When the Cloud Clears

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Mark 9:2-9

February 15, 2015 • Portage First UMC

Do you remember the first time you looked into a microscope? I’m told science teachers never get tired of watching students’ reactions the first time they do that. That moment when what once looked like a speck of dirt or a smear of goo on a glass slide all of a sudden becomes something entirely different when viewed through the microscope. What looked dull before suddenly becomes full of patterns, textures and life. The same is true when you look at the sky through a telescope. Those specks of light that most of us don’t pay much attention to become the fiery balls of light that they really are when you look closer, when the distance vanishes (cf. Wright, Mark for Everyone, pgs. 113-114). A whole new world emerges.

Something similar happened when our children were born. For months, we had imagined what they would look like and what they would be like. Way back then—you know, nearly twenty years ago—the ultrasounds were not nearly as clear as they are now, so you had to trust that the image they were pointing to on the screen really was a baby waiting to be born. And in that moment, when each of them emerged into this waiting world, life changed. We could see them clearly, we no longer had to guess what they would look like, and each time life was suddenly, gloriously different.

All of that mix of emotion is what I imagine happened inside three ordinary men who, after a walk up a mountain, got a glimpse of world much bigger and different than they had ever imagined. This morning, as we wrap up this short series on “Worship Matters,” we’re going with Peter, James and John to witness what is commonly known as the “transfiguration” of Jesus. And, in the midst of this story, we will find our true focus for worship, as well as an idea of why we do what we do when it comes to worship.

Six days before this, as Mark tells it, Jesus and the disciples had been in Caesarea Philippi, a place in the far north of Israel that, in those days, was the center of pagan worship. Today, there are many ruins there of various temples, including a huge cave that was once called “the gates of hell.” Caesarea Philippi was sort of a religious shopping mall, with one temple crammed in next to another. You could pick and choose which god to worship that day depending on what you needed. It was to that place, the place where every god was available, Jesus took his disciples and asked them who they believed him to be. Perhaps you remember the story. They first give him a variety of opinions, public opinion polls, and then he asks them directly: “Who do you say I am?” Peter is the only one brave enough to answer; he says, “You are the Messiah.” That was a loaded answer, because a lot of people had lots of ideas about who and what the Messiah was to be. Most believed he would be a military commander who would set up an earthly kingdom; for Peter to use the title “Messiah” in describing Jesus was a radical idea. You see, Jesus wasn’t doing the sort of things most people expected a Messiah to do. And, as if to drive that point home, Jesus next begins to tell them he will have to suffer and die. Peter, who just confessed his faith in Jesus, can’t handle that, so he tells Jesus, “Uh, no, you’ve got it wrong. That’s not what a Messiah does.” And Jesus tells him he doesn’t have the right lens. He’s not seeing clearly. He doesn’t understand what Jesus is up to after all (Mark 8:27-38).

So, six days later—I wonder if they talked about this at all during those six days? We’re not told, but six days later, they come to a mountain, and Jesus asks most of the disciples to stay behind while he, Peter, James and John go up to the top. Now, it does tend to be the case in Mark’s Gospel that, the greater the revelation or the bigger the truth that Jesus is going to share, the smaller the group who witness it (Garland, NIV Application Commentary: Mark, pg. 341-342). And these three disciples, whom some call the “inner circle” of the disciples, are the ones who are most often with Jesus when he’s about to reveal something big. Did they realize that? Were they “on tiptoe with anticipation” as they head up the mountain? That doesn’t seem to be the case, because when “it” happens, they seem completely unprepared.

