“Glimpses of Heaven”
Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the
mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed,
and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and
Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his
departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his
companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they
saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving
him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make
three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” —not knowing
what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and
they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice
that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had
spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no
one any of the things they had seen.
(Luke 9:28-36)
If we were living in normal times, on Thursday
morning a little less than a handful of parishioners would have gathered in the
chapel to celebrate the Feast of the Transfiguration. I sure miss those little
services with our faithful weekday worshipers, but our much better attended
“Church By Phone” services are a real consolation. And, I believe the story of
the Transfiguration – the experience of Jesus and his three disciples on the
mountain long ago – can be a consolation and hope for us in our time of much
trouble.
The story of the Transfiguration (recorded in
the Gospels of Mark, Matthew, and Luke) is rich with mystery and meaning. Moses
and Elijah, two of the central figures of Israel’s history, appear, and we
can’t help but remember Moses encountering God on Mount Sinai, an experience
that left the face of Moses shining bright. We are reminded of Jesus’ baptism,
when the voice from heaven announced Jesus is God’s beloved Son. And, we see
the humanity of an awestruck Peter, who perfectly reasonably wants to hold on
to this glimpse of heaven for as long as he can. Peter’s impulse to stay on the mountain, to
commemorate this holy encounter, is even more poignant when Jesus and his
friends come down the mountain and begin the journey to Jerusalem and the
cross.
I’ve never had a spiritual experience anywhere
near as powerful as the Transfiguration, but I’ve glimpsed heaven from time to
time. I think of sitting in the hospital with my grandmother during the last days
of her life when suddenly she looked at me and said, “I know where I’ve come
from and I know where I am going,” quoting Jesus (John 8:14), whether she
realized it or not. I think of the day almost 13 years ago when I was ordained
a priest, kneeling before Bishop Beckwith, surrounded by a church full of
family and friends and parishioners, feeling the hands of other priests on my
shoulders and back, feeling the gentle pressure of the bishop’s hands on my
head as he called down the Holy Spirit. Like Peter, I would have liked to hold
on to those moments for a little longer.
And, I think of some of the most powerful
experiences that we have shared here at St. Paul and Incarnation: carrying the
cross through the streets on Good Friday, blessing places stained by violence;
our Pentecost picnics, usually threatened by rain but always visited by the
Holy Spirit; gathering choirs from Jersey City and beyond to sing for peace
each September 11 anniversary; baptizing adults and babies, celebrating a bond
between God and us that can never be dissolved, no matter what; the day the
wardens of St. Paul’s formally welcomed the wardens of Incarnation to their new
church home, symbolically beginning our life together. So many beautiful
glimpses of heaven.
And then there are the funerals. Our inability
to gather and grieve in our usual way has been one of the most painful
sacrifices of this time. We haven’t been able to hold each other up. We haven’t
been able to say goodbye in the beauty of our sacred space, in the balm of community.
We haven’t been able to share a meal together, telling stories, crying and
laughing as memories pour out. I got to thinking about funerals the other day
when a bookmark fell out of a book I was holding, a bookmark given out at the
funeral of our beloved sister, Eden Rahming.
More than four years ago now, Eden’s funeral was
the saddest and most beautiful of them all. It was so hard to accept the sudden
death of this young woman with the warmest smile and a heaven-sent voice. The
church was as packed as I’ve ever seen it, filled with so many people who
wanted to mourn and celebrate together, so many people sharing their musical
gifts that when I’m in church and really listen I think I can still hear the
glorious sound. It was truly a glimpse of heaven.
Jesus and his friends came down the mountain and
would soon face much disappointment and suffering before the joy of Easter, the
greatest glimpse of heaven. In the heartbreaking moments when Jesus was
betrayed by one of his own and abandoned by just about everybody, in the
moments when he cried out in pain and seemed to be forsaken even by God, I hope
that Jesus remembered that day on the mountain with Moses and Elijah and Peter,
James, and John, that day when a voice announced his holy identity and commanded
us to listen to him. I hope that Jesus remembered that day on the mountain when
for a few moments the veil between now and eternity was lifted, offering a
glimpse of heaven.
In the same way, in our time of disappointment
and suffering, I hope that we will remember our days on the mountain, our
glimpses of heaven. I hope that we will remember that God has made an
indissoluble bond with us, remember all the times of blessing, joy, and
fellowship and, yes, even grief. As Peter learned, we can’t hold on to those
moments, but they still remain ours forever, reminding us of God’s presence
through it all, offering us glimpses of heaven.
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