The Glory of Love
Saint Paul’s Cathedral, San Diego
February 18, 2007; Last Sunday after Epiphany C
Scott Richardson +
The Glory of Love
Gracious God,
Let these words be more than words and give us the spirit of Jesus.
Amen.
Let’s begin with a fun story from the Zen tradition. A disciple goes to his teacher and says, “Master, after twenty years of diligent practice, I can now walk on water.” The teacher, unimpressed, responds, “After a lifetime of diligent practice, I can now eat when I’m hungry and sleep when I’m tired.”
I think of stories like that on occasions like this. In our readings today, the two pillars of our two testaments are literally lit up by their proximity to the divine. Moses descends from Mount Sinai after receiving the law and he’s aglow – so much so that he spooks the people and requires a veil. Jesus, similarly, ascends a mountain with friends in tow and begins to glow in an unearthly fashion. God’s emissaries, Moses and Elijah, appear immediately. They give Jesus his marching orders – from that point on his face will be set for Jerusalem, cross, tomb, and glory. Peter, one of the three witnesses, begins to babble. He’s interrupted by the voice previously heard at Jesus’ baptism: “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him.” They all then climb down the mountain and Jesus’ power is instantly confirmed in the healing of a possessed and demented child. The powers of darkness are overwhelmed and defeated by the power of light.
So why the Zen story? I bow down before the scriptures, trusting them to tell me all I need to know about the nature of God and the meaning of life. But, as I’m stooping, I’m also aware of the distance between the majesty of these texts and the mundane nature of my day-to-day existence. To put it simply, the radiant light of God rarely penetrates my affairs in the manner depicted today. We get fireworks in our readings this morning, sacred pyrotechnics; I stand in awe of it and I stand at some distance from it. I honor the glory of God as it irradiates Moses and Jesus; I also, I suppose, wish my encounters with God looked more like theirs. But, truth be told, they don’t.
And maybe that’s okay. Maybe it is enough to eat when we’re hungry, sleep when we’re tired, and, in the name of Christ, offer humble and loving service as we’re able. Today we recall the transfiguration of our Lord. We also, naturally, wonder about the way our own lives, and the life of the world, might be transfigured. That it needs to be transfigured is a given; the prayers of the people remind us of that sad fact every week. Life as it is falls short of the glory of God, that is, life as it might be. But how do we change that? How do we get from here to there? How do we radiate the light of God in our all-too-often all-too-mundane affairs?
Mother Teresa is a good coach here. Despite her valiant efforts, she wasn’t able to radically alter the pattern for millions who suffer in India. She was, however, able to gently touch some who live and die there, and she also changed the way we think about caring for the needs of neighbors. We have in our home a small piece of calligraphy that bears one of her adages and beautifully summarizes her method: “There are no great deeds; only small deeds done with great love.”
People who have been crushed by life and then reborn understand that immediately. The 12-Step movement – AA, Alanon, Debtors-Gamblers-Nicotine Anonymous – reminds us that grandiosity, even spiritual grandiosity, leads to ruin. A man who had recently been released from his addiction to alcohol began attending church. At a bible study, he came across the story of the wedding in Cana of Galilee. You recall the details from John’s gospel; the wine runs out after a festive three days and Jesus, pressed by his mother, produces another 180 gallons of the finest vintage from well water – his first miracle. When asked if he believed the story, the newly sober man replied, “I don’t know if he can turn water into wine but I know, in my life, he turned wine into furniture.”
That humble sensibility, I suggest again, has as much transfiguring power in it as the most potent manifestation of God’s presence in scripture. Paul, in his letter to the church in Corinth, reminds us that humility in the service of love outstrips every other charism of the Holy Spirit. “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging symbol. If I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.”
Love, he continues, is patient and kind. It is not envious, proud, arrogant, rude, selfish, irritable, or resentful. Love does not take joy in wrong. Instead, love is long-suffering, full of faith, and rooted in hope. I know that litany often loses impact due to familiarity but it really is a good checklist for us. Does our life radiate the light of God through an unceasing offering of humble love?
In addition to being the last Sunday after the Epiphany, the Sunday immediately preceding the season of Lent, today is also World Mission Sunday. In this context, we recall now a story told of Albert Schweitzer as he prepared to leave Europe for a ministry of medical service in Africa. Schweitzer had been embroiled in many of the theological arguments of his day, staking out what, at the time, seemed to be radical positions. He eventually tired of the back-and-forth, give-and-take combat, the endless debate, the zealous fervency, the rhetorical fireworks, and, upon leaving, said simply, “I’m going to let my life be my argument.” And it was – his wordless witness speaks volumes even now. We pray, parenthetically, that the leaders of the Anglican Communion, meeting in Tanzania this week, are listening.
And what of us? Does the wordy and wordless testimony of our life make a compelling case for Jesus? Is the glory of God manifestly evident in the way we move toward those closest to us? Are we, through humble service, witnesses to the transfigured and transfiguring Christ - he who, today, climbs to glory, descends to death, and rises in love? I pose these questions with sure confidence in your faithfulness, and even more confidence in the One who is our way, our truth, and our life. I conclude now in his most holy name.
Amen.
Scott Richardson +
February 18, 2007; Last Sunday after Epiphany C