Come and Set a Spell (Rob Gieselmann, Feb. 18, 2007)
 

Peter, John and James are not disciples because they get it. In-fact, they don’t get it, anymore than you or I do.

They are disciples because they followed. They dumped their fishing nets overboard, jumped out of the boat before it reached the beach, ditched the boat, and followed.

They didn’t follow because Jesus piqued their intellectual curiosity; they didn’t follow because Jesus promised to overthrow Caesar. They didn’t even follow because Jesus walked on water.

Why, then, did they follow? It doesn’t make sense. You see, these followers, Peter, John and James, are men without a future. Best I can tell, Jesus promised them nothing, save one thing: no future.

Jesus was quite clear about this: I’m going to Jerusalem to die. He said this repeatedly.

And so, here are these three hapless followers, standing off to one side, oddly out of place. At the top of a mountain. Jesus is General Electric white, a lightbulb -- and he’s talking with Moses and Elijah. Peter, John and James can’t help themselves, they listen-in, become holy eavesdroppers.

What do they hear? Moses and Elijah are talking to Jesus about his departure – the word here is Exodus. As in the Exodus. It is impossible to miss the not-so-subtle allusion to Moses and Pharoah. Free the people, Jesus came to free people.

But first, he must depart. As in die. Easter, remember, is three days after Good Friday. The door to life is death. And that’s what they’re talking about, Jesus, Moses and Elijah. Easter and Good Friday.

You can bet they got it, Peter, and John and James. If Jesus has no future here on earth, they don’t either. No Back to the Future for them.

Even after Easter, Jesus doesn’t offer much of a future. Jesus appears to them cooking and eating fish on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. He asks Peter three times, Simon, son of John, do you love me? Peter answers, why yes, Lord, don’t you know? To which Jesus responds, Feed my Sheep.

At the end of this little non-sensical question and answer session, Jesus tells Peter he’s going to die a martyr’s death:

I tell you most solemnly,

when you were young

you put on your own belt

and walked where you liked;

but when you grow old

you will stretch out your hands,

and somebody else will put a belt round you

and take you where you would rather not go.

In the end, Peter died that very martyr’s death, crucified upside down, upside down at his request, because he didn’t consider himself worthy to die in the same manner as his Lord.

Three men, no future. Dead men walking. And yet, they followed anyway.

I have to be honest with you. I don’t like the story of the Transfiguration – or at least, I don’t cozy up to it – To be sure, this Transfiguration moment is the pivotal to the Gospel, to Jesus life and work, but it feels somehow remote, like I’m the eavesdropper, I’m Peter standing on the outside, looking in. I can’t seem to break through.

So I mumble and fumble, and finally blurt out, let’s build three tents, one for each of you. It all feels too heavy. A burden too large. And I’m exhausted, just thinking about it.

I long for a light-hearted religion – a friendship with God. What a friend we have in Jesus . . . Best buddies, Jesus and me, I should be able to waltz into the ‘ole throne room, plop myself down in the adjacent overstuffed chair, throw my legs over the arms, and start a buddy-to-buddy chat.

But the Transfiguration is a God-sighting, a Theophany, it is naked truth in lightbulb form. The absolute and complete light that is God burns holes in my pretense, my false self, all that I use to hide myself from others. I stand exposed.

What a friend we have in Jesus. . . . Some friend, this Jesus is – plucks me like a flower, pulls the petals off one by one – like I’m Peter, by the shore, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not…

And I, I am sore afraid.

Do you know what they said of Moses? They said Moses talked to God like a friend. In those days, wandering through the wilderness, Moses would walk at night outside the camp, to the God-Tent, their version of a church. Night after night, he would do this, and night after night, all the Hebrew men would gather at their tent doorwarys, and watch Moses.

They would watch because God in cloud would follow Moses to the Tent. And while they watched, the Lord would speak to Moses – face to face – as a man speaks with his friend, God, Moses’ friend.

They would watch, but none of them would follow. Save one young man, Joshua, Son of Nun. Every night, Joshua tagged along behind Moses, and night after night, Joshua would listen to Moses and God talk, and night after night, Joshua would stay after Moses left, to feel, to absorb, God’s presence.

I wonder about Moses, and Joshua, and the cloud as God present, and I think about cigarette smoke, and how when you’ve been around someone smoking, and you walk away, and you smell your clothes, and you smell like cigarettes, and I wonder about Joshua, and Jesus and Moses? Did they smell like God,

and I wonder about us, do we smell like God?

**There is a beautiful story about the first American beatified as a saint, Mother Frances Cabrini. When Mother Cabrini was younger, still in Italy before moving to the United States, she would shut herself in her room to pray. One day, while Mother Cabrini was praying, another sister burst into her room without knocking. The sister became speechless, for the room was filled with a soft radiance, a glow. Mother Cabrini remarked, This isn’t anything. Just ignore it and go on with what you were doing.

From that day forward, Mother Cabrini locked her door during prayer time, but the other sisters still saw a glow emanating from under the doorway. Friendship with Jesus, an easy and sloppy relationship with God – you with your legs dangling over the arm of the barco-lounger next to the throne -- Touching the Divine at some deeper level – feels hard, feels like too much. And so we are Peter, standing off to the side, or the Hebrew men, in the doorways to our tents. We watch. We eavesdrop.

But why not waltz over to Jesus, Moses and Elijah, and join in the conversation?

Ever-vigilant Paul promises we can; he says that friendship with God is simple.

Not easy – simple.

The heavy lifting was accomplished at the Cross. By Christ. When the door to the throne/barco-lounger room swung open, and you were invited in. Come and set a spell.

No, the disciples didn’t follow Jesus because of his superior ideology or theology. Or his successful politics. And they certainly didn’t follow Jesus because he promised a bright future. What’s more, they obviously don’t get it all the time.

Still, they followed, and they follow because they couldn’t not follow. The force of the man, the power of God, the draw of light.

In the end, after the resurrection, these men dropped all pretense, all shame, all fear. Wouldn’t you if you’d seen a ghost, Jesus as a dead man walking? Wouldn’t you if you’d received such a gift as the Holy Spirit?

You have, and you have.

Lent, of-course, begins in three days. I call upon you to observe a holy Lent to find your lounge-chair, and set a while.

Amen.

Copyright 2007