"Rise Up. Don't Be Afraid."

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Matthew 17: 1-9

February 26, 2017- Transfiguration Sunday

As Sean said last week, early January may seem like a very long time ago. But if you can, try to reach back in your mind to the beginning of Epiphany season. Sue gave a brilliant sermon on the baptism of Jesus and she called it a liminal moment, a threshold moment. Before John baptized Jesus he was an unknown nobody from the backwoods town of Nazareth. After the heavens opened and voice from the sky pronounced Jesus beloved, his public ministry began and the rest was history.

During Epiphany season - that season of the church year where we bask in the dawning of new light - we’ve traveled through parts of Matthew’s gospel, focusing primarily on the difficult work of loving. Now we arrive at another threshold of sorts.

In today’s passage the inner circle of disciples - Peter, James, and John - have a mountaintop experience with Jesus. Now, you know when people in the Bible start climbing mountains, you’d best pay attention, right? And in case we missed that clue, the author notes that something very mysterious happened on that mountain. Namely: Jesus was transformed in front of their very eyes into a shining, glimmering figure. He face was shining like the sun itself and his clothes were a dazzling white (which, I’m guessing, was pretty rare in Biblical days. They didn’t have Oxy Clean back then, you know).

Biblical scholar Warren Carter notes that this passage can be easily divvied up into three sections. First, Jesus’s transfiguration. That magnificent moment in time where he was transformed in front of his friends and Moses and Elijah appeared next to him. Peter, so awed by the fortune of finding himself on a mountaintop with these three greats, offers to build tents, perhaps so they can extend the moment just a little longer.

Next, says Carter, there is the middle section - the portion of the story where a voice in a bright cloud booms from the sky. He refers to this as the part of the story where “God talks Peter down.”

Finally, in the third and final section, the disciples respond. Falling on their faces to worship, they cower in fear. Eventually, they pick themselves up and begin to descend the mountain.

You know, we get to hear some version of the Transfiguration story every single year on this Sunday before Lent. The star, which begins to shine over the little town of Bethlehem at Christmas grows brighter and brighter through the season of Epiphany. As the days grow longer, the light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot consume it. And on this Transfiguration Sunday, the light explodes like a supernova on a mountaintop.

And as we, like the disciples, begin to travel down the mountain into the depths of Lent, we find ourselves looking for light to guide our journey. Lent has traditionally been a season of penitence and reflection for Christians. The forty days before Easter have historically been a time of purification, confession, denial and asceticism. I know some of you likely get a bit twitchy about Lent because you may have grown up in traditions where you didn’t fully understand why you were being asked to give things up or heard lots of language about how awful you were.

I’d like to humbly invite you to give Lent a second chance.

Because the word Lent comes from the same root word as “lengthen.” As the days grow longer and the sun warms the earth, we are invited to center ourselves deeply in our faith. Lengthening our roots down into the warming soils, seeking the sustenance of spring showers, and stretching ourselves up up up to the sun. Growing, stretching, lengthening down down down into our holy foundations as we reach up up up to the heavens.

Lent is a time for growth. And growth happens in many ways. Not just through self-denial or rigid spiritual disciplines. Though, if those work for you, go for it. I have personally found the practice of giving things up for Lent to be sometimes mundane, sometimes meaningful, sometimes downright transformational. Seven years ago I gave up being pregnant for Lent! Our oldest son came earthside on Ash Wednesday. I can promise you the only thing I gave up for Lent that year was sleeping through the night.

I have also found that the practice of adding things in instead of taking them away can be another way of stretching and growing. There have been years when I’ve added in a new way of connecting with the Holy. And, of course, there have been years when my life has been so chaotic that Lent has slipped by virtually unnoticed.

This year at First Congregational, we’re going to be journeying through the season with a sermon series where we'll explore communal spiritual practices - intentional ways of connecting with God - that place us on firm, holy foundations so we can reach out into the world around us from a place of strength, truth, grace, and courage.

