Occasional Sermons

Many years ago, so many that it almost feels like a lifetime ago, my father and I -- possessed of similar temperaments and interests -- decided we’d ride our bikes to the Mississippi River. From our house that was a distance of about 125 miles, so we decided to do it in two days. We set out on a fine spring morning at the crack of dawn. As the hours passed and the day unfolded, for some reason I felt tireless. Even more, I felt superhuman. “How are you holding up?” my father asked me. “I feel really strong,” I replied. “That’s because there’s a thirty mile an hour wind at our backs,” he said. “Oh,” I said, with new found humility. It didn’t take the wind out of my sails though. How could it? A thirty mile an hour wind at your back is to a cyclist what a hole in one is to a golfer. At the halfway mark my dad said, “Let’s go on. We can make the whole distance fairly easily in these conditions.” And he was right. We approached the Mighty Mississippi just as the sun was setting in the west behind it. It was a glorious sight -- the perfect end to a perfect ride. It was just one of those magical moments, made all the more magical for having shared it with my father whom I idolized. “I wish it could always be like this!” I exclaimed. “Better,” he said, “just to honor moments like this.” It’s funny how some remarks that are made in passing stay with us the rest of our lives. It’s almost as if they lie dormant until we reach that stage in life where we can make right sense of them. Then they spring to life again. As life caught up with me, I discerned that what my father was trying to convey in that remark was that, despite my wish, in fact it was not always going to be like this. That’s not how life is. Don’t wish for what can’t be. In other words, what my father was trying to convey is that we have to take the good with the bad. My father was right of course. I’ve come to understand and affirm his words. But I’d wager you’ve had moments in your life where you, like me, thought, “I wish it could always be like this.” And so we must not fault Peter for having a similar reaction. Things between Peter and Jesus had become a bit rocky. They had had a misunderstanding. But maybe that’s putting it too lightly. They had had a blowout, a major blowout. And Peter did not even understand why. Things had been right on course between the two of them. Jesus had established Peter as his right hand man, and Peter relished the role. He knew himself to be a man of decision, a man of action. He was gratified that someone recognized it. But then Jesus turned on him, out of the blue, attacked and upbraided him before everyone. They had been conversing like always. “Who do people say that I am?” Jesus asked his disciples. “Some say John the Baptist,” they responded. John the Baptist, of course, had just been executed. Maybe, some fashioned, he was raised from the dead. “Others say Elijah,” they responded. Elijah, of course, never died. He ascended to heaven in a chariot of fire. Maybe, some fashioned, he had returned. “Others,” they responded, “say one of the prophets of old.” The disciples knew that none of these responses were right. They knew who Jesus wasn’t. But did they, Jesus wondered, know who he was? Peter declared, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” They knew. At least one among them knew. In response Jesus declared, “Blessed are you Simon, son of Jonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter and on this rock I built my church.” Peter could not have been more gratified. This is the kind of recognition that some people need, and Peter was that kind of person. But Jesus and Peter had in fact been at complete cross purposes. Jesus affirmed Peter not to coddle his need, but to underscore how gratified he himself was that faith had led Peter to the right conclusion about Jesus’ true identity. Now Jesus could impart to them the fullness of it; impart to them the hard part. He went on to impart to them that as the messiah, as the son of God, he had come to die. Peter was utterly flabbergasted. He couldn’t begin to conceive of such a thing. It was wrong on every level. It made no sense of everything Jesus had ever said and done. Jesus had come to inaugurate the Kingdom of God. How could he inaugurate it if he were dead? What’s more, Peter loved Jesus as his master and friend. They were soon to part? He had come to die? And so he burst out, “Lord this must never happen to you!” It was then Jesus sprang on him, tore off his hide. “Get behind me, Satan. You are a stumbling block to me. You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” This strange prediction of his death and now this enraged attack? Yes, to say the least, things had gotten off course between the two of them. They went on from there, but Peter was not at ease. He was in fact deeply troubled in. It takes a while to get over these kinds of things, as we ourselves know from when we have been subjected to anger or unkindness. Bruises take time to heal. About a week later, Jesus took Peter and James and John to a high mountain, and suddenly Jesus was transfigured -- his face shone like the sun, his clothes became dazzling white. Moses and Elijah, both of whom God had once met on mountaintops, appeared at his sides. There they stood together -- three towering figures of the faith. And suddenly, for Peter, it was all better-- the strange prediction and the enraged attack. Jesus was not going to die. It was just one of the many incomprehensible things he said. And his flare of temper, just another of them. Jesus was one of the towering figures of the faith. He stood at their center receiving special divine validation. Everything was going to be fine. Not only were things now on the right course between the two of them, but they together were on God’s course. Peter, like me and perhaps like you, wished it could always be like this. And so he made preparations that it always would, “I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He was after all a man of decision. It was indeed always going to be like this. The dwellings would render it permanent. But if Peter had a week earlier received a staggering blow from Jesus, Peter was about to receive the blow of his life. A voice from heaven overshadowed him. “This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him!” “Listen to him?” Peter fell on his face. It wasn’t always going to be like this. Jesus was indeed going to die just as he had declared. His rage at Peter was to make clear to him that he had to accept that. And yet, and yet, Peter late in life, shortly before his martyrdom, made a final testament. He made witness to that time on the mountaintop: “ For when he received honor and glory from God the Father, and the voice was borne to him by the Majestic Glory, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,’ we ourselves heard this very voice borne from heaven, for we were with him on the holy mountain.” Peter’s words make clear that he had come to understood that though things would not always be as he wished, that he had come to understand that he had to take the bad with the good. He had come to understand that he should simply honor moments like that one. Moments like that one had clearly sustained his faith. And this has essential application to our own faith lives. We have all had times on the mountaintop, maybe not as dramatic but we all have them nonetheless --those times but we experience God’s truth with sudden clarity. It could be when we sense the hand of providence in our lives. It could be when a prayer is answered. It could be when we encounter a coincidence that we know is not really a coincidence. It could be when God’s cause triumphs in history. It could be when we have experienced the peace that passes understanding. Whatever it is, we have all been transfigured by God’s truth. And we might be tempted to wish it could always be that way. But it can’t be. That’s not how life is. We have to take the bad with the good. We need to come to terms with the conditions of our existence and those conditions are that much of our lives are lived are not lived on the mountaintop. They are lived in mundanity. They are lived in disappointment. They are lived in tragedy. They are lived in the coming to terms with our mortality. So we should honor our times at the mountaintop. Not only because it reflects the conditions of our existence, but because our times at the mountaintop are the means to sustain our faith our whole lives long. If we do not honor our times at the mountaintop, when we leave the mountaintops for our sojourns in the wilderness, we run the risk of losing track of them altogether, and so losing our way in the wilderness. But if we do honor our times at the mountaintop, like Peter we will come to our end of our lives making our final testaments to those who will come after us, and fully ready and eager ourselves to cross over the Jordan River to the Promised Land. Amen.