A sermon preached for the Last Sunday after Epiphany
February 22, 2022, St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Stuttgart, Arkansas
This sermon was preached three years ago immediately after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. While it is not what I will preach this Sunday, it remains timely.
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Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
Those words were written by W. H. Auden, a 20th century poet who helped translate the psalms in our own Book of Common Prayer. They are an excerpt from a poem entitled September 1, 1939. September 1, 1939: the day Germany invaded Poland, kicking off the bloody second world war. In the first stanza of the poem, Auden writes,
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.
I could not help but see the parallels between one dictator commanding armies into a neighboring nation-state on that September night and another dictator commanding his armies to invade Ukraine on a February night last week. After weeks of seeing troop build-ups along the Ukrainian border, can we really claim surprise at this attack? The answer to that question is the same today as it was in September 1939. No.
Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies
Defenseless and in stupor. Lulled into the belief that something like this could never happen–and yet it is the most obvious outcome there is. What more could we expect from Putin? What more could we have expected from Hitler? Someone once told me something that I think is mostly true, most of the time. “When someone shows you who they are, believe them.”
As invading troops pour into cities, Ukrainians are running for the border and hiding in bomb shelters, the government is in hiding but holding out, the military and normal citizens doing all in their power to hold the tide back, fighting in the streets. The poor people of Ukraine are beleaguered, indeed, by negation and despair.
Of course, so are we. Set aside the Ukrainian crisis for a moment, our lives are often marked by episodes of negation and despair, at a personal level. We live in a world where we feel pain, where grief is a reality, where suffering must be borne, where sin and evil seem to reign. Not that all of this life is bad. Far from it. We are blessed with very good things. But life, in a sense, is a mixed bag: the good and the bad go together. Or, as the Commital in the burial office in our prayer book says: “In the midst of life we are in death.”
How appropriate and fitting is it, then, that in the middle of all of this chaos–in the middle of Ukraine under siege, in the middle of the trials of our own lives–our gospel reading is the Transfiguration. In the middle of all of this darkness, Jesus shines from the mountain peak, radiant, brighter than the sun, showing us who he is. When someone shows you who they are, believe them.
Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up the mountain with him. It is only a few days before Jesus will enter Jerusalem, only a few days before Jesus will be arrested, tried, and crucified. In these last days, as darkness stalks in like a hunter to its prey, Jesus takes these chosen disciples up the mountain to show them something. While Jesus is praying, while God the Son is communing with God the Father in the love of God the Spirit, something happens to Jesus: his face shines, his clothing becomes dazzling white. Moses and Elijah, who represent the Law and the Prophets, appear with Jesus, and they begin discussing the coming darkness, the events that will take place in Jerusalem in just a few days.
And because they stay awake, these chosen disciples get to see it. Even though they are weighed down with sleep, even though they are weighed down with the cares of this world, even though they are weighed down with anxieties and worries and fears, even though, as Auden says, they are beleaguered by negation and despair, they persevere and stay awake. And they see light flashing out from this place where the Just are exchanging their messages. Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah. Jesus shining, revealing who he truly is: God in the flesh, shining like the sun.
They don’t quite understand what they are seeing. Not yet. They will come to understand after Calvary, after his death and resurrection, after his ascension into glory, after the descent of the Holy Spirit. They will come to understand. But right now they don’t quite get it all. They don’t quite understand that it is Jesus shining with his divinity. Moses and Elijah are not shining. No, they are basking in the light of Christ–or as Auden put it, this affirming flame. These ancient prophets are conversing with their Master, Jesus Christ, who is Lord of all, the living and the dead. Nor do the disciples understand that Jesus is not changing here. This divinity, this radiant glory lighting about him, has always been there. His divinity has always been present alongside his humanity: 100% God, 100% human. They are just seeing the fullness of who Jesus is.
When someone shows you who they are, believe them. Believe that Jesus is exactly who he is showing us he is today.
Peter jumps to a solution. “Let us make three dwellings, one for each of you.” But as he is speaking, a cloud descends, and God the Father speaks, just as he spoke at the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan: “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” God is saying, you don’t need to build three dwellings. You just need to listen. You just need to keep your focus on Jesus and do what he tells you to do. And even when the chaos of this world surrounds you, even when the chaos of your life threatens to overtake you, if you listen to Jesus, you will be where you need to be. You will never be lost, even though the world feels like it may fall apart and despots threaten their worst. You will never be lost, even though it may seem like you don’t know what to do next. You will never, never be lost, if you just listen to Jesus.
In a sense, Peter, James, and John are stand-ins for you and me. You and I are those chosen disciples that have been invited to the mountaintop with Jesus. We are invited there each time we take a moment for prayer. We are invited there each time we care for our neighbor. We are invited there each time we approach the altar of God and receive Christ himself: this is my Body, this is my Blood. We have been invited there, like those chosen disciples, to see: to see who Jesus is. We have been invited there, like those chosen disciples, to listen: to listen to the chosen, the beloved, our Savior and Lord. And, we have been invited there, to that mountaintop, to share. We see, we listen, but then we share in his divine life. That light of Jesus’s presence takes us over, it enraptures us, it claims us. And even though we may just be composed of eros and dust. Even though we may be beleaguered by negation and despair. Even though our world shakes and falls apart. We have been invited to share in that affirming flame of Christ’s presence. To shine with the light of Christ that was planted within us when we were claimed as Christ’s own forever and ever.
Christ has shown us who he is. Let’s believe him. See, listen, and share in his life and light.
Just as our poet W. H. Auden couldn’t do much as Hitler invaded Poland, we can’t do much now as our world shakes. You and I alone cannot do anything to change the course of events in eastern Europe. Often we can’t do much to change the course of events that bring chaos into our personal lives. But we can keep our eyes on Jesus. We can listen to Jesus. We can share in his divine life, in his glorious light. If we do that, we will never be lost. And then, we can share that affirming flame–Christ’s light of hope and peace and love. You and I, shining with the light of Christ within us, can become small flashes of light in a dark world, pointing the way to our only hope, to our God, who loves us and cares for us and never leaves us.
Storied Grace 