David Lose says that the liminal moment of the Transfiguration connects three separate seasons of the church year. There is the fading memory of Epiphany’s bright light. There is a foretaste of Lent as we follow the disciples down those mountain paths and begin to journey towards Jerusalem and the cross. And there is even a faint hint of Easter as we rise up off the ground with the disciples, remembering the power of Resurrection that we claim as our birthright as followers of the one who was undeterred by death.

Most of the sermons I’ve heard on Transfiguration focus on parts one the three of the story - the Transfiguration itself and the reaction of the disciples. It’s always fascinating to ponder how Peter wanted to stay in the moment just a bit longer, building those tents, and how the disciples fell on their knees before their friend, the Messiah.

But this week I found myself drawn to the middle section. The part where God speaks. As Peter excitedly tells Jesus of his plans to build little tents, a bright cloud appears overhead and he is interrupted by a booming voice from heaven. Now if you remember back to the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan, this is like a repeat. Bookends. The voice says the exact same thing that is did back when Jesus was baptized: “This is my Son, the Beloved. With him I am well-pleased.”

It’s important to note that this is a political statement. Warren Carter says that this statement, that Jesus is the “son of God” both “imitates and contests.” It imitates because the emperors of Rome, that occupying force, were often referred to as “son of God.” To say Jesus is the “son of God” is to put him in the same league as the Roman elites. It’s an imitation. It’s also confrontations. Because by claiming him as the son of God, his followers were intentionally usurping Roman authority. If Jesus is the son of God, perhaps the Emperor is not.

Last week in confirmation class, we talked about the claim that James Cone, father of Black Liberation Theology, makes about Jesus. Cone says that Jesus is “a liberating event.” And that whenever and wherever people are being freed, the power of Christ is at work. For an oppressed people being asked to give total and complete allegiance to an oppressive, occupying regime from Rome, Jesus came to liberate. And for all who continue to live under the oppression of Empire, Jesus still offers liberation. Jesus is a liberating event. The claim that he is “God’s son” confronts the powers of Empire with this simple and bold truth.

The voice that booms from the bright cloud claims Jesus as beloved, just as it did back at the Jordan. But this time, the voice adds one more thing: “Listen to him.”

“Listen to him,” the voice says. The disciples fall on the ground. We are told they are terrified.

Jesus comes up to them, touches them, and says just a few simple words. Listen, now. Remember, we are supposed to listen. What does he say?

“Rise up. Don’t be afraid.”

David Lose says that these simple instructions: “Listen to him,” “Rise up,” “Don’t be afraid,” carry within them a world of meaning all these thousands of years later.

For there is much to fear. And we live in a world where our fears are constantly being stoked and manipulated. Sometimes the very act of getting up each morning, opening up the newspaper, doing one simple thing like calling our elected officials or checking in on a friend who is hurting right now seems almost impossible. I’ve heard many friends say in the past few months that they feel like they’ve suddenly acquired a new job moonlighting (with no pay, of course) as activists. They feel like they’ve been thrown off the deep end, trying to figure out how to hold steady in the storm and use their limited time, energy, and resources to help protect those who are being threatened.

When you hear reports from schools that there are children who are fearful that their parents will no longer be waiting for them at the bus stop because they are worried they’ll be deported...when you wake up to the news that Jewish people in St. Louis have had the graves of 200 of their ancestors desecrated....when you pray at night that the transgender youth you know will remember they are beloved, even as some in the highest halls of government debate their basic human rights….when the news of detentions in airports is now a daily occurrence...when brown people are being targeted and murdered while just having a drink after work in Olathe, Kansas....well, there’s a lot to take in. It can seem overwhelming.

There are times when I feel like falling down on my face like the disciples did. Because the immensity of the moment we are living in right now is overwhelming. The stakes feel very high. It’s a mountaintop moment, but not the kind most of us ever wanted to live through. We are at a liminal place, a threshold. And when we pause from time to time to remember the immensity of it, sometimes it seems all we can do is fall down and wait for someone to come along and pick us up again.

Which is, of course, exactly what Jesus does for his disciples.

Seeing them collapse under the immensity of the moment, he comes to them, touches them - gently, I imagine, perhaps as a loving parent would help up a toddler who is throwing a fit on the floor - and says these simple words: “Rise up. Don’t be afraid.”