Jesus takes these three up “a high mountain,” and when they get to the top, he is “transfigured.” The word there is “metamorphoo,” the basis of our word “metamorphosis” (cf. Card, Mark: The Gospel of Passion, pg. 115) He is changed; basically, as some have described it, Jesus’ true essence leaks out. These disciples get a glimpse of who he really is, and his clothes become dazzling white, “whiter than anyone in the world could bleach them” (9:2). Whenever I read that verse, I remember my first trip to the Holy Land, and how I was telling my Disciple class at the time I was concerned about having enough clothes. One of the members of that class suggested I could just take my suitcase up to the top of the Mount of Transfiguration, and then my clothes would be all cleaned up for me. Holy dry-cleaning! (I did not try that.) Not only do his clothes turn white, but Jesus has two visitors who are speaking with him, and somehow they know that these two are Moses and Elijah. Two men who represent the whole of the Old Testament: law and prophet. In Luke’s Gospel (9:31), we learn that they are speaking about what Jesus is about to do in Jerusalem, but here in Mark, we get no hint of the conversation. Instead, we get Peter’s reaction to the whole scene. “Rabbi,” he says, “it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters…” (9:5).

Now, Mark points out what a ridiculous thing this was for Peter to say. But why is it ridiculous? Why does Peter say what he does? There are a lot of possibilities. There has been much made of the fact that he wants to build “booths,” which were small, temporary shelters made out of leafy branches and used during the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles. These shelters were meant to remind the people of the temporary shelters their ancestors used when they escaped from slavery in Egypt (cf. Leviticus 23:39-43). Perhaps Peter is trying to tie this event into one of their big religious festivals. It’s also possible Peter sees the first glimpse of Jesus as a real Messiah here on the mountain, and he wants to set up the Messianic headquarters here on the mountain. The shelters would just be temporary until a bigger complex could be built. Or is he, perhaps, remembering another story, one where God tells Moses that no one can see God’s glory and live (cf. Exodus 33:20)? Is he remembering how Moses had to wear a veil after he had been in God’s presence in order to protect the people (Exodus 34:33-35)? Perhaps Peter is wanting to protect himself and his fellow disciples, though you have to wonder what good a small shelter built from leafy branches would be against the almighty power of God (cf. Garland 345).

Or, there’s another possibility. Perhaps Peter would just like to stay on the mountain. Maybe he just wants this moment, this holy and awesome moment, to never end. You probably know how Peter felt. Do you remember an event or a moment that you wished would never end? I remember a particular vacation several years ago that was so relaxing and restful that I wished it would never end. Or there have been moments when we’ve been with friends or family and things are just so good you wished it would never end. We’ve been to a few concerts where the music was so good that it was over long before we wanted it to be. But have you ever been to a worship service that you wished would never end? Most of the time, aren’t we checking our watches to see when it will be over? Or, for a lot of us, if there’s no bulletin so that we know what’s coming next, we get a bit anxious because we like to be able to “check off” the pieces and anticipate when it might be all over. I’ve heard it said we celebrate when the baseball game goes into extra innings but complain when worship runs over by ten minutes. Why is that? Why can’t we be more like Peter in this story? Because what he’s experiencing, despite his awkwardness, is a time of worship. And perhaps our difficulty in connecting with Peter’s experience is the focus that we have. We’re focused on getting through a service. But Peter’s focus was different. Mark tells us about it in the next couple of verses. Just as Peter gets done expressing his desire to start a building committee, a cloud envelops all of them. They hear a voice that instructs them to listen to Jesus, and then before they can blink their eyes, the cloud is gone and so are Moses and Elijah. In an instant, the only person standing before them is Jesus. Only Jesus. Their focus is clarified. Jesus is the object, the purpose and the point of their worship.

As he is or at least should be for us. The goal of worship is to draw near to Jesus. Worship is not about what “I get out of it” or getting goosebumps or enjoying the music or even liking the sermon. Now, I hope all of those things happen and that they happen on a regular basis (especially enjoying the sermon!). But those things will not have any lasting impact on our lives. The only one who has a lasting impact is Jesus. He who was transfigured is the only one who can transfigure us, who can transform us into his very own image. And so, everything we do in worship ought to help us either see or listen to Jesus more clearly, if we, like the disciples, are paying attention when the cloud clears.

