Matthew 17:1-9
Pay Close Attention
Every sermon must have a starting point, so let’s begin this sermon like this. A
week and a half ago, I was taking a walk, and a few blocks from my house I saw
five deer where I had never seen deer before. And when I came to where the street
curved, I could see and hear what had rousted these animals from their natural
habitat. Below me was a bulldozer clearing a roadway along the bottom-land of
the Leon River. You’ve seen that development off Main Street this side of the
bridge, haven’t you; and now they are extending the development eastwards,
cutting down trees and leveling the earth for streets and homesites. It’s called
progress. Sometimes we like it and sometimes we complain about it; sometimes
we fight for it and sometimes against it. Progress is going to happen, and it needs
to happen, but we should be careful how we go about it. How many places in the
world have been destroyed and how many millions of native peoples have been
overrun or displaced in the name of progress? Think about what our own nation
did to the Native-Americans- progress with that inspiring, and deadly, name,
“Manifest Destiny.” Read what Europe and the U.S. did in the Middle East at the
end of World War I, creating nations where there were none before, and drawing
arbitrary borders in order to gain easier access to the oil fields of that region. Look
what is happening even now in Africa, as western nations grab for Nigeria’s
petroleum reserves, or as the modern world searches the Republic of the Congo for
the rare minerals and metals that make our phones smart. There are many
examples of progress run amok.
Progress should be a journey we take one step at a time, like walking the
labyrinth, and trying to understand the complications that come with change.
Progress is almost irresistible, but we must take the time to consider what things
we may break as we move forward. Progress may employ the bulldozer, but
nevertheless, it should be a slow, cautious advance.
Like last week’s sermon text, which gave us Peter’s confession and Jesus’
prediction of his suffering and death in Jerusalem, this passage also can be
symbolized by the labyrinth. Here are the three disciples on a mountaintop
experience with Jesus, as though they have found the center of the labyrinth where
all is calm and blissful, and they can rest. “Lord, let’s build three booths,” Peter
says. In other words, what could possibly be better than this, above the noise and
confusion and pain and persecution, “Let’s stay right here”? Enough with the
obstacles and the uncertain twists and turns of life. Here is where we want to be,
the place we want to drive straight to, past the troubles and problems and questions
of human existence. “Let’s just stay here.” No more emotional or spiritual
progress one step at a time, but the quick-fix- the spiritual equivalent to the
bulldozer, a smooth and straight road to the top of the mountain. Is that how we
want our religious life to be, how we want our relationships with others to be, and
our relationship with God? Maybe so, but we know it’s impossible, we know that
relationships are always messy, they are hard work; and the paths of our life are
always crooked and dangerous. There is no way we can simply stay here. Our
lives and our relationships also require slow, steady progress.
So, we must continue on, no paved roads, no industrial machinery; there are
no shortcuts, no easy answers, it’s just us with the Lord. Oh, but we could be very
comfortable in this place, up on the mountaintop with Jesus, or in this sanctuary
with our friends; or, if we must move at all, then on the path of our own choosinga level road- where we can think we’re doing just fine, “Hey, let’s build a
tabernacle (that’s what that word in verse 4 means, the word translated “booth” or
“tent”) to celebrate our kind of religion.” But the voice that speaks out of the cloud
says, “Listen to him.” Listen to him. Pay close attention to Jesus: that is the
command of the voice. And so, Jesus comes, reaches out, the scripture says, and
tells us to get up, and walk, and face the road that goes ever onward, without fear.
So here, once again, is Peter, in the middle of everything and giving the
wrong answer: just like last week, when he said to Jesus, “There’s no way I’ll let
you suffer”; and like that night of betrayal, when he declared, “I’ll never desert
you!” Here he is willing to do the labor, “I’ll build the tabernacles,” he proclaims,
but he isn’t willing to have his attitudes changed, not ready to have his heart
altered and softened. But look, the voice has a different purpose than tabernacles
for Peter and James and John, “Listen to him.” And Jesus has a different work for
them to do, “Get up and learn not to be afraid.” We know they still have much to
learn, because the voice speaks and they grovel on the ground in terror; we know
they don’t have Jesus figured out yet, because Jesus tells them to keep quiet about
this incident until he is raised up. They have miles to go before they can rest, and
so, they can’t stay here.
If we are paying attention, surely we can see ourselves in this story, speaking
too soon, volunteering without knowledge; too certain of our insights and
experiences, thinking how we may be a little farther along than other people, we’ve
been to that holy place with Jesus and seen his glory. But that’s only part of it. He
is not only glorious and majestic, he still must suffer; he still has to lead us down
the mountain. Yes, we may have seen or felt his power and goodness, but we still
have our personal paths to walk. We cannot abide by the mountaintop experience
alone: the Lord’s call takes us forward, down the twisting mountain paths, away
from the grandeur and exalted spiritual feelings, and back among the noisy and
hurting people.
Difficult paths, sometimes, but also joyous ones. This scripture may tear at
our simple hopes and simple faith, but it is also a promise. This voice that creates
such dread- not because it is a formless voice that speaks, but because the words
are so demanding, “Listen to him!” And in that moment of terror and loss and
doubt, Jesus comes and assures, touches us and says, “Don’t be afraid.” Even his
command, “Get up!” is a comfort, as we realize we are not alone. There are other
disciples with us: on the road there will always be others with us, and we can bless
one another. And the Lord will lead us.
Imagine you woke up one morning, trembling from a bad dream, and wondering if
everything you once were sure of was now wrong: your ideas about religion, and
your country, and about the ways of the world, the way the solar system works.
Wouldn’t you feel cut off and drifting, nothing solid beneath you, afraid and alone?
Here are Peter and James and John becoming conscious after hearing that voice in
the cloud, and seeing Moses and Elijah gone. The law-giver, who was there just a
moment earlier, vanished; the great prophet, disappeared. So much of their faith
and worldview now disrupted, because the voice has directed them to someone
else, and a different kind of Lord: he’s the one who still was there.
At least, that’s reassuring, isn’t it, that we aren’t alone? But we mustn’t take
him for granted- maybe he is staying with us, but he’s not staying here- we still
must follow; and we have so much to learn about him. The thing is, even with
Moses and Elijah gone, our heroes gone, so many of our perceptions that have
proven false, even so, we may be afraid to leave that holy place- we would rather
keep believing what we’ve always believed, but now it would just be pretending.
But progress- the forward movement of our faith- will not permit faking it. No
tabernacles in the air. Progress is the voice that commands, “Listen to him.” And
what does he say? that we must get up, and go down with him, take the road with
him that is hard and painful, because that’s the way the world is; but sometimes, it
is a road for singing and laughing, too, because we will not be alone; the road is
filled with other seekers, and the Lord walks with us.