And after he speaks those words, the disciples look up. Rubbing their eyes, they see one thing and they see it clearly. Jesus. Jesus is all that’s left.

And so we journey carefully down the mountain with the disciples, towards Jerusalem, towards the cross, towards death and new life. We whisper among ourselves, “What are we supposed to be doing right now?” And “What is Jesus talking about? I’m trying to listen but it’s not making sense.”

We tend to our holy foundations, sharing with one another tips and tricks for staying grounded in the midst of chaos. Using the opportunity of this holy season of lengthening to sink our roots deep into the fertile soil and reach our spirits high to the heavens. We tend to one another, carrying the load for each other when we become tired. Picking each other up when the immensity of life seems overwhelming.

And all along the rocky path, we keep our eyes firmly fixed on our leader. Jesus. And we listen to him, remembering the feel of his warm, strong hand on our backs as he helps us up, “Rise up. Don’t be afraid.”

SOURCES:

Warren Carter - http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3172

David Lose - http://www.davidlose.net/2017/02/transfiguration-a-timely-words/

“Loving Our Enemies(?!?)”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood on Matthew 5: 43-48
Feb. 5, 2017 at First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

This sermon is going to require prayer before, during, and after. Please notice that we’re going to be sharing the Prayer of Jesus immediately after the sermon today and it’s printed in your bulletin. Let’s begin by praying:

Holy God of Love, you sent your son Jesus to us and he told us to pray for our enemies. All these years later, we have just one question about this: REALLY?

I mean, I know he said it very clearly. He did not stutter. And many who have followed in his ways have attempted it. Martin Luther King, Jr. believed it was possible. Even in his most difficult moments - up against the wall,  imprisoned, hated - Dr. King seemed to believe it was possible.

So we pray, O God of Difficult Commands, that you would open our hearts today. That you would “make a way out of no way” (1) for those of us who are skeptical of this teaching. That you would encourage those who “get it” l to help the rest of us understand. For we confess that we want to be like Jesus, but sometimes it seems awfully hard.

Help us. Please.

And Amen.

*****************

I feel utterly unqualified to preach this sermon. I’m just going to start with that. I also feel very cranky with myself for deciding that it would be important to include a sermon on loving our enemies as a part of this series. I want you to know that I fought the idea tooth and nail. I told God to go away, bug off. I told God it might get very uncomfortable for some of us and, quite honestly, many of us already pretty stressed out these days.

I became so frustrated, in fact, that there is a whole other sermon that I wrote earlier this week that is now on the cutting room floor. A whole other sermon where I confess that, really, I don’t see how it’s possible to love people who hate you, want you dead.

But here’s the problem: apparently it IS possible because not only did Jesus manage to do it, so did other people. This week I read not only the words of Jesus and the words of Dr. King but also reflections by King’s lifelong family friend and mentor, Howard Thurman. I listened to the words of the still-living-and-fighting John Lewis. And I discovered that all four men of these men of deep faith believed it is possible to love our enemies.

So I read and I listened and I read some more. And I prayed. I tried to find the common links.

I listened to John Lewis in a 2013 interview with Krista Tippett talk about his experience in Selma in 1965 (2). During that first attempted march from Selma to Montgomery, John Lewis was in the front of the march and was brutally beaten in the head by state troopers. He reflects on that experience, saying:

I thought we were going to be arrested and simply taken to jail. I didn’t have any idea that we would be beaten…..I thought I was going to die. I thought I saw death. I thought it was my last nonviolent protest. But before...I lost consciousness, I became deeply concerned about the other people on the march. But in all of the years since, I’ve not had any sense of bitterness or ill feeling toward any of the people. I just don’t have it. I guess it’s not part of my DNA to become bitter, to become hostile.

Tippett responds, laughing, “Well, maybe you trained your DNA a bit,” and Lewis concedes that he had had a lot of practice at this point. And that the words of Dr. King, in particular, the commandment to love, no matter what, had really sunk in. He remembers that King always said, “Hate is too heavy a burden to bear.”

