If we listen to what happened in readings from
scripture today, we would think that seeing God is a pretty scary or dangerous
thing.
Moses goes up to the mountain, and is in the presence
of God. He sees God, and God gives him the Ten Commandments. When he comes down
from the mountain he is glowing like the South Anna nuclear reactor. It’s a
scary thing, how much he is glowing, and the people are so frightened that Moses
realizes he has to cover his face. The glow is too frightening to them. So he
covers himself with the veil whenever he talks to the Israelites, and only takes
the veil off when he goes to talk to God.
That seems to be the thing about being in the presence
of God. It changes you.
Something similar happens in the Gospel. Jesus goes up
to the top of the mountain to pray, bringing Peter and John and James, and
suddenly Moses and Elijah appear. Peter and James and John know their
scripture, and remember that Moses and Elijah have been dead for quite a long
while, and now all three of them – Jesus, Moses and Elijah – are glowing like a
super-strong LED headlight. God’s voice is heard, affirming Jesus as His son. They’re
scared – that sure does seem to be the general reaction to glowing people – so they
fall to the ground.
The presence of God changes people. There is an energy
in that presence like the heat and light of the sun. So it’s no surprise that
they glow. And it’s also no surprise that the glow is a little intimidating.
And yet we cannot turn away from the glow, can we? It
is so beautiful, so soul-warming, that we are drawn to it, even as we are
frightened by it.
Perhaps we are beginning to understand that there is a certain amount of
work involved in getting ourselves to a place where we can see God. In the case
of Moses and of Jesus and the three disciples, they have to climb a mountain to
get there.
And the people of Israel, faced with this glowing
Moses who brings God’s word to them, have to see beyond the veil with which
Moses covers his face – they have to get beyond the glow to hear the words.
It seems that getting to know God requires some effort
on our part.
Sometimes the work is climbing mountains. Other times,
perhaps it is simply surviving the challenges of life.
I’m thinking of the trip that Doug and I took to
Ireland last summer, and the monster seven-hour hike we took over the extremely
challenging limestone terrain of the Burren region. Some parts were so
difficult, that all of our concentration was centered on the next step. Some
parts were just plain old steep and hard. But there was a view from the top –
the farms and fields running down into Galway Bay - that was transcendent, and I doubt that it
would have affected us anywhere near as much if we had had an easy time of it.
About five hours into the hike, we took a break and I lay on my back, soaked
with sweat despite the 50 degree temperature, trying to catch my breath. The
leader was reading a poem about reconnecting with one’s ancestors – a potent
image for me, going to the land of my forebears and thinking of my father and
his people in particular. And in the midst of it, the breeze sweeping across
the top of the hill was like God’s
caress. Not my father’s, but my heavenly father’s. In that moment, I felt God’s
presence and God’s energy flowing into me, giving me what I needed to continue
the last leg of the hike, down to a house where the meal that would feed our
bodies and souls awaited.
Would I have felt God on that cool afternoon had I not
gone on the hike? Maybe, maybe not. But I can attest the intensity of that feeling was due in part to the intensity of the work that
preceded it.
So what is the work that we need to do to know God, to
see him before us? Do we need to climb mountains, or wander in the desert for
forty years, to understand who God is?
Perhaps the answer is found in the wise words of
Franciscan theologian Richard Rohr. He offers a very different kind of prescription:
prayer. He writes that “Prayer lives in
pure open moments of right here, right now. This is enough, this is fullness.
If it is not right here right now, it doesn't exist. If we don't know God now, why would we know God later? If we
don't see God now, would the eyes be prepared to see God later?"
No strenuous hike, no appearance of those saints long
gone, no booming voice from the clouds. Just prayer. For Rohr, prayer is the
way to be present to God and to open ourselves to what God has to say to us. Now,
the likelihood that our faces will be glowing so brightly that we have to cover
ourselves so we don’t scare the kids or the dog is pretty slim. And yet, don’t
we feel different when we find that place of stillness so we can be aware of
God’s presence?
In a few days, we will begin Lent, that season when we
are to examine our hearts. We are supposed to see how we can be closer to God
and to what God has in mind for us…to know God more deeply. That is what Lent
is about, using whatever means necessary to get there. And Rohr reminds us that
if we want to get a taste of that glow, an insight into the God who is right
beside us, the starting point is prayer. Just prayer. Let this holy season of
Lent be the time that you feel the spark of a deeper relationship with God,
with prayer.
Amen.
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