The Disciples Came Down the Mountain as a Community
Posted by stpauls on February 22, 2009 under Sermons |
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there was an Anglican cathedral, built in Gothic splendour, telling the story of salvation through its statues and windows, and pursuing the mission of the church to reconcile with God and with one another in Christ Jesus through its ministry. The services in this church were meaningful, profound, beautiful and rather stately; very Anglican, of course. There was a lot offered in this cathedral for aching souls. People from close by and far away would come, not only on Sunday mornings, but throughout the week. They would sit in a pew, grab the prayerbook, maybe a hymnal and a bulletin; they would sing and pray, maybe even receive communion; and then they would go home afterwards, spiritually strengthened to meet the days, or weeks ahead. It was, as I said, all very Anglican.
One Sunday morning, however, this routine was disturbed. A woman had come to church and sat to the front of the Cathedral, rather close to the pulpit. Now, this was not news in itself. A number of strangers would come every Sunday and would leave afterwards. It was a place you could drop in and out of quite easily. That was what people came for and the congregation was not only used to it; the members of the congregation rather liked it that way.
This particular morning, the preacher spoke with particular eloquence and spiritual insight. Elevated above everybody else, the priest offered real sustenance for the soul from her pulpit. Her sermon hit right where it mattered. And the stranger, the woman sitting right in front of her, right underneath her, was moved deeply. But, and this is where things got out of hand, she was not just moved inside, privately, all by herself. No, this stranger, this newcomer made her feelings heard! Quite frequently, she would exclaim with “Yes!”, or with “Amen!”, or with a quite audible “Preach it, sister!” And the priest was very much embarrassed!
Eventually, one of the ushers acted. Slowly, in a very stately manner, in a very Anglican way, he moved forward. He sat down next to the woman and tapped her on the shoulder and said, “I have to ask you to calm down or leave. Please keep it down. We just don’t get that excited here.”
Of course, this is an anecdote and probably a myth that never happened. But just like any myth, it reveals the truth and it challenges us. The obvious truth that gets revealed in this little story is that it is true what many think of the Anglican Church: “We are ‘God’s frozen chosen.’ We are few and far between, and when you come to our church, please act appropriately. Be polite and respectable, thank you very much.”
But I think there is something much more profound going on in this little anecdote, besides the ridiculing of our Anglo-Saxon cultural heritage. We cannot step out of who we are culturally – and neither should we. The challenge, however, that we do need to listen to is this: Far too often, we Anglicans view church as a private affair, something that is kept between ourselves and God. We come, we listen, and we join in the prescribed prayers. And then we go home to go about our business. This is all very passive. We become recipients of religious insight. Spirituality is degraded to a spectator sport. There might be reconciliation with our triune God, but reconciliation, or any deep, or profound, or appropriately intimate interaction with those with whom we share the pews does not, cannot happen. “Keep it to down, keep it to yourself,” the usher tells the strange woman. “Keep it all private, contained, and personal.”
I have never understood why so many Christians think matters of religion are only private and personal matters, contained in one’s own heart and soul. It definitely doesn’t come from God’s self-revelation in the words of our sacred texts. Take today’s Gospel account for example.
Mark places today’s story in the midst of the public ministry of Jesus. Jesus is traveling the countryside and healing people in body and mind. Yet, Jesus is not a faith-healer – of whom there were many in Jesus’ times. For Jesus’ healing is not about curing; it is not primarily about physical manifestations of what is wrong with us, but about a holistic approach to healing. Jesus heals in body, mind, and soul. Jesus restores people to wholeness and to the beauty intended for them by God. This is why he tells people to be quiet, because these are one-on-ones with the one who opens the doors into life abundant and life eternal. These healings are about personal encounters with the living God manifest in Jesus of Nazareth.
It does not stop there, however.