Tippett asks him if he was able to truly keep his heart free of hate in that moment on the bridge in Selma, and in the years since. Lewis says that he has never felt any bitterness towards the men who inflicted the violence. He understood, even in the moment that they were “individuals carrying out an order.” She presses him further: so what about George Wallace, the one who ordered the attack? Lewis says, “I’ve never had any bitterness towards him or the officials.”

Lewis, like King, seems to have either the gift or carefully-honed-skill of refusing to allow anyone to become his enemy.

Instead, he said that he learned early on “you should never give up on anyone.” Even those who disagree with you, want you dead, have values that are abhorrent to you, do violence, seem to be possessed by Evil….even those people, Lewis says, you should never give up on.

King agreed. He truly believed that through the process of nonviolent resistance, rooted in love, God would create a way to heal not only those who were oppressed but those who were doing the oppressing. King said to his most bitter opponents, “One day we shall win freedom, but not only for ourselves. We shall to appeal to your heart and conscience that we shall win you in the process, and our victory will be a double victory.” (3). He believed: “Love transforms with redemptive power.”

King was able to love his enemies because he did not really see them as enemies.

He did not allow anyone to pull him “low enough to hate” them. Instead, he was able to separate their actions from their worth. They may have done terrible things, Evil things. But they were more than just the sum of those actions. He said, “there is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us.” (4). He saw even white supremacists as human beings - beloved children of God - who were bound up in the grievous sins of their culture. They were being acted upon by forces of Evil and, thusly, were doing Evil. But they were not themselves Evil. They were still beloved children of God.

If an enemy is someone that we hate or despise or oppose vehemently, then it is difficult (if not impossible) to love them. But if we can somehow see ourselves as opposed to Evil itself with a capital “E” - If we can be opposed to other people’s actions and values…..while still remembering they are more than just the sum of those parts of themselves. If we can see them as people of possibility as Lewis did, then they cease to be enemies.

Because while others may strive to make us into enemies, we ultimately have the power to resist that relationship. They may seek to cast us as THEIR enemy, but we have the freedom to determine how we will see them. We can play their game, choosing to define them as enemy. Or we can refuse to call them enemy - instead opposing their values and actions - while simultaneously seeing them - their personhood - as real. We can condemn behaviors while still holding out hope for the redemption of the person trapped inside a cycle of violence and pain.

It seems there are at least two ways to love an enemy. First, you can love those who seem to be your enemies. Or second, you can cease believing that you have enemies. Or, as Dr. King says it, “we get rid of enemies by getting rid of enmity.” (5)

Now, this is not easy. I’m not saying it's easy. I’m sure it’s easier for some than others. And I do believe, as John Lewis noted, it probably gets easier if we have trained and practiced.

That is, it seems, where the second part of Jesus’s statement comes in. Notice he doesn’t just say, “love your enemies.” He says, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” So when we don’t think we can follow in Jesus’s footsteps or King’s footsteps or Lewis’s footsteps….when hate threatens to overwhelm and we are tempted to allow someone to become an enemy, Jesus gives us another task: Pray for them.

I don’t think it’s an accident that Jesus taught his followers how to pray right after unloading onto them all of these difficult expectations. Jesus says, “Look, I get it. This loving your enemies thing is really hard. So when you can’t quite get there, pray for them. And if you can’t bear to do that - if you don’t have the words to pray for them - then you can use these words anytime.

Pray with me: (5)
Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.
Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever.
Amen.




NOTES:

1. MLK Speech to the SCLC 1967. 
2. On Being interview: http://onbeing.org/programs/john-lewis-love-action/
3. Martin Luther King, Jr. Strength to Love, page 51
4. Ibid, page 45.
5. https://www.onfaith.co/onfaith/2015/01/19/martin-luther-king-jr-on-loving-your-enemies/35907
6. In our worship bulletin we have the following language each week right before the Prayer of Jesus: “Our Father” is the traditional way this prayer begins. For many, however, the traditional language is a hindrance to the intimacy of their relationship with God. You are invited to use whatever name for God you find most meaningful (Mother, Father, Creator, God, Friend, etc,). Together, our names for God will create a beautiful chorus reaching out to the Holy.