Last Epiphany (B)

(St. Mark's and St. James')

The man whispered, “God, speak to me.”And a meadowlark sang. But the man did not hear.
So the man yelled, “God, speak to me!”Thunder rolled across the sky. But the man did not listen.
The man looked around and said, “God, let me see you.”A star shone brightly. But he noticed it not.
And the man shouted, “God, show me a miracle.”And a life was born. But the man was unaware.
So, the man cried out in despair, “Touch me, God, and let me know that you are here!”
Whereupon God reached down and touched the man.But the man brushed the butterfly away and walked on.

I don’t know about you, but there have been times in my life that I’ve felt just like that. I wanted God to make himself real to me. I wanted to see him. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to FEEL his presence in my life. I wanted to know that he was real. That poem really spoke to me, though, and I realized that I was trying to determine how God revealed himself—I wanted things to be neat and tidy and plain. And God doesn’t work that way very often. Well, almost never. And I’ve come to perceive God in my life, by the transformation of my life and the lives of those around me. I find him by listening to him, by reading the scriptures, and by being open to his revealing himself in whatever manner he chooses.

I think Elijah had the same kind of experience, wanting God to reveal himself in some tangible way. He was fleeing for his life, hiding in a cave, and God came to him on the mountain. God told him to go out of the cave and stand on the side of the mountain, and the Lord would pass by. First of all, there was a great and mighty wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces. Now that’s some kind of wind, more of a hurricane, and then some!! That’s the kind of wind that would express God!! At the beginning of the creation story, a wind from God swept over the waters (Gen 1:2). And after the flood, God made a wind blow over the earth and the waters subsided (Gen. 8:1). During the plagues in Egypt which preceded the Exodus, God’s wind brought the Locusts, and then later drove them away (Ex 10). And it was wind sent by God that made the Red Sea part, so the Israelites could pass over on dry land. God creates wind, but he is not in the wind, even one powerful enough to split mountains and break rocks.

Then there was an earthquake and a fire. When God called Moses he spoke out of the flames of a burning bush. When Moses brought the people to God on Mt. Sinai, the Mountain was wrapped in smoke, because the LORD had descended upon it in fire; the smoke went up like the smoke of a kiln, while the whole mountain shook violently. (Ex. 19:18). Later, the presence of the Glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain (Ex 24:17). God appeared in the fire of his own glory, and he spoke out of the fire, but he was not the fire. He was not the earthquake. For Elijah, the Lord was not in the fire, not in the earthquake, but in a still, small voice, a low whisper. Not at all what Elijah expected, probably not even what he wanted. After all, God had made himself known the Israelites and to Moses in fire and earthquake. But God revealed himself to Elijah in quiet and stillness. And then Elijah knew that he was in God’s presence in the silence, and he covered his face.

Likewise for us. God is rarely found today in great and mighty manifestations. We don’t expect to find him in mighty wind, or in fire, or in earthquakes. We find him in the stillness of our hearts. We find him in worship. We find him revealed in people around us. And we find him in Jesus.

I would think that when Peter and James and John saw Jesus transfigured before them, with clothing glowing whiter than white and a great and mighty voice saying, “This is my son, my beloved,” they would have been convinced. God’s voice out of the cloud of glory probably would have been enough to convince me!! But they were afraid, they didn’t understand. And they were told to keep this whole experience a secret.

So why were they witnesses of this great event?

In our Journey through Epiphany we’ve just made it through the first chapter of the Gospel according to St. Mark, and now we jump way ahead to chapter 9. In chapter 8, Jesus asked the disciples who they thought he was, and Peter rightly answered that he was the Messiah. But when Jesus began to explain to them that he would have to suffer and be killed, and then rise again, Peter rebuked him, and the others I’m sure felt the same way. This isn’t how the program should go for the Messiah, the promised one. Jesus continued with some teaching: if any would come after me, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me. Familiar words to us, right? And 6 days later he took Peter and James and John, his inner circle, his closest companions, up on the mountain with him. For these 3 disciples, this must have been powerful affirmation that Jesus was truly the messiah, though they still were greatly troubled that he would have to suffer and die. Their recollection of this experience would have meaning only in light of the whole of Christ’s life, death and resurrection.

Because it is only through the life, suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus that we can comprehend that he is the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God. Without his death and resurrection he is just a rabbi. But by his death he overcame death, and by his resurrection he gave us new life, and the true hope of eternal life to come.

When God spoke out of the cloud, he said, “this is my Son, the beloved. Listen to him!!” And that is how we find God. We listen to his Son. We listen to the words of the Scriptures. We listen to the stillness in our hearts when we are in prayer. And in those days, to listen, to hear also implied obedience. We find God when we listen to him and when we act accordingly.

This is my Beloved Son; Listen to him.—Take these words into your imagination. Let them run freely over time and space. Consider how many occasions there are when the words “This is my beloved Son; listen to him” have been and are the supreme wisdom. When a life looks out on the world in the early years, when it is choosing its goals and its way, its ambitions and aspirations, then listen to him who rejected the proffered kingdoms of this world for the larger kingdom of God. When life goes into eclipse, when darkness covers the face of the sun, in sorrow and failure and despair, then listen to him who was a man of sorrows, and whose revelation of God brings the sustaining word of comfort and the enabling word of hope. When life waxes in might and gathers power or riches, when the siren voices of self-indulgence are sounding, then listen to him who can save life from going to pieces. So, too, at every turning point of human history, as the nations stand choosing between life and death. This is my beloved Son; listen to him, whose way . . . is the only way of survival.[1]

This is my beloved Son, listen to him! Listen to Him. Listen to the Silence, to the Morning Star rising in your heart. Listen and Know that He is God. Amen.



[1] The Interpreter’s Bible, Volume VII. New York: Abingdon Press, 1951, pg 777ff.