February 7, 2016 – The Last Sunday after the Epiphany
© 2016 Evan D. Garner
What do you do when the
road gets tough? What keeps you going when things get really hard?
A long time ago, back
when I was a sophomore in high school, I got in big trouble. Until then, I had
always been a pretty good kid. I never got caught with the wrong crowd. I
always did what my parents and teachers expected of me. Sure, I talked my way
into after-school detention a time or two, but my record was pretty clean. And
then I screwed up in a big way.
I was out of town at a
Key Club Convention. I had been elected District Secretary, and, along with a
group of other state-wide officers, I was treated to a nice suite in a Miami
Beach hotel. I was the only underclassman in the group, and I’d like to tell
you that I protested loudly when the alcohol came out, but I didn’t. That first
night was a lot of fun. It was the only night that was a lot of fun. The next
evening, at the convention’s opening session, I looked up to see the chief
disciplinarian pointing right at me and beckoning me to follow him out into the
lobby. I never went back in. We were busted. I went all the way to Miami for a
Key Club Convention and only saw the inside of the convention hall for about 15
minutes.
But the worst part was
the phone call. Three of us had gotten in trouble, and we took turns dialing
our parents to tell them what had happened. Much of that whole experience gets
lost in my memory, but not the phone call. Left by myself, I dialed my parents’
number. When my dad picked up, I said, “Is Mom there?” Those were the last
words I got out before the sobbing began. He knew instantly, of course, that
something was wrong. Through choked tears, I explained to him what I had done. He
listened as I blubbered my way through my confession. When I was finished, I
went into the hall and got the chaperone so that he could fill my father in on
the ugly details.
We didn’t actually go home
after that. It was cheaper to leave us in a different motel in Miami until the
convention was over than to change the airline tickets, so I had a couple more
days to think about it. Unlike most of the kids who went to Miami for a week, I
didn’t have any good stories to tell my parents. But the remarkable thing was
that, when I got home, life went on. Sure, I had to resign from my position in
Key Club. I had to meet with our faculty advisor and explain to her what
happened. And she made me meet with the principal and the president of the
Kiwanis Club that had helped pay for the trip. But, for the most part, that was
it. I spent the rest of the summer as a free man—free to ponder two distinct
truths: 1) I had screwed up in a really big way and 2) my parents had been
remarkably forgiving. They never yelled at me. They didn’t tell me what a
disappointment I was. Even on that dreaded phone call, my father was supportive
instead of punitive. I had made the biggest mistake of my entire life, and
parents loved me anyway. And I would need that forgiving love when I went to
college, where even bigger trouble was waiting for me.
“Eight days after Peter
had acknowledged Jesus as the Christ of God, Jesus took with him Peter and John
and James, and went up on the mountain to pray.” Jesus and his disciples did
that a lot—pray—but this day was different. While Jesus was praying, his whole
appearance changed. His skin began to shine. His clothes became a dazzling
white. His face beamed like the sun. Peter and the other disciples looked, and
they could see two men standing with Jesus. One was Moses, and the other was
Elijah. They were the Law and the Prophets—a clear and visible indication that
Jesus was the fulfillment of both. Anything that had previously been
hidden—anything that Jesus had kept under wraps—was now exposed for these three
disciples to see. Jesus, their master, their rabbi, wasn’t just a remarkable
teacher. He was God’s chosen one—the Christ, the one upon whom the hopes and
dreams of God’s people rested.
But why that day? Why
that mountain top? Why Peter, James, and John? Why not show everyone? Why not
show the whole world who Jesus really was?
Eight days earlier,
Jesus, again, had been praying. He stopped to ask the disciples, “Who do the
crowds say that I am?” And they replied, “Some say John the Baptist, and others
say Elijah, and still others say one of the prophets.” “But who do you say that
I am?” Jesus asked them. And Peter declared, “You are the Christ of God.” He
was right, of course, but that doesn’t mean that Peter and the other disciples
knew what that meant. You might recall what Jesus said to them right after
Peter’s confession: “The Son of Man must suffer and be rejected by the chief
priests and the scribes and be killed and on the third day rise again.” That
was the path that stretched out ahead of God’s chosen one. That was the future
God had in store for his Son. But acknowledging that Jesus was the Christ and
hearing him predict his own death is still very different from watching him
nailed to a cross and hearing him gasp for his last breath and seeing him laid
in a tomb and, through all of that, believing that there is still hope and
trusting that Jesus really is the one God has sent to save the world.
What would it take, in
your darkest hour, for you not to lose hope? What would you need to carry you
through that place of deepest loss? What would give you confidence that someday,
somehow the sun would rise again? Would words be enough? Or would you need
something more?
In the glorious light of
the transfiguration, Jesus gave to Peter, James, and John a great gift. He showed
them what they already knew. He revealed to them his true nature in a way that
transcends sermons and parables and even miracles. He showed them with the
blinding light of God’s presence that he was who Peter confessed him to
be—God’s chosen one, the anointed, the Christ. And, with that knowledge
confirmed not only in their minds but also in their eyes and in their hearts,
they were able to journey together down the road that led to Jerusalem, where,
indeed, the Son of Man would suffer and die. And I wonder whether we might say
that the seeds of hope and confidence that were planted in those disciples’
hearts on that transfiguration day were what it took for them and their faith
to survive the horrors of Good Friday and sustain them until they could see the
empty tomb. Could it be that the light of the transfiguration is the only thing
that got them through the darkness of Jesus’ death and led them to the sunrise
of Easter?
Sometimes the road is
hard. Sometimes the darkness closes in. Where will we see light? What will give
us strength? Believing something with your mind isn’t the same thing as
carrying it in your heart. Before that fateful trip to Miami, if you had asked
me whether my parents would love me even if I let them down in a tremendous
way, I would have told you yes, of course they would. They are my parents.
That’s what parents do. But, when I picked up the phone and dialed their
number, I wasn’t sure whether it would be love that picked up on the other end.
And it was. And I will carry that sense of belovedness with me for the rest of
my life. But even my parents’ transformative love pales in comparison with the
love that our heavenly father has for each one of us.
Don’t just hear that God
loves you. Don’t just say the words with your lips. See that love. Look for
that love. Sit in that love. Experience it and know it and carry it with you
forever. Journey with Peter, James, and John to the top of that mountain where
that love shines as bright as the new day. Race with them to the tomb where the
stone has been rolled away. Come to the altar and receive the body that was
broken for you and the blood which was shed for you. God’s love is more than
words. We don’t just say these things about Jesus because someone wrote the
words down a long time ago. We profess our belief in him—we give our whole
lives to him—because we have experienced that love firsthand. That love is
real. His love is real. Find it, experience it, know it, and let it carry you
through whatever lies ahead.
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