19 February Sermon 2023

A sermon preached at St Martin-in-the-Fields on February 19, 2023 by Revd Angela Sheard

Reading for address: Matthew 17: 1-9

Over the last twelve days, our media has been flooded with news of the terrible earthquake in Turkey and Syria. Described by many as the greatest humanitarian disaster of the last century, the death toll has now exceeded 40,000 people, with countless others trapped under the rubble, or forced to live in tents in freezing temperatures with no access to food, clothing, adequate shelter or medical assistance.

This is clearly an event of unmitigated tragedy and human suffering. But seen from a different perspective, this is also an event which has brought out the very best in humanity. Audiences around the world have seen and heard stories of the bravery of relief workers risking their lives to rescue people from the rubble, the jubilation and shouts of ‘God is great’ when people were rescued, the generosity of people from other parts of the world giving their time, money and resources to help people they barely know.

This literally earth-shattering event unexpectedly holds together both deep tragedy and loss and the extraordinary goodness of human beings; it captures both some of the worst that humanity can experience and also the best that we can become. Stranger still, these two different perspectives on the earthquake are so intimately related that they cannot be separated out from one another – they are held together in a kind of mystery. We can never get away from the sheer scale of human suffering that has resulted from this event. And yet, in the sheer goodness of the human response to the tragedy and in the renewed realization
of the preciousness of human life, I think that this event, like others of a similar intensity, can also show us something of the essence of what it means to human, as well as a glimpse of some of the glory of the people that we can and will become.

The story of the Transfiguration in our Gospel reading for today is also an event of great intensity which mysteriously holds together different perspectives on the life of Jesus. In doing so I think that this event also gives us a sense of the essence of who Jesus is and what the trajectory of his life will be. But more than this, the power of this mystery is one which moves within and beyond the life of Jesus of Nazareth to touch us too, to show us the essence of who we are in Jesus and who we will become through the grace of the Spirit.

So what are the different perspectives on Jesus revealed through the transfiguration event? Well, the first and perhaps most obvious perspective is that of exaltation. Jesus face shines like the sun, just like Moses’s did when he came down from Mount Sinai with the Ten Commandments written on tablets of stone. His robes become dazzling white, reminding us of Jesus’s resurrection appearances. The sudden appearance of Elijah reinforces this link with the resurrection and the ascension, as in the Hebrew Scriptures Elijah was taken up to heaven in a chariot of fire. The glory of God was made visible in the lives of Moses and Elijah, not only through physical signs but through their ministries, with Moses as the bringer of the Law, and Elijah symbolizing the Prophets. But the glory of God is made visible through the life of Jesus in a new way – he stands between the two as the fulfilment of the covenant in the Hebrew Scriptures, in a foretaste of his coming again in glory as we hear in our second reading.

So far, so glorious. But the transfiguration scene in Matthew also has an unlikely twin, later in this Gospel – it’s the crucifixion. Take a moment to recall that image. In this scene, all the details of exaltation which we see in the Transfiguration are reversed. Jesus’s clothes are stripped from him and divided, he is lifted up not on a mountain-top but on a cross, he is surrounded not by Moses and Elijah but by criminals. Indeed, when Jesus cries out ‘My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’ the onlookers scornfully comment, ‘This man is calling for Elijah.’

Despite all these differences, there are also some important similarities. In both scenes those looking on are filled with fear. In the transfiguration a voice from the cloud says, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved’. At the crucifixion it is the voice of a Roman centurion who says, for the first time in the Gospels, ‘Truly this man was God’s Son!’ We could imagine these two scenes – the transfiguration and the crucifixion – as being like two pieces of art which were created together and are reflected in each other, drawn with the same lines but in opposite colours. The common thread, the unity in these two images, is that fundamental statement about who Jesus is – this is my Son, the Beloved.

Like the earthquake in Turkey and Syria – like so many other crises which face our world today – this twin image shows us Jesus experiencing the very worst of human suffering and cruelty. It also shows us some of the hope for our world, in the return of Jesus and his coming kingdom. But how does this huge, dramatic event impact our lives today, as human beings living in its aftermath, 2000 or so years later?

Well, I think that some of the key lies for me in the glory of God, which is a physical presence in this story. When Moses ascended Mount Sinai he went up alone, and when he descended with his face shining, the people were warned not to look at him. But when Jesus went up the mountain, he took three of his disciples with him to witness what happened. In the kingdom parable of the sower Jesus talks about how the saints will “shine like the Sun in the kingdom of their Father”. The shining glory of the Transfiguration is contagious! It touched the disciples and slowly but surely transformed their lives. All this is possible because that common thread of Jesus as the Beloved is something that is true of us too, as people made in God’s image. We are each one of us the Beloved, and we too are invited to be transformed by glory into the fullness of who we are – saints of the kingdom.

On Wednesday we will mark the start of the season of Lent, a time when we seek to enter into a deeper relationship with God as we prepare to celebrate the most glorious mystery of Easter. During this season, I want to suggest two spiritual practices that might help us on this journey of relationship. The first is a regular attentiveness to those glimpses of God’s glory in our world. As we read the news, hear about the lives of our friends, or interact with others at home or at work, perhaps we can try to notice the human acts of sheer goodness that we encounter. These might be simple acts of patience, kindness, generosity or forgiveness which can often go completely unnoticed – we might think nothing of it when we do them ourselves! But these actions are the shining glory of the Transfiguration working itself out, transforming our world into the kingdom of God.

The second practice is around our openness to change. Having noticed some of these glimpses of glory in our world, how open are we to be transformed by them? The glory of God is something strange and intrinsically frightening to those who encounter it – like the disciples on the mountain, we too might be tempted to fall on our faces in fear and terror! So as we approach Lent, we might ask ourselves: what, for me, gets in the way of glory? What stops me from being open to God’s grace? What holds me back from recognising myself as the Beloved, from becoming the saint I am called to be? What keeps me away
from the table of God’s kingdom?

As we approach Lent, may God our creator show us our own Beloved-ness as God’s children. May the Spirit make us attentive to the glory of its work in our world, wherever it is to be found. And may the transfigured Christ sustain us on our journey through the passion, by transforming us into the saints who share in the heavenly banquet of his kingdom. Amen.