This Wednesday, Feb.18 the Season of Lent begins and we Christians try to hunker down a bit (could we possibly get anymore hunkered down than we have been through these last four snowy weeks?) in order to prepare for the remembering of and the Holy Week reenactment of Christ’s death and glorious resurrection.
But before we go there (you know, Lenten prayer, repentance, almsgiving, self-denial) we celebrate with this mountaintop moment of Jesus and his cronies. It is a pretty wild moment with the out of the ordinary locale and the bright lights and the sudden, dreamy appearance of Jesus’ famous ancestors in the faith and the wacky response of his partners who want to literally hunker down and pitch a tent to stay in the peak-but-fleeting moment. It is such a wild moment that most of us find it hard to understand what it means to us and why we are invited to remember this story every year the Sunday before Lent.
Maybe it is a little bit like the Fat Tuesday Mardi Gras model of enjoying fabulous extravagance and over indulging before the somber season of Lent begins. Maybe we recall the Transfiguration so that we have this story of place and history to ground us before we join Jesus in the danger and uncertainty he carries forth as he sets his face to Jerusalem. Maybe we recollect it so that, as we step onto the increasingly darkening path towards the horror of the cross we have this reminder—of where Jesus comes from and whose he is—God’s beloved, in whom God is well pleased. Maybe we summon-up this story so that as we face the practice of Lenten austerity and self-discipline we have this marvelous, brilliant experience of Jesus transfigured into the Christ in glory.
Beloved, this wild story of Jesus and his spiritual ancestors and God’s presence inspires us—and it reveals the nature of God to us while at the same time helping us to recall those Christ-like, spiritual giants who have touched our hearts and lives in similar inspiring ways. Maybe that inspiration is enough to get us to step onto that oh-so-serious-but-never-quite-welcomed Lenten path. Maybe that inspiration is enough to hold us until the good news is recounted in the little Easters we will recall along the way each Sunday in Lent and in the Glory of Resurrection that will be.
The truth is, that wild moment on that mountaintop oh-so-long-ago was really just a foretaste and a stunning reminder of who Jesus already was and is. Madeline L’Engle’s poem entitled “Transfiguration” says it so much more beautifully (it is offered here below). May you find Jesus in her words and with that hope, be willing to join him on the way.
With blessing and prayer,
Rev. Wendy Miller Olapade
revwdmiller@comcast.net
Transfiguration
Suddenly they saw him
the way he was,
the way he really was
all the time,
although they had never
seen it before,
the glory which blinds
the everyday eye
and so becomes invisible.
This is how
he was, radiant, brilliant,
carrying joy
like a flaming sun
in his hands.
This is the way he was—is—
from the beginning,
and we cannot bear it.
So he manned himself,
came manifest to us;
and there on the mountain
they saw him, really saw him,
saw his light.
We all know that if we really
See him we die.
But isn’t that what is
required of us?
Then, perhaps, we will see
each other, too.
by Madeleine L’Engle
