It was a cold
February afternoon – a Super Bowl Sunday, to be exact - just a few months after
the priest had presided at the wedding of a wonderful young couple. The ceremony
had been full of the formal words of commitment, with beautiful music to
complement the words that were spoken. The bride had been radiant in a dress
that must have cost more than the priest’s car did. The reception, at a nearby
vineyard, had been luxurious, the finest hospitality that a whole lot of money
can buy.
It had been a
magnificent celebration of love. A pricey celebration of love, to be sure, but
hey, if you’re in love and the parents can afford it, why not? Everyone thought
it was a great beginning for a couple who were deeply in love with each other.
And now, only four
months later, the bride was sitting in the wing chair in the priest’s office,
crying her eyes out. “I thought married life would be the happily ever after! I
thought he’d keep on courting me! I feel taken for granted! He expects me to do
all this stuff, and he never says thank you! Nobody told me that marriage would
be like this, so boring, so much WORK!”
The priest thought,
“well, yes, we did talk about this in the premarital counseling, but mentioning
that would probably not be helpful right now.”
Instead, they talked
about the work after a big party, when you have to clear the tables and load
the dishwasher and figure out how to fit the leftovers into the refrigerator.
Parties only last so long. They end, and then the work begins.
In our gospel, we
hear the story of an incredible party. It’s an intimate one, to be sure: just
Jesus, a few disciples, a couple of surprise guests. And a surprising change in
the host: Jesus glows like a June bride with an extreme makeover, complete with
airbrushed makeup. It’s got another special effect: the cloud machine is on,
enveloping them all in a holy fog. And there’s not just the cloud machine,
there’s that Darth Vader voice, the voice of God saying Jesus is the Chosen
One. The wow factor at this party is over the top. Peter wants to gussy things
up with some tents, implying that they might want the party to continue on with
the group staying up on the mountain in party land forever, but Jesus keeps it
simple and short. And then, suddenly, like all good parties, it’s over. They
may have wanted it to last, but always leave them wanting more, right? Jesus is
back to being Jesus, the surprise guests are gone, the loud voice is gone, and
they have to climb all the way back down the mountain. Good thing Peter didn't
put up those tents!
No, now there is no
more magic land with fog and mysterious voices and appearances by great
prophets of ancient days.
So they slog down
the mountain, this rabbi and his fisherman followers. My guess is that Peter
and John and James were much more comfortable on flat land, hard by the sea
they fished, than they were in the rocky crags of the mountain of
transfiguration, so I can picture them slipping and sliding and scraping their
hands maneuvering down the slope. Jesus could handle it because, well, he was
Jesus, but those fishermen, the aftermath of the big party on the top of the
mountain was not pleasant, it was hard work. They were emotionally and
physically exhausted by what they had experienced.
And as if to
reinforce that idea, the very next thing that happened was not a little rest
and recovery after the big party, but a huge crowd and the cry of a man who
begged for Jesus to heal his possessed son. And Jesus, sounding like he really
needed a rest, muttered a brief word of complaint that his teachings were not
really being taken seriously: “you guys! You only come over to me when you want
something. When I tell you what to do you don’t pay attention…but never mind.
Bring me the boy.”
And he healed him.
After the party,
there’s not endless party, there’s work to be done. Not for radiant brides, not
for transfigured Jesus, and most certainly not for disciples.
For me, the story
gives me exactly what I need to remember about the week ahead of us.
This evening, you
may be going to a SuperBowl party. You may be hosting one. There may be a Mardi
Gras party, a Shrove Tuesday pancake supper, a last night on the town…
…because we need
that to prepare for the fact that on Wednesday, we are reminded of the work of
discipleship as we begin the walk to the Cross with Jesus Christ. On Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, we enter the season of Lent, and make no mistake, Lent is work.
I used to think that
Lent was about giving up chocolate. I thought it was about a season without the
word “Alleluia,” a dark season.
But it’s not dark.
It is simply a time of focused work after the party of seeing the glow of Jesus
Christ, the shine on the face of Moses. You can’t look into the lightbulb
indefinitely. You have to come down from the mountain after the party, and
there’s work to be done.
We become disciples
of Christ not when we see the glowy shiny face of the Divine One on top of a
mountain. We become disciples of Christ when we are filled with the recognition
that Christ bids us to do His work on earth. We become disciples of Christ when
we look and look hard at ourselves and reflect on the ways we have been lazy
about serving others, or deluded about our own importance, or whiny about our
needs being met when others’ needs are so much greater.
The work of the
season we approach this week is reflection, recognition and recommitment. We
reflect on who we are and how we live into God’s expectations of us. We recognize
the ways we have been on the right path, and the ways we have failed. We
recommit to serving God, glorifying God by living as God would have us live,
caring for those around us, even the most unlovable. And why do we do that?
Precisely because we
have seen his glory on the mountaintop. We have seen the possibilities in
creation and in each other, and that glow, that shine tells us there is
something more that we can do, to co-create a better world, to bring God’s
reign to this corner of the earth. We recommit because we now understand that
the possibilities are infinite because God’s love for us is infinite.
So we may need to
climb back down from the party mountain to something that feels more quotidian,
more like work, a little bit boring, a whole lot uncomfortable. Looking at
ourselves is often uncomfortable. But that’s the work of this season, and
again, I won’t pretend it isn’t work.
But we have the glow
to warm our hearts, to comfort us in the midst of the work. We have the love of
the one who created us, who continually calls us back into a more perfect
relationship, who shows us we and the world can be better. We have the
possibility of transfiguration of our world even as we await the resurrection
of Christ at Easter. We can do this thing!
That February
afternoon, the priest said to the bride, “Do you still love him?”
“Of course I do!”
“Does he still love
you? Do you doubt his love?”
“No, I know he loves
me. I just miss the romance.”
“Does he do things
for you?”
She sniffed,
“Sometimes.”
“Do you do things
for him?”
“Well, yes, of
course…sometimes.”
“Can you do the work
and look for the wonderful silly moments of romance even in the midst of that
work?”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“Well, I’m not in
your marriage, so I’m going to have to guess here, but has there ever been a
time when the two of you were doing work around the house and something silly
happened and you were laughing about it together, and you felt so warm and
close in that moment? In my house, it’s usually when the cat throws up and
we’re both avoiding cleaning it up...I kid you not!”
She laughed. “He
chased me around the house with the vacuum the other day.”
“And what happened
when he caught you?”
She blushed…
...”never mind!”
The conversation
ended shortly after that. She was starting to realize that parties are short,
and life is long. There is always work. But even in the work, there is the
warmth and joy of possibilities in ourselves, in our church, in our world.
Let this Ash
Wednesday mark the beginning of the work of reflection, recognition and
recommitment, to remind ourselves of our possibilities and God’s possibilities,
so we can respond to the glory and love of God with open hearts.
Amen.
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