Last Sunday after the Epiphany – Mark S. Winward
Today, Christians throughout the world observe the Last Sunday after the Epiphany. The word epiphany comes from Greek, meaning a manifestation or appearance. In classical Greek it was used for the appearance of dawn, of an enemy in war, but especially for a manifestation of a deity to a worshiper – a theophany. In the New Testament, the word is used in 2 Timothy 1:10 to refer either to the birth of Christ or to his appearance after the resurrection, and five times to refer to his Second Coming. As the Church year unfolds the life of Christ, the Revised Common Lectionary – the cycle of readings observed in many churches – reveals in the Gospels the mystery of who Jesus really is. The Gospels record the confusion among the people as to whether Jesus was a prophet, a madman, or the Messiah – or perhaps something even more. Consequently, on the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, we focus on the clearest revelation of Jesus’ identity in the Gospels outside of the resurrection, which we’ll celebrate on Easter. That event is what Christians remember as “the Transfiguration.”
The other Synoptic Gospels – namely Matthew and Luke – recount this same story but tell us that while this was happening, the disciples had fallen asleep, only to wake up at the end. So, the disciples were apparently unaware of the extraordinary transformation taking place right in front of them, and they almost missed witnessing a miraculous movement of God that would touch their lives forever. But we really don’t have the right to cast much blame on the disciples. Often, we’re so personally enclosed within our own little world that we lose sight of the bigger picture. How many times are we preoccupied with our own issues to the exclusion of everything else? We become prisoners of our own world of trivialities rather than opening our eyes to God’s movement in our midst.
I wonder what would’ve happened to the disciples had they opened their eyes earlier to what was occurring around them. But you see, it was much easier for them to sleep through these momentous events rather than be transformed in a profound way. Still, they were clearly touched by these events, and their own transformation had begun – because for the first time the blinders had been removed and they clearly witnessed Jesus’ glory. There could be no doubt in their minds that they had encountered God. Their hearts and lives could never be the same. But let’s face it – the prospect of transformation can be frightening to us, primarily because it involves something to which we have a basic aversion: change.
We can draw several important conclusions both from the disciples’ account of the Transfiguration and from Moses on Mount Sinai. First and foremost, it’s impossible for us to have a genuine encounter with God and not somehow be changed. Remember when Moses came down from Mount Sinai? After standing in the presence of God, he was changed. Like the glowing of a hot poker exposed to a raging flame, the Book of Exodus recounts how, after his encounter with God on Mount Sinai, Moses’ face shone. God’s glory on that mountain was so profound that even its mere reflection on Moses’ face was enough to terrify the people. Moses’ life, like that of the disciples on the Mount of Transfiguration, could never be the same after beholding the glory of the Lord. Likewise, when we truly open our hearts to God’s glory, we can never be the same.
Second, such an encounter is usually a fearful thing. Like Moses on Mount Sinai before the glory of the Lord, today’s Gospel tells us the disciples were terrified when the shadow of the Lord surrounded them. The writer of Proverbs tells us, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” I would propose to you that this verse is the key to understanding the Old Testament. The fear of God isn’t merely fright, but the contemplation of our insignificance in the presence of the Creator – and our significance in that He might be mindful of us. Perhaps this is because when we stand before the presence of the Lord, we stand powerless before something over which we’ve absolutely no control. We don’t encounter God in order to change God; God reveals Himself to us in order to change us. And in conforming to His will – like Moses and the disciples – we become somehow more than we could ever be on our own.
Finally, God always reveals Himself to us for a special purpose. Keep in mind, nowhere in the text does it imply that the miraculous glorification of Jesus was consoling for the disciples – any more than it was for the people of Israel when Moses came down from the mountain. I challenge you to find an account of any direct encounter with the glory of the Lord in Scripture where the purpose was to console. Rather, any genuine encounter with Almighty God was unsettling and disruptive to the witnesses’ lives. That is because, in every case where God reveals Himself in the Bible, He prompts those He has called to bear witness to His truth – regardless of the personal cost.
So, any real encounter with God means change. God reveals Himself to transform us into something greater than ourselves. God reveals Himself to call us to His special purposes. Encountering God’s transforming power isn’t just the stuff of saints and prophets. Rather, God has a plan for each one of us that can transform our day-to-day existence beyond mere survival into abundant life – if we’ll only wake up and pay attention.
As Epiphany draws to a close today, this week we begin the Church’s penitential season of Lent on Ash Wednesday. Just as Epiphany is a time when we contemplate the revelation of Christ among us, Lent is a time of sober introspection about our sins as we prepare to walk the way of the cross, grasp the immensity of its meaning in our lives, and celebrate the hope found in Jesus’ resurrection. As a reminder of the weight of our sin and our personal need for Christ’s forgiveness, this Wednesday many Christians will accept the imposition of ashes on their foreheads – an act of repentance deeply rooted in the Old Testament. Then, throughout the next forty-six days of Lent, Christians historically and intentionally pay particular attention to God in their daily lives. I appreciate that for many people – as it once did for me – Lent conjures up memories of little Catholic kids giving up chocolate. But Lent is much more.
Lent is a time — sometimes of fasting, intentional prayer, and always repentance — when we reflect on how we’ve fallen short and listen for how God would like to work in our lives and use us for His purposes. Sometimes, as I said, that involves fasting — but not necessarily just from chocolate. For example, one year my family and I chose to curtail eating out, reduce our consumption to a subsistence diet, and donate the money we saved to feed those who are hungry. Today (after the 10:30 service), we will host representatives from the myriad community services Holy Family supports — through time, talent, or financial resources. Perhaps these are known to you only as names we pray for every Sunday. But this Lent is a special opportunity for you to engage them personally and perhaps share your own resources according to your physical and financial ability. But whatever you do, do it not to gain extra points with God, but as an act of worship — to better empathize with those less fortunate than ourselves and, in the process, make a small difference for those in need. However you choose to express your devotion to God during this season, it begins by seeking a change of heart.
One writer put it eloquently this way:
Fast from judging others; feast on Christ dwelling in them.
Fast from fear of illness; feast on the healing power of God.
Fast from words that pollute; feast on speech that purifies.
Fast from anger; feast on patience.
Fast from pessimism; feast on optimism.
Fast from negatives; feast on alternatives.
Fast from bitterness; feast on forgiveness.
Fast from self-concern; feast on compassion.
Fast from suspicion; feast on truth.
Fast from gossip; feast on purposeful silence.
Fast from problems that overwhelm; feast on prayer that sustains.
Fast from worry; feast on faith. May we, this Lent, open ourselves to a genuine encounter with God and find ourselves transformed – equipped to fulfill the special calling He has for each of us to manifest the Kingdom of God here and now. Amen.