Right in the midst of all these healing accounts, Jesus takes a group of disciples up the mountain. And he takes them one by one. And one by one they see what happens if we let ourselves be led by the Son of God to a mountaintop. We recognize him for who he is as he is transfigured before our eyes. Jesus is not just another quack. He is also not just another sage, another wise man, another prophet. But in him, by him, and through him, God’s light shines into the world. Jesus is the Christ, the beloved of God. When we listen to him, the uncreated light that shines forth from the divine mystery will penetrate us also in body, mind, and soul, and will heal us and restore us to our rightful places at the banquet table in God’s reign.
And this is where the shift happens as the story continues.
The disciples might have been led up the mountain one by one, as individuals, but they are coming down the mountain as a group, as a community, as those in communion not just with God, but also with one another. The Transfiguration they witnessed on the mountain top transfigured them and restored them to health in body, mind, and soul, and also to health in their relationships with one another. The result of the encounter with the Uncreated Light is not just personal: it is also communal. There is a vertical component to the healing brought about in the transfiguration as we become one with God, one with His will. But there is a horizontal component as the disciples – and we with them – overcome the barriers that divide us and as we become responsible one for another.
This is at the heart of who we are as Christians. Both the vertical and the horizontal component are equally important: Full communion with God cannot be possible without striving for justice and peace among even the least of our sisters and brothers. And no full communion among ourselves can be achieved if we don’t let God restore us to our true identity, to the beauty that God intends for us. The Christian life is not just a life of ongoing conversion to the will of God, but it is also a life that is deeply communal, with responsibilities for the welfare of those beside us.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor and one of the greatest of the 21st century prophets, who was martyred by the Nazis in 1945, once said: “We all become disciples individually, but no one then stays alone. No one stays alone.”
Of course, there are many whose hurt is so deep that communal responsibilities are not an option quite yet. And those who are hurting in body, mind, or soul are always welcome in this sacred place, because healing can be found here, God’s healing.
There is a painting inside St. Mary’s Episcopal Cathedral in Edinburgh in Scotland. It is a view of the entire nave of the cathedral from the entrance to the East End. Up front, just before you come to the High Altar, the painter painted the choir singing praises to God, probably during an Evensong. And it is bright and light up there. The light of the Transfiguration really shines through from this most Anglican worship. I know that I am not the only one whose experience of Evensong at St. Mary’s has nurtured me in my faith and ultimately made me an Anglican.
In the back, however, just behind the last pew, a woman kneels in pain. She is hunched over and a heavy burden weighs her down. The pews would obstruct her from the rest of those worshipping. However, she is not alone. Jesus is with her, holding her, embracing her, caring for her, and healing her.
I know this is how many experience St. Paul’s Anglican Church. It is a place they can come with whatever moves their hearts, whatever burdens their souls, whoever they are and wherever they find themselves on the journey. And it is a place where they encounter the living Christ holding them, embracing them, caring for them, and healing them. And thank you, Jesus, for leading us to be such a place!
Yet, I hope that we will never forget that there is another dimension to our faith, to God’s healing, too. There is a horizontal aspect. We have to come down the mountain together, as a community in Christ. Our faith cannot remain personal, but must move us eventually into relationship with one another. Otherwise, it will just wither away.
This does not mean all will be hunky-dory then. Community-living is hard work; it brings profound challenges and can be nerve-wrecking. Ask any of our Anglican nuns or monks! But only together will we be able to shoulder the responsibilities that we have been given for the well-being of our neighbours in the West End and in Yaletown. Only together will we be able to live fully into the promises of God in Christ. Only together will we create a mission for this place that is nurturing and life-giving.
We are already on the way. Ministries such as our Altar Guild, the choir, the ushers, the liturgical ministers, the healing guild, or the ministry providing hospitality, care, and assistance in administrative tasks – which are equally important as our outreach projects – these ministries are strong and Spirit-filled. And I pray that through and by who we are and what we do, we will remain the Soul of the West End and the Spirit of Yaletown.
[Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on February 22, 2009.]