So let’s spend just a few moments thinking about what we do in worship. We don’t go to the top of a mountain and we haven’t been invited to witness the living Lord transfigured like these three disciples were. And we don’t have a clear idea of what worship looked like for those disciples or the ones who came after them in the early church, except that, like this experience on the mountain, it focused on Jesus. But over the centuries, certain elements of worship have emerged, no matter what style you’re talking about, that are meant to work together to help us do what the voice from the cloud said to do: to listen to Jesus. The most obvious element of worship, no matter what sort of service you’re talking about, is music. Everyone tends to have an opinion about music, and whatever music they like is obviously the best. C. S. Lewis, the great twentieth century defender of the faith, said he hated the music of the church when he first became a Christian. He considered the hymns to be “fifth-rate poems set to sixth-rate music.” Today there are those who criticize what is called modern worship music as simply a string of religious-sounding words set to poor melodies. The more times change, the more they stay the same. But music has a way of touching the heart on a deeper level than the spoken words do. In our own tradition, John and Charles Wesley shared the gospel together. John did so through preaching, and Charles did so through music. Today, many more of Charles’ songs are remembered than John’s sermons. We take great care in each of our services here to match the music and the words to the theme of the day. Our hope in each of our worship times is that the music helps you to better see Jesus, to perhaps hear from him in a way the rest of the time you cannot. I remember many years ago, after a worship service which I was leading, someone came up to me and asked about my reaction to the offertory, the music played during the receiving of the offering. They said I had been slow to get up and continue the service after the song, and I agreed. The music had touched me in such a way that I wanted to linger there. I wanted to stay on the mountain. Music will do that for us; it can help us see Jesus. Even C. S. Lewis eventually realized that. After a time of reflection, he saw the merit of the music. He put it this way: “I realized that the hymns (which were just sixth-rate music) were, nevertheless, being sung with devotion and benefit by an old saint in elastic-side boots in the opposite pew, and then you realize that you aren’t fit to clean those boots. It gets you out of your solitary conceit.”

So does the time of offering. Now, I know—that’s most people’s least favorite time of the service. Over the years of ministry, I’ve had people tell me it’s an interruption to the time of worship, or that it’s a tax, or that we shouldn’t do that at all. Lots of people have lots of opinions about the offering! But, in reality, it’s none of those things. For one thing, the offering is a chance for us to share in the mission Jesus has given us. Together, we can do so much more than any of us can do apart. It’s an opportunity for us to also declare that money does not have a hold on us, that we are willing to give of what we have to God through the church and trust that God will direct its use in ways we couldn’t imagine. And, yes, the church has bills to be paid. Several years ago, someone called me on the phone and sort of chewed me out about why we took an offering and made pledges. Couldn’t we just give of our time and that be it? And I responded that I think we all should give of our time, but there are areas of life where that simply won’t work. NIPSCO, for instance, doesn’t take our time as payment for the lights and heat and air conditioning that we all enjoy and want. So we give to support the work and the ministry of the church. We give so that we have pastors and staff people who will guide and lead the ministry that happens here. But most of all, we give as an act of worship, a recognition that Jesus is Lord over all, including our checkbooks.

For Protestants, the Scripture and the sermon have, over the last many centuries, become the center piece of the worship service. And Scripture should be primary. As our our United Methodist Discipline puts it: “Scripture is the primary source and criterion for Christian doctrine” (2012, loc. 2368, Kindle version). Scripture is primary in whatever we do, in the decisions we make, in the way we live our lives. It is the written word of God which reveals the living Word of God, Jesus Christ. When I, as a pastor, stand here to proclaim the good news, the point is not to tell you something you can’t learn on your own. We have an untold amount of ways and means to study the Scriptures today, literally at our fingertips. My primary purpose in the sermon is to help shape us all as we journey together, to give vision and direction and purpose to our life together as Christians and followers of Jesus. I don’t preach as someone who knows more than anyone else; I preach because that’s my calling and I try to do it as a fellow traveler on this journey, to help us all understand God’s call on our lives. But if the Scripture and the sermon don’t help us all see Jesus more clearly, help clear away the cloud so that we see only Jesus, then I have not answered my calling fully, because that's always my prayer: that we will see Jesus.

