting at a
particular moment. The Gospels are not like books we might buy from a bookshop
now, written for anyone to read, aimed at anyone who is prepared to pay for them,
an unknown audience. They are very specific messages for very specific people.
Mark knew the community or communities for which he was writing – he may have
even been part of them – and that shaped what he said and how he said it. So
when we hear the stories of the Gospel, we are hearing a story within a story.
We shouldn’t just imagine the people and events that are described in them –
Peter, James and John - we should also imagine that first audience sitting
listening to them.
Let’s imagine that they are
here with us too – sitting in these empty seats, an invisible congregation.
They are living in the late 60’s AD, against a backdrop of considerable chaos
and suffering. Some of them were originally Jewish, but now they are being
expelled from the synagogues and from the communities they have grown up in.
It’s a time of great tension for Judaism. Rebellions against Roman rule are
breaking out, which will eventually lead to the destruction of Jerusalem in AD
70. Boundaries around the faith are being drawn ever more tightly, and these
Jewish Christians are now beyond the pale. Others in this audience have Gentile
backgrounds, but their lives are no easier. Under the Emperor Nero Christians
are being persecuted. He blames them for the great fire of Rome in AD64 and
many are being arrested and killed, burned alive to light up his evening
entertainments. It is dangerous being a Christian. All the time our invisible
audience is thinking “is it worth it?” “Am I risking my life, my family, my
future for a lie?” They probably don’t feel noble or heroic, just confused and
uncertain, mired in the squalor of fear. They easily forget what it was that
drew them to this faith in the first place, and often feel like turning their
backs on it.
So Mark tells them this
story, a story about people who also felt like that – Peter, James and John –
the first leaders of their church, so they will know they aren’t alone in that.
When they saw Jesus arrested and killed, it made no sense to them, despite the
fact that they had also seen the glory of God, not just in this vision on the
mountaintop but also as Jesus had healed and taught. They had seen his love and
his power, but still they fled in the opposite direction as fast as their legs
would carry them when things started to go wrong, and felt that it had all been
a waste. Only later, when they experienced the risen Christ did they start to
see things in a new light. They discovered that death and disgrace don’t have
the last word. They just seem to because they shout so loud.
We may not suffer the kind of
persecution those early Christians suffered, but my guess is that all of us
sometimes ask their questions when we struggle. “Is it worth me trying to
act with integrity in a world which often seems to prefer to reward dodgy
dealing and selfishness? Is it worth me trying to bring reconciliation between
those who are at loggerheads? Is it worth me putting myself in the firing line,
when I’ll probably get no thanks for it? Is it worth me trying to build up my
community when the vast majority of people would rather just slump in front of
the telly?”
Doing right doesn’t always
feel right, but it always is right, and this story reminds us that though pain
and sorrow have the loudest voices, they do not always tell the truth. It is
God whose truth we really need to hear: “this is my Son, the Beloved; listen to
him.” In the silence tonight, let’s ponder the times when we have found it hard
to know that, and pray for those who may be struggling to hear it today. Amen
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