Glory & Suffering
Matthew 17:1-9
The Rev. Sara Fischer
Today’s gospel begins: “Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John…” Six days later than what? Six days from the conversation where Jesus asks Peter, “who do people say that I am?” Six days from the time when Jesus tells the disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of institutional religion, be killed by the Romans, and on the third day be raised. Six days after Peter responds: “Say it isn’t so, Lord!” and gets a bit of a tongue lashing from Jesus.
Imagine what it’s like for the disciples to hear all of this for the first time. How does it strike you, just seven weeks after singing “Glory to the newborn king” and six weeks after the magi come to worship the baby Jesus, how does it strike you to hear that this Savior is going to suffer and die a miserable death in Jerusalem?
Peter and the other disciples have been expecting something glorious as they’ve been following Jesus around, watching him teach, preach, perform miracles and gather more followers. Now they must turn around the big ship of their own expectations of what a Messiah might look like and consider instead what it means to have a messiah who suffers and dies.
This is one way of looking at the season of Lent, which begins this Wednesday, asking the question: What does it mean to us to follow a messiah who suffers and dies?
Before that, of course, we have this gospel story of the Transfiguration, and so we must also explore what it means to have a messiah who is revealed in divine glory.
What did Peter and James and John see? We’ll never know for sure, but the imagery is evocative. Cinematic. Bright lights, dense clouds, Jesus dazzling…Peter thought he knew what was going on. His whole life, he’d heard the story we heard this morning of Moses going up the mountain to talk with the Holy One. Moses stayed up there for forty days! So Peter thinks it’s going to be a long visit, and suggests that he build three tents so that Jesus, Moses, and Elijah will be more comfortable. Peter forgets that Jesus is almost always on the move.
It is a fearful thing to be in the presence of God. Peter and his friends fall to the ground and are overcome by fear, not because of the whole glorious scene, but because of the words of God: This is my Son; listen to him. The next thing that happens is that Jesus touches them and says get up and do not be afraid. Easy for him to say. Jesus tells them to get up because he needs them to join him on the road to Jerusalem. The world needs Jesus’ disciples. The world needs us.
We cannot stay in otherworldly places of beauty and awe—we belong out in the world. If we use community or spirituality to escape the world, then blessing—like the blessings of this place—turn into temptation.
The work of discipleship, then, and now, is the work of witnessing to suffering and death, and witnessing to the promise and power of resurrection.
When we are called as followers of Jesus, we are called to die, over and over again. We are called to die to our own needs and expectations, die to our own agenda, die to our own idea of how things are supposed to turn out. Just like Peter. We are called to lose our lives as we conceive them to be. This loss can be excruciating.
Five hundred years ago Martin Luther talked about two different theologies. (Remember that “theology” is simply academic shorthand for the question: “What is God up to?”)
The theologies Luther articulated were the theology of glory, and the theology of the cross. The theology of glory is built on assumptions of how God is supposed to act in the world. God rewards the good with riches, good health, and long life. God answers every prayer in the affirmative. God punishes the wicked, God brings strong, right-thinking people to power. Those who do not succeed, and especially those who experience loss and failure, have surely done something wrong. There is room, in a theology of glory, for violence—either in the name of defense or retribution. We might say that a covenant of glory is a promise of rewards and punishments, of victory and power.
The theology of the cross says that what God is up to is that God reveals himself to us as Jesus rejected and suffering. That where there is suffering, loss, disappointment, abandonment, and unspeakable grief, that’s where God is. God is present in our suffering when we rage against inexplicable events, when we mourn the loss of a loved one, or when we suffer as the result of our own inability to hold our lives loosely for the sake of the gospel. There is no room, in the theology of the Cross, for violence, retributive or otherwise. A covenant formed in the shadow of the Cross is a covenant in which God promises to be present with us in suffering and death, and promises to transform death into new life, a covenant in which we empty ourselves for the sake of the Gospel.
I believe that in creation God plants in each of us the impulse to connect with suffering, to lessen the suffering of loved ones, strangers, and even enemies. It’s part of our humanity, created in God’s likeness. Yes, we might have an impulse to look away, but that is not from God. God’s call, if you follow a Messiah who suffers and dies, is to be in solidarity with all who suffer. God’s call is to witness, through solidarity and compassion, to the promise of resurrection.
This gospel story of the transfiguration is in a sense a story of the transition from glory to suffering.
I spend a lot of time with people who are suffering. I often ask, when the time is right: “What gives you joy?” and I also ask: “What gives you courage?” This last Sunday in Epiphany is a joyful day, with our last Alleluias before Lent, flowers, white vestments, all of that. It is also a day that calls for courage as we, like Jesus and the disciples, set our faces toward Jerusalem, toward the death of the messiah, and toward the mystery of the resurrection.
My prayer is that we can listen deeply to the Spirit of compassion moving within each of us and in this place, and hear God’s voice saying what we heard six weeks ago and again this morning: This is my beloved. With him—with you, and you, and you—I am well pleased.