There are two other practices in worship that we don’t do every week, but that are significant acts of worship. Those are, of course, baptism and communion. We call these acts “sacraments,” which is a fancy way of saying they are tangible acts we do that represents something going on inside of us. They are symbols, and there is nothing magical about either act. They are, however, both acts of worship that Jesus told us to do and that he, himself, participated in. You may remember that, when Jesus came to John the Baptizer and asked to be baptized, John protested. John was, after all, baptizing as a symbol of people’s repentance for their sins. Jesus was the sinless one—so why did he need or want baptism? Jesus told John it was to “fulfill all righteousness” (Matthew 3:15). It was his way of identifying with us. It was his way of setting an example for us. It was the sign that his ministry was about to begin. And so, we continue to offer baptism as a sign of beginnings, as a symbol of God’s welcome of us into his family. In the United Methodist tradition, we differ from some other traditions in that we offer baptism to infants and children as well as adults. It’s not a requirement that infants be baptized, nor does it mean that they are going to hell if they aren’t baptized. Again, it’s a sign of God’s welcome, a reminder that God welcomes us even before we’re aware of his love for us. He loved us before we can respond. Paul says that circumcision was to the Jew what baptism is to the Christian, and in the book of Acts, Peter says that the promises of God are available to children and adults alike. So we offer this sign of welcome to the youngest of persons. Baptism does not save a person; it is a symbol, a sign, one that must be completed by our own response of faith when we see Jesus. But in worship, baptism should help us see more clearly the grace and the love and the mercy of Jesus.

The same is true for communion. Communion is something we do typically every month here, though today we will be celebrating for the last time until Maundy Thursday. For many years now we have observed the season of Lent as a “fast,” not taking part in communion until we join Jesus at the table of the Last Supper. When I was growing up, we were lucky to have communion maybe four times a year, and it was always just “tacked on” at the end of the service, so we stayed longer while people’s roasts burned at home. I think that’s why communion Sunday became a low attendance Sunday in my home church. But over the last twenty years or so, communion has become more and more important to the church as we’ve realized how we remember Jesus in the bread and the cup, how we remember his sacrifice for our sake, and how he is present in a powerful way through this act. It’s not just a ritual we do. It’s an act of worship.

Communion goes by a lot of different names, each of which add an element to our understanding. When we call it “communion,” we’re emphasizing spending time with Jesus, communing with him. Some traditions call it the “eucharist,” which is a Greek word meaning “thanksgiving.” We give thanks for all that Jesus has done for us. And some folks refer to this act as “The Lord’s Supper,” reminding us that we join Jesus and the disciples around that table, that when he tells them one of them will betray him, it just might be us. “Is it I, Lord?” we ask, along with them. No matter what you call it, the bread and the cup are meant to point us to Jesus, to draw us near to him because true worship ought to help us see Jesus. If we “get anything” out of worship, it ought to be a clearer vision of who Jesus is, and who he can be (and wants to be) in our lives.

So when the cloud cleared, the disciples saw Jesus only. After that moment, without, apparently, saying a word, they head back down the mountain. At the bottom is a scene of chaos waiting for them, but as they are headed there, Jesus gives them a strict order: they were not to tell anyone what they have seen until Jesus had risen from the dead (9:9). There are little instructions like this all through the Gospel of Mark, and while some scholars think Jesus is trying to keep who he is a secret, the real reason, I believe, he wants them to keep quiet is because he knows people will misunderstand. Like I said earlier, he’s not the kind of Messiah most of the people think he ought to be. So he doesn’t want them to tell anyone about this experience until they can tell the whole story, until they can help others see clearly and fully who Jesus is. Now, let me be clear on this point: that prohibition is no longer in place. This verse of Scripture does not apply any longer, because he is risen. He said they only had to keep quiet until the resurrection. We can tell anyone we want to about what Jesus has done and who he is to us. Worship ought to inspire us to go out and tell what we have seen and experienced—and, more importantly, to tell about the one whom we have come to know. Sometimes we act and live like this prohibition is still in place—which explains why half of all United Methodists never share their faith with anyone—but this order has been rescinded. It was taken away the moment Jesus walked out of that tomb. So if worship matters in your life, allow it to propel you to tell others who you have seen, how Jesus has become present in your life and what difference he makes. Love God, love others, and then offer Jesus. In that spirit and with that determination, let’s come to the table of the Lord this morning…and worship.