In the Cloud

SCRIPTURE TEXT:  Matthew 17:1-9
PREACHER:  Rev. Monte Marshall

Today is a pivotal Sunday in the life of the church.  We’re moving from the season of Epiphany to the season of Lent.  It’s like coming to the end of the day when we’re caught between light and darkness.  As we move forward into Lent, night will fall.  And during the season, the darkness will deepen, especially as we draw closer to the crucifixion of Jesus. 

Now I realize that for many of us, the darkness is an uncomfortable place to be.  We might prefer to fast-forward to Easter.  Unfortunately, there’s no shortcut around Lent.  The realities of suffering and death will confront us.  And we dare not escape, because there’s soul-work to done in the darkness that prepares us for a new burst of light and life that comes with the Easter dawn.  Let’s pray.  PRAYER

Light.  This is how this morning’s story from Matthew’s gospel begins.  Jesus is alone with Peter, James and John. He’s taken them up a high mountain.  And then it happens “before their eyes.”  Jesus is transfigured.  As Barbara Brown Taylor puts it: “And there he is:  someone you thought you knew really well, standing their pulsing with light, leaking light everywhere.  Face like a flame.  Clothes dazzling white.”[1]  The light represents the glory of God.

Then, Peter, James and John see Moses and Elijah conversing with Jesus.  Barbara Brown Taylor calls them “Dead men come back to life.”[2]  But there they are, bathed in light. 

And apparently, Peter likes the light.  He says to Jesus: “’Rabbi, how good that we are here!’”  Peter wants to linger in the light: “’With your permission I will erect three shelters here—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah!’”

Peter’s response is understandable.  He already knows that there are dark days ahead.  In Matthew’s chronology, six days before the transfiguration, Jesus tells his disciples that he’s going to Jerusalem.  He tells them that there’s suffering ahead.  He tells them that his enemies will kill him.  He tells them that on the third day, he will be raised to life. 

Well, Peter will have none of it.  This is not his idea of a Messiah.  He’s not willing to face the darkness even if there is a glimmer of Easter light at the end.  So Peter rebukes Jesus: “’Never, Rabbi…. This will never happen to you.’”       

Jesus replies: “’Get yourself behind me, you Satan!  You are trying to make me stumble and fall.  You’re setting your mind not on the things of God, but of mortals.’”  

Then, Jesus invites his disciples to follow him into the darkness.  He says to them: “’If you wish to come after me, you must deny your very selves, take up the instrument of your own death and begin to follow in my footsteps.’”[3]

Given what’s ahead, is it any wonder why Peter wants to linger in the light up on the mountain top?  Better the light on the mountain top than the darkness that awaits in Jerusalem. 

I can relate to Peter. Peter likes the light, and so do I.  I prefer sunshine and clear, blue skies to dark, cloudy days.  I prefer daylight to the darkness of night.  And here’s why:  When the darkness falls, I’m more prone to depression.  I’m more susceptible to fear.  In the darkness, I feel more alone, less in control, uncertain of my direction, unsure of what lies ahead.  Now it’s true that terrible things can happen at any time, in the light or in the darkness, but when such things happen in the darkness, the terror is amplified, at least for me.

So what happens to Peter?  Does he get to build his shelters and linger in the light?  No.  In fact, even before Peter finishes speaking, a cloud appears.  The text says that “a bright cloud overshadowed them.”  Imagine it.  There’s darkness and there’s light.  There’s brightness and there are shadows.  Barbara Brown Taylor writes: “That’s what God’s glory looks like…a big bright cloud—dark and dazzling at the same time.”[4]  In the scriptures, a shining cloud like this is a sure sign of God’s presence. 

And then, out of the cloud, comes a voice: “’This is my Own, my Beloved, on whom my favor rests.  Listen to him!”

And how do the disciples respond?  Do they rejoice in the cloud?  Does the voice thrill them?  Of course not!  They’re terrified!  They fall flat on the faces.  They’re “overcome with fear.”

Jesus comes to them.  He touches them.  And he says to them: “Get up!  Don’t be afraid.”  These words are indispensable.  They call forth courage from those caught in the cloud with profound challenges ahead.  Trust is also required in the one who comes, touches and speaks.

The disciples look up and what do they see?  They only see Jesus—the Beloved—the favored One they’re supposed to listen to even when he talks about suffering and death—the chosen One they’re supposed to follow even to the cross.

Is all of this easy to understand?  No.  And the story recognized this.  The story recognizes that people will have trouble getting their minds around this amazing episode of light and darkness, bright cloud and commanding voice, especially on the front side of Easter.  So Jesus tells his disciples: “’Don’t tell anyone about this until the Chosen One has risen from the dead.’”

Well clearly, this story is no longer a secret.  The cat’s out of the bag.  The question is:  What does this story mean for us? 

Speaking personally, the meaning of the story is to be discerned from within the cloud.  And that’s okay.  Actually, I’m drawn to the cloud.  The darkness frightens me, but I’m drawn to the cloud.    

I’m drawn to the cloud because I think there’s truth in the comments of a freelance writer from Detroit, Michigan named Duane Townsend.  “Humanity has entered a time of unsettling uncertainties,” he writes.  “The familiar has become strange and the strange has become common.”  Townsend then notes that “This is a good time to allow uncertainty to cloud your thoughts of the sacred divine… When the cloud lifts,” Townsend concludes, “your relationship with the divine will be renewed, deepened, matured.”

Townsend explains his point of view: “Preconceived ideas,” he writes, “often cloud our experiences of the absolute.  We often miss the truth of our spiritual journey.  We’re blinded by our own self-induced, myopic images, of what the spiritual journey should look, feel or be like.  When we become so fixated on the form, the image, the mode of our seeking that we miss the fullness of the experience of the divine.  This causes us to miss the eternal Presence.  There comes a time when the dedicated, devoted pursuit of Spirit becomes the very thing which blinds us to the wholeness.  Every journey requires a season of…sacred withdrawal from all that you think you’re sure of about God.”[5]  Apparently, Peter, James and John needed this kind of withdrawal into the darkness of the cloud on their way to Easter, and so do I.  Consequently, I’m drawn to the cloud.

I’m drawn to the cloud because God is in the darkness.  Barbara Brown Taylor writes: “God dwells in deep darkness.  The darkness that is not dark to God can be terrifying for those who like our deities well lit.  When we cannot see—when we are not sure where we are going and all our old landmarks have vanished inside the cloud—then plenty of us can believe we are lost when the exact opposite may be true.  Based on the witness of those who have gone before, the dark cloud is where God takes people apart so they can be made new.  It is the cloud of unknowing where nothing you thought you knew about God can prepare you to meet the God who is.  It is the dark womb where life begins again, at least for those who are willing to lift the veil.”[6]   Apparently, Peter, James and John needed to be taken apart in the darkness of the cloud on their way to Easter, and so do I.  Consequently, I’m drawn to the cloud.

What about you?  On this pivotal Sunday in the life of the church, as we move from Epiphany light into Lenten darkness on the way to Easter, we’re invited into the cloud.  Is it a frightening experience?  You bet it is.  But Jesus says:  “’Don’t be afraid.’”  After all, as Taylor says, the “dark and dazzling cloud” is “God’s home…. To be invited in is a great honor, and to stay awhile?  Better yet.”[7] 

So why not say “yes” to the invitation?  Any attempt to escape the darkness of the cloud is only a temporary reprieve for as Taylor  reminds us:  “if we haven’t already been there, we will be, by and by.  No one who follows Jesus gets a rain check.  No one who is human gets to bypass the cloud.”[8]  So God help us:  Into the cloud we go!  Thanks be to God.  Amen.