The text of a sermon preached at Guildford Cathedral at the Eucharist 11th February. Having seen the film Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri I couldn't get the character of Mildred and her community out of my mind. A film that leaves you reeling yet also asking deeper questions about grief, guilt, blame and the possibility of redemption.
So as I thought about today's pre-Lenten focus on transfiguration, I was drawn to those small signs of hope and the promise of forgiveness; the things which press upon us, within and without; the way in which we can all reach out for grace.
I am particularly indebted to my dear friend Brett who re-posting something on Facebook recently in which he articulates precisely that motivation for ministry/life which hold on to the reality of being held in God's loving gaze; where hope remains possible. The texts were 2 Kings 2:1-12, 2 Corinthians 4:3-6 and Mark 9:2-9
He was transfigured before them.
To be transfigured means to be changed. We glimpse it, perhaps, in a smile; in that spontaneous, unselfconscious moment when familiar features become more beautiful.
A face is transfigured, revealing inner joy or tenderness or amusement. It’s radiant.
And perhaps such a smile is most welcome in response to good news; an expression of relief.
Most unexpected in the midst of grief when you remember a seemingly trivial or hilarious moment.
Most reassuring when you don’t know what the future holds; when circumstances are bewildering. When a smile says, you’re not alone; you’re beloved.
Sister-selfie... holiday smiles!
Transfiguration: a moment when our hearts desire is met; when our identity is made known; when the reassurance we need it expressed. It's something true and longed for; something real yet ungraspable.
Today, on the cusp of Lent, we are caught up in the moment of our Lord’s transfiguration. As we turn towards a season of preparation and penitence we share with the disciples this vision which points us to who Jesus is. God’s Son. The Beloved.
He was transfigured before them.
The Oscar nominated film Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri seems to convey more disfigurement than transfiguration; but perhaps it conveys the urgency of the Gospel itself. In the midst of intolerable grief, the grace we need comes from one who is God with us. For humanity alone cannot save or heal.
Will Gompertz describes Mildred Hayes, as ‘a furious, intelligent, grieving, middle-aged mother with the nihilistic courage of someone for whom consequences are inconsequential. She's numb on the outside and dead within’.
The circumstances of her daughter’s death, elicits sympathy; yet her own actions test compassion and understanding to the limit.
The setting of a small town in southern America, magnifies prejudice, indifference and grief. It’s provocative and deeply uncomfortable; life is raw and the humour has a jagged edge. Every time this complex narrative turns towards a moment of redemption or hope, we are spun back into a vortex of pain.
Yet we listen for echoes of love to drive out the rage.
Those three billboards cry out, why? Why such pain? Why no answer? Why?
Three billboards mirroring the cry of three crosses: cries of guilt and sorrow; brokenness and longing; and a God who says, I too take up this cross. Walk with you. Cry with you. Break with you.
Forgiving; healing; holding.
Loving us to the grave and back.
He was transfigured before them.
Peter, James and John experience this dazzling light six days after Jesus has told them of his death and resurrection. Six days after Peter has declared that Jesus is the Messiah.
Their expectations about what this meant had been turned upside down. For six days they’d struggled to make sense of Jesus’ words about taking up the cross. What sort of Kingdom was this - of God’s power expressed in human weakness?
It is in the midst of their own confusion and struggle that they see the radiant glory of God in the familiar face of Jesus.
The one who is flesh of our flesh embodies the fullness of God’s glory. He is the one who fulfils the law of love given to God’s people through Moses; he is the one who fulfils the message of justice proclaimed by Elijah and the prophets.
The light is bewildering yet they want to cling on to this moment. Instead they are told to listen. To listen to the one who is God’s Son, the Beloved.
Listen.
Listen to the one who calls us.
Listen to the one who has brought healing and restored relationships; who forgives and invites us to follow in his steps. Listen to the one who commands us to take rest and who calls us his brothers and sisters; to the one who says, when storms rage within and without, ‘Peace! Be still!’.
He was transfigured before them.
Transfigured before us in order that we might glimpse the majesty of God’s Son before he suffered death. But today’s collect continues as we pray for grace to perceive that glory - in order that we might be strengthened in our suffering; in order that we too might be changed. Changed into his likeness.
Walking this journey of faith and working out our calling in the complexity of our lives can be hard. There are moments when we like Elisha when we fear the loss of one who’s been a mentor, inspiration and friend. He does not want to leave Elijah’s side. He walks with his master until he his taken up to heaven.
How often, for us, does grief and letting go feel like the controllable force of a whirlwind; the chasm of death disruptive as a chariot of fire. We feel torn in two; and yet the promise of God’s Spirit is our legacy and our strength; the power which transfigures our sorrows into a capacity to be with others; for our lives to bear the fruit that God wills.
He was transfigured before them.
Icon of the Transfiguration: Alexander Ainetdinov
He was transfigured in the midst of all that dazzles, terrifies and overshadows. Then we, like the disciples, know the nearness of Jesus. Jesus alone. The beloved Son of God. We are to listen to him in the painful and the joyous; in the mundane and the fulfilling we are to reflect something of the light of God.
Paul knew how easily the light of the good news could be masked - or veiled - by our human attraction to wealth or status; or by the bruising effects of those forces beyond our control. And yet, he still boldly proclaims: that ‘it is the God who said, “Let light shine our of darkness”, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ’.
The truth of that light transfigures our world.
This world of finite resources, of rising inequality and political difference can be infused with light.
When we affirm the dignity and worth of others; when we consume less and seek what is just; allow God’s love to bend our wills towards goodness. It is to look on others with a loving gaze which not only transfigures our human faces but which also reflects the gaze of God.
A dear friend and wise priest expressed the call to discipleship and ministry as springing from the conviction that: each human being is the product and object of an infinite loving regard in which they are held. That forgiveness is an ever present possibility. That grace is imbued as a possibility in every passing second.
Life is transfigured through God’s Spirit at work in us when we love. When that love is expressed in words and deeds; in our silence and being present with others.
The truth of that light transfigures us.
Even when life is disfigured as dark clouds gather, overshadowing us; when anxiety, fear or pain leaves paralyses us; when adrenaline surges and our breathing quickens; when depression and grief leave us alone with our thoughts, our unanswered questions and our hidden battles.
Even then it is transfigured: when we take courage in our weakness, we find new strength. When we are brave enough to speak; and brave enough to listen. When we are alone with Jesus, God with us.
He is transfigured before us: when we open our hands.
When we reach out to take bread, a body broken for us; when we taste wine, blood shed for us; when we receive a blessing, love holding on to us.
May we who are partakers at his table, reflect his life in word and deed, that all the world may know his power to change and save.
© Julie Gittoes 2018
