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Transfiguration Sunday

Exodus 24
12The Lord said to Moses, “Come up to me on the mountain, and wait there; and I will give you the tablets of stone, with the law and the commandment, which I have written for their instruction.” 13So Moses set out with his assistant Joshua, and Moses went up into the mountain of God. 14To the elders he had said, “Wait here for us, until we come to you again; for Aaron and Hur are with you; whoever has a dispute may go to them.” 15Then Moses went up on the mountain, and the cloud covered the mountain. 16The glory of the Lord settled on Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it for six days; on the seventh day he called to Moses out of the cloud. 17Now the appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain in the sight of the people of Israel. 18Moses entered the cloud, and went up on the mountain. Moses was on the mountain for forty days and forty nights.


I have no doubt that some of you are feeling light deprived. This is February, and while the flip of the calendar takes us by surprize and may please us, we are still “in the bleak mid-winter.” The days are growing longer, but you would hardly know it when the skys are grey and the sun is out of reach.

Perhaps the most appropriately named condition is Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD, said to affect one-in-ten Canadians. It seems ironic that we hear more about light deprivation this time of year, when the days are getting longer. Perhaps it’s the weather, or maybe it illustrates the extent to which we are disconnected from sunrise and sunset. In an earlier age, the lengthening of days was obvious, beginning late in December. In the age of electric light, we put the lights on and leave them on, and may not catch on to the lengthening quite so quickly.

I have one sunrise you won’t miss: through some odd turn of events, everything has moved up this year. Wednesday is the beginning of Lent. Easter is March 23rd and Easter sunrise happens that day at 7.13 am, thirty minutes later than sunrise last year. If anyone can explain why we can have an actual sunrise service at sunrise this year, I’m all ears. Next year Easter falls on April 12th, and sunrise comes 40 minutes earlier. And sunrise will become a euphemism once again.

The season now ending, Epiphany, dates back to the fourth century in the Eastern tradition. Looking back 1600 years, the daily march of light was part of the popular consciousness, and the wily fathers of the church superimposed this season of light on the other light festivals that were far more fun. Pagans knew how to party, with ten holidays on December alone. But Christianity is a serious religion, and so the end of our pagan ways meant back to work for the masses.

Now, don’t want you to sit down to lunch later saying, ‘was Michael suggesting we should have stayed pagan?’ Or ‘google that Roman calendar, ‘cause I’m going back.’ Pagan productivity was low, sleeping late and partying all night: imagine an empire run by drunken frat boys in togas. You and I will be up at 7.13 in a few short days, feeling pious as the sun rises over the lake.

In the meantime, Epiphany continues for a little while yet. The season of light ends on a mountaintop, with Jesus, Moses and Elijah bathed in divine light. This is transfiguration, and the glory of the LORD settles on the scene as saviour, liberator and prophet join together. These three are drawn together, linked in tradition and purpose, each illuminated by the God’s own light.

This year, the reading cycle gives us Moses, set to ascend Mt. Sinai, ready to receive the tablets that contain a summary of the Law. It is a return trip, since Moses has already received the spoken version and committed it to paper. This is Coles notes, a concise version of what will eventually become known as the Ten Commandments. The important thing to remember here is that the Law has already been received, and now Moses must retrieve it cast in stone.

The story begins simply enough:

12The Lord said to Moses, “Come up to me on the mountain, and wait there; and I will give you the tablets of stone, with the law and the commandment, which I have written for their instruction.” 13So Moses set out with his assistant Joshua, and Moses went up into the mountain of God.

Then comes a little foreshadowing:

14To the elders he had said, “Wait here for us, until we come to you again; for Aaron and Hur are with you; whoever has a dispute may go to them.”

So what happens next? Aaron begins moonlighting as a goldsmith, and instead of acting as magistrate, Aaron collects golden earrings, and sets to work. And while our passage doesn’t mention what’s happening back at camp, the dramatic tension builds. Imagine young Jesus, in a Nazarene synagogue, listening to a lengthy reading from the second book of the bible. Three chapters of law, long since committed to memory are read, and now the tension builds as Moses and Joshua (Jesus’ namesake) have left the group with in Aaron’s charge.

The story of the golden calf, appearing in the primary texts of three of the world’s great religions, continues to hold a place in our imaginations. Stephen preaches about in the Acts of the Apostles, it is featured at length in the Quran, and becomes the centrepiece of the Exodus story.

Let’s listen in as Stephen tells the story:

38At Mount Sinai, and with our ancestors; [Moses] received living oracles to give to us. 39But our ancestors were unwilling to obey him; instead, they pushed him aside, and in their hearts they turned back to Egypt, 40saying to Aaron, ‘Make gods for us who will lead the way for us; as for this Moses who led us out from the land of Egypt, we do not know what has happened to him.’ 41At that time they made a calf, offered a sacrifice to the idol, and reveled in the works of their hands.

It seems those pagan’s never quit. Aaron is doing his level best, but when you leave you’re number three man in charge of the whole group, anything can happen. The people experience a crisis of confidence, and look back to the old ways for some help. Some argue that the calf represents Baal, the pagan god of choice, the same god that Elijah meets on the top of another mountain. Whoever the calf represents, it is not the God of Israel, and the people will soon regret their momentary lapse. In one move, Aaron and the people manage to violate number one and number two on the top ten list:

“You shall have no other gods before me.”
“You shall not make for yourself an idol.”

It seems there is something about transfiguration and idolatry. Sure enough, within minutes of seeing Jesus, Moses and Elijah bathed in light, the disciples want to set up little alters. They are immediately struck with the impulse to create something tangible to mark the spot, something to help them remember the moment, maybe even something on the mountainside to venerate. For all three, Jesus, Moses and Elijah, idolatry looms large in their story. One week from now we will wander the desert with Jesus, tempted to make bread from stone or accept dominion over the kingdoms of this world. Idolatry is everywhere, looking for facsimiles of the one true God.

Transfiguration seems an odd place to end off before Lent. Or is it? What is the cross other than the triumph of idolatry, choosing the stability of Rome over the Son of God? We will enter season of testing, where again and again we will be confronted with choices: power versus purity, stability versus justice, the Lord of this world versus the Lord of Life.

We stand, with a cloud of witnesses, as we enter this Lenten time of testing. We stand among legends, as we are set to leave the light for a time of wandering. We stand with Moses, liberator, Elijah, prophet, and Jesus, God’s own Word, as we embark on this journey. May you hold fast to these three, and the cloud that surrounds us, as you fo forward in faith. Amen.

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 2:11 PM