St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
February 27, 2022
Year C: The Last Sunday after the Epiphany
Exodus 34:29-35
Psalm 99
2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2
Luke 9:28-43a
Encountering God in Places High and Low
It feels like about three months ago now, but last Monday – Presidents’ Day – was an extraordinarily beautiful day.
In the afternoon I finally did something I’ve been meaning to do since I arrived here in July: I explored the quieter, more remote areas of our expansive church grounds.
Since it was a holiday, there was not another soul around as I made my way from the parking lot into the woods, finding the little trail that I had heard about.
It was still and quiet, except for a few startled chipmunks darting around and birds fluttering and chirping, maybe warning others that an unexpected visitor was in the area.
At one point I walked to the northern edge of our property and looked down at what was Rosewood and is now being redeveloped by Stevenson University.
I should have realized this before – I mean I drive up and down Garrison Forest Road all the time – but it was only when I stood there looking way down at the vast construction site far below– it was only then that I fully appreciated that St. Thomas’ is a high place.
That’s not an accident, of course.
About 280 years ago, the founders of our church deliberately chose this high place, because of its prominence and maybe also for ease of defense in case of war.
But, I’m sure they also chose this land because, for as long as we can remember, people have encountered God in high places.
We heard about two of those encounters in today’s lessons.
It was up on Mount Sinai that God presented Moses with the Ten Commandments. For Moses, it was an encounter so intense that his face continued to shine bright – a sight so terrifying to his fellow Israelites that Moses chose to wear a veil.
And then, in today’s gospel lesson we were back up on the mountain with Jesus and three of his disciples disciples: Peter, James and John.
Before their eyes, Jesus is transformed – transfigured – his face changed and his clothes now dazzlingly white.
Then Jesus is joined by Moses and another key figure from Israel’s history, Elijah.
And then, as if that wasn’t enough, suddenly a cloud overshadowed and enveloped them, and a voice announced, “This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him!”
And just as suddenly as this mountaintop experience began, it was over, leaving only Jesus and his three friends, who were so overwhelmed by it all that they wisely chose to keep it to themselves, at least for a while.
And then there is our own story: for the better part of three centuries, people have encountered God right here at St. Thomas’, right here at this high place.
For all these years, people have gathered here, stepping over that now worn-down threshold, walking on these very bricks, bringing their deepest hopes, their worst fears, their profoundest sorrows, bringing all that and more to God, bathing these old walls in prayer.
For the better part of three centuries, people have encountered God right here in this high place, in word and sacrament, through music, through the genuine care shown to one another, and the simple joy of breaking bread, of sipping coffee, of digging into a stack of pancakes, together.
In the short time I have been here, I have already encountered God here more times than I can count.
From our first Sunday together when I saw so many of you making your way up the front walk, your faces glowing – maybe not requiring a veil, but still awfully bright.
And in the half year or so since, I have encountered God each time we have gathered to pray, to sing, to receive Communion, to wrestle with Scripture – each time I’ve heard our preschool children laughing and learning - each time we’ve said farewell to cherished parishioners, each time we have dared to dream about our future, together.
Yes, just like so many of our spiritual ancestors, we encounter God right here, in a high place.
Although Peter had the totally reasonable idea of building shrines for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, trying to hold onto that mountaintop experience for as long as he could, in the end Jesus and his friends had to come back down the mountain and wade back into the world, with all of its suffering and fears.
No surprise, there’s a crowd waiting for Jesus, eager to hear the good news, hoping against hope for healing and new life.
A voice cuts through the din of the crowd, a desperate father crying out to Jesus, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child.”
The father goes on to describe his ailment, something that sounds like epilepsy. And the father goes on to tell Jesus that he had asked the disciples to heal the poor boy but they couldn’t do it.
This is not an unfamiliar situation. The gospels include several stories of frantic parents begging Jesus to heal their children. But this time, Jesus does not offer words of compassion.
Instead, Jesus sounds angry and frustrated.
He sounds like he’s just about had it.
He says, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?”
Maybe Jesus is disappointed in his disciples, or maybe Jesus is having some trouble shifting from his high place encounter down to the mess of the world, down to the troubles of the low place.
Nevertheless, Jesus casts out the spirit and heals the boy – the boy, who, thanks to Jesus, has his own transfiguration – no longer foaming at the mouth and thrashing around but restored to peace and health.
Luke tells us, “all were astounded at the greatness of God.”
Yes, we can and do encounter God in high places like here at St. Thomas’.
But, like suffering boy and his desperate father, like all the people in the crowd that day, we can also encounter God in the low places, too.
Over the past half-year or so, I’ve heard so many of you talk about encounters with God in the low places: the mission trips and Habitat for Humanity builds; bringing delicious food and many other gifts to the folks at Paul’s Place and the Community Crisis Center; working together to meet the endless challenges that arise as we care for so much property and some very old old buildings.
And, most of all, I know you have encountered God in the low places of illness, fear, and loss - when you’ve been supported by Malcolm Ellis or Bill Baxter or the other clergy who have come before me – when you’ve been held by other parishioners, transforming low places into moments of grace.
The great truth is that we encounter God in places both high and low.
Today is the day of our annual parish meeting when we will hear and read reports about the business and ministries of the church.
The details are important but if we listen and read between the lines we will discover stories of encountering God in places both high and low.
And today is also the last Sunday after the Epiphany, the final Sunday before Lent.
Soon, our alleluias will be silenced and most of the shiny things here in church will either be put away or veiled, some of the language and the order of our services will be adjusted, too – all of these changes meant not to confuse or annoy us, but to get us to pay attention – to ponder what’s been going on in our hearts and our lives - to help us keep an eye out God.
And, finally, the world today has been brought low by the lingering effects of the pandemic, economic uncertainty, bitter partisan divisions, the ongoing Afghan refugee crisis, and, of course, the heartbreakingly tragic and highly dangerous war in Ukraine.
I wonder what Jesus says about this generation!
So, thank God, thank God, that we have this high place, right?
But we can’t just stay here.
As members of a servant church, we are called to come down the mountain and go into the low places, sharing God’s love and mercy, offering small but essential gifts of peace and healing where there is so much hurt and suffering.
All with God’s help, of course.
So, as we look to an uncertain and even frightening future, we can be sure of at least this:
Just like our spiritual ancestors, we will go on encountering God, in places high and low.
Amen.
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