“Your Attention, Please”

The 20^th Winter Olympiad ends today with the closing ceremonies and the passing of the torch to the Canadian hosts of 2010. The final medal counts are tallied. Failures grieved, joys celebrated, visions of fulfilled hopes and dashed dreams catalogued for another season, the attention of millions will now turn to normal pursuits.

Today the season of light draws to a close for another year as well. And just like the Winter Olympics in Turin Italy, it comes to a close with fanfare, amazing light, and a vision of hope. After teaching his followers about the call to discipleship, and hearing as Peter confesses him to be the Messiah, the Son of the living God, Jesus goes with his closest advisors – his management team – to the mountaintop. What happens there is something beyond the wildest imaginations of Peter, James and John. They are scared, not sure what to make of it, as they glimpse Jesus in divine glory. Then they see Jesus talking with Moses (the lawgiver) and Elijah (the prophet), firmly linking this rabbi of the present hope with the hopes they carry forward from the tradition of their ancestors. And as if to confirm Peter’s confession, the voice of God speaks, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him.”

The promise of God’s presence breaks into the midst of a ministry filled with misunderstanding, conflict, and fear. Peter, James and John don’t know quite what to do with it – it’s a mystery, and they are scared. They certainly didn’t deserve such a gift – after all, these are the ones that just a few chapters later will abandon Jesus as he is arrested and put on trial. Yet despite their confusion, their stubbornness and doubting, the vision and the promise remain. How? What difference could such a vision make for the disciples? Why bother with this story if they aren’t telling anyone about it anyway?

There is a story about a rather unusual king that might shed some light for us. It seems that some time ago in England there was a king who really loved his people. He longed to show his compassion but proper protocol precluded it -- he was after all the king and they were the subjects. So one day, after long weeks of careful planning, the king slipped out of the palace dressed in simple peasant garb, entered the village and lived incognito for three years. He experienced the poverty and hunger of the slums, the distress and simple joys of the marginally employed, but one day the word was out: this man who had lived with them and shared their life was the king. Shortly thereafter he returned to the palace, but things had changed. While perhaps some members of his court were threatened by the thought they might have to do the same thing, the king would rule now with vivid images of the people’s suffering etched in his heart, with the names and faces of his subjects etched in his heart. And the people would see him as the king who lived his word, and follow not out of fear but out of respect and love willing even to die for this king who clearly loved them. Their relationship, their vision of the future, was transformed.

God loved the world so much that God took on the fullness of our living and dying, redeeming it forever by the blood of Jesus, and nothing will ever be the same again. Nothing. We don’t know the full impact of this mysterious revelation on Peter, James and John, except that the experience certainly got their attention. Somehow this vision became etched in their psyches like any vision we’ve encountered at a moment of vulnerability and openness. You know, like the smell of Grandma and Grandpa’s house when you stayed overnight, those smells of grace you’ll never forget; like the embrace of love – the hug of a toddler or a soldier returning from overseas, images of joy beyond understanding forever tattooed on your heart; like the horrific pain inflicted by South Africa’s apartheid system and the healing power of being heard set free by Nelson Mandela’s leadership of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, like that of the man blinded by his jailers who said that having his story heard is like getting his sight back.

The laser light of Jesus’ transfigured form changes Peter, James and John, pushing them home the way they came but into a much different future that what they’d expected. Fear ties their tongues, but faith keeps them moving. Moving through doubt and betrayal as Jesus is drawn to the cross and beyond, these followers become what they were called to be, the body of Christ in the world.

I’ve watched entirely too much TV these past two weeks. I always do during the Olympics. I love watching skilled competitors, and confess to being an advocate for the underdog. But what most captures my imagination is the human-interest story. You know, like the Russian figure skater whose mother is seriously ill, the woman in what may be her last Olympics who has struggled with her own health as well. And the young American from Michigan whose grandfather died in Turin just 24 hours before she was to skate the semi-finals, who skated anyway with tears streaming down her face. And the Gold medal winning speed skater who donated his victory bonuses to a non-profit for the benefit of child athletes, inspiring other winning athletes to do the same. There is something about the Olympic spirit that captures my imagination. Maybe it’s that so many of these athletes defy the odds to dedicate so much of their time and energy pursuing a vision that may well be elusive. Maybe it’s that somehow watching athletes from many nations sharing the same venues and housing I glimpse possibility and hope that is so elusive in our otherwise angry and vindictive world. Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty of that at the Olympics – my daughter Julia was in competitive figure skating just long enough to get a taste of it. Yet time and again in these two weeks we saw athletes drawn together from many countries by a love of sport and the spirit of competition, vying to do their best then congratulating one another out of respect for their gifts. Once the games are ended they all return home to resume their daily lives, but you just know that even those who return without medals return changed.

Back to Jesus and the mountaintop experiences of our lives:

“How good Lord to be here [we sing this day]…we see your kingdom come;

we long to hold the vision bright and make this hill our home.

How good Lord to be here! Yet we may not remain;

but since you bid us leave the mount, come with us to the plain.” LBW 89

A Bible study participant observed last Thursday as we studied the Transfiguration story, “The deepest darkness for us as believers is that time of fear when we are so overcome by our present situation we forget that which is our greatest gift.”

What happened on the mountaintop in the midst of Jesus ministry remains clouded, beyond our comprehension. It’s a mystery we can’t explain, yet one that begs our attention. Throughout this journey of life we are given glimpses of God – in a vision or a kindness, in the power of grief lifted or bitterness reconciled, moments whose goodness defies explanation. They are gifts for the journey. No matter the mess, the pain, the confusion of our lives, there is hope. No matter the challenge we are called to face – peer pressure or job loss, health crises that seem insurmountable, government policies that widen the economic divide among neighbors, international policies that seem to tear at the fabric of our children’s future – there is always hope. This divine vision affirms that – there is always hope. Christ is with us in the midst of it all, in the valleys and on the plains and in the desert, too, calling us to be his body in the world today, showing us the way to choose Life. We do well to pay attention.