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Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus.

Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.

As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

If you look at my personnel files, or any records the PC(USA) has on me, they will tell you I was ordained five and a half years ago, on September 21, 2003, at Faith Presbyterian Church in Greensboro. We did it at eleven o’clock worship, which was tough on some schedules. But, I wanted that little church to see one, to experience the joy that comes with seeing that person kneel down, all those people coming forward to lay their hands upon them, praying God’s blessings upon their ministry. That is my favorite part. But, I was really ordained on a cold January morning on the streets of downtown Atlanta.

Masters of Divinity students at Columbia Seminary are required in the January term of their second year to take a course called ‘Alternative Context’. The entire class is broken up into smaller groups that travel to Northern Ireland, Central Europe, Jamaica, Mexico, Appalachia, and inner city Atlanta to study each specific context, as well as the way the church functions in and interacts with its surrounding culture. I was working at the time, so it made sense for to me stay in town and to the urban Atlanta track. We spent time doing a lot of interesting things, from talking to urban churches, to discussing issues of justice with the city council, to visiting numerous agencies that serve the poor. We talked about what God calls us to do in the city, how to honor people, how to find ways the Gospel can be put to work in the messy and confusing realities of city life. The first day we went downtown to the Atlanta Regional Commission, a think-tank like group that is responsible for allocating federal transportation dollars in the Atlanta Area. They also do a lot of land-use planning and water planning for the 10-county Metro-region. It was a beautiful building, well-situated downtown. We strolled through a fancy lobby, and were ushered into an impressive-looking conference room. We spent a portion of the morning with a gentleman who gave us a thorough briefing on the dynamics of the area – sharing with us important information, such as demographics, and major transportation and economic issues. Lots of really impressive color-coded maps. This was to help lay the foundation for our understanding of the city: who is where, what the major issues are, who needs what.

After his presentation we exited the building, and waited on the street corner for the van to pick us up. As we stood there, a rather shabbily-dressed man came up to a couple of us and asked us what the people in the building we just came from did. I replied that we had just been in there for two hours, and I really wasn’t sure. I told him that it seemed like they sat around and had a lot of nice ideas. He then asked me if I was aware that in the city of Atlanta there were no shelters for men and children together. He was a single father with a child, and could not find a place to stay. He offered numbers to call and confirm that, but I told him I believed him. Just then, the van pulled up, and the rest of the members of my group began to climb in. I wished him good luck, and awkwardly moved towards the van. As he backed away he looked at me, pointed, and said, “Remember this when YOU get to be the one with the ideas.” That was the day I was ordained, called, given a task I shall not forget. In the midst of the glamour of the fancy buildings downtown, God connected in a chance (or not so chance) encounter leaning against a rental van.

There is something different about this text. Mark has been rushing through, at breakneck pace, for eight chapters now. “In each story,” pastor Gary Charles writes, “we almost always want more details than Mark offers. We want to know why Peter and John left their nets and what happened to their family business after they left. We want to know why Jesus healed the sick and then told those healed to keep it to themselves. We want more, but Mark gives us less. That is, until today. Until this astonishing tale. Until this strange interlude.”[1]

“Six days later,” Mark begins. Mark, who is used to moving on quickly, who marks time by saying things like immediately, slows down. He first points us back to that thing that happened six days later, Peter’s confession to Jesus, “You are the Messiah.”[2] This was the first time a human had said such a bold and foolish thing. The spirits had seen him, known him, but not the people. No one had been so ridiculous as Peter before. This confession changes things in Mark. Jesus still tries, for whatever reason, to keep the secret, but it's out. People know. People are beginning to glimpse this remarkable man, this embodiment of God.

But things were getting busy around there. After Peter’s confession Jesus taught the crowds, saying to them difficult, painful things, like, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” And then, I think, the disciples began to put the pieces together. This is going to require more of us than we thought. We will have to reexamine our priorities. Everything will be different. Jesus saw what they needed, though, and took the leaders up the mountain, to a place apart, to pray. They needed to step back, listen to God and each other, and plan their new steps forward. Staff went up the mountain this week, figuratively at least, to the Mangum’s house at Hyco. We prayed and ate and laughed together, we planned, we prayed for you. It is an important practice for us, for us all.

While the staff retreat was great, and the views down on the lake were gorgeous, nothing happened up there like happened to the disciples. The moment they got up there, Mark says, Jesus was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. Regardless of what transfigured means – something akin to a metamorphosis, which is the strongest relationship in the Greek – Jesus was deeply affected by God, the same, but different, and dazzling white. God was making clear to these leaders who Jesus was. Peter’s confession, his observation from exactly six days before, was shone to be true, and then some, as the Messiah was placed in line with other hall-of-famers, Elijah and Moses. What an image. What a remarkable image.

But Peter, characteristically, raises his hand. He’s that kid in the back of the class who always has an idea. “Yes, Peter. You have an idea?” He always has one. Come on, Jesus, I’ve got it, let’s put up a tent, let’s fix things, let’s come up with an eight point strategic plan to address the issue. Peter was still making a list when the clouds rolled in, the sun, for a period of time, blotted out. And then the voice, that powerful voice, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” The last time we heard something like this was his baptism,[3] that marker in time, where Jesus’ identity was stamped so completely with God’s purpose. And then, after the voice, everyone is gone. No clouds, no whiteness - just four guys standing there.

Yet the real thing happened later on. They were walking down, unusually quiet, when Jesus turned to them, huffing and puffing as they hiked, and said to them: Hey, by the way, wait until after the Son of Man has risen from the dead before you tell anybody about this. What? You see, the thing wasn’t the thing. All the flashing lights, all the razzle-dazzle, all the exciting drama of the moment was all focused in one direction – the cross. All these things point us toward the cross…towards the suffering to come, but also the glorious redemption that is ours through Jesus Christ.

Some of us look for God by looking back to the old days, when everyone knew everyone, when no new hymns were sung, when we seem to remember that everything was perfect. We knew who we were, had our priorities perfectly aligned. Others are less nostalgic, but perfectly content with the way things are. Why change the way we have done this for the last 20 years, its worked fine? Why do something new, why bring up something hard, why bother trying something again, it didn’t work the first time? Mark tells us, quite clearly, that you won’t find God by looking back or staying put.[4] God is always on the move, always breathing new life into us, always offering us new opportunities to be church in a broken and fearful world. Mark also reminds us, once again, that the most obvious thing is rarely the thing to which we must pay attention. Does God meet us in those bold and dramatic places, when the skies part and we hear a voice speak plainly to us, or does God meet us in those quiet and unexpected places, surprising us with a whisper as we walk back down the mountain?

Two Sundays ago I celebrated my thirty-second birthday. It was Scout Sunday, and they had tents set up all over the place, displays in the Fellowship Hall galore. They got me a cake, which I appreciated. We had birthday lunch at our house the day before, with my parents and Carrie’s, my sister and, of course, the kids. We had a cake and candles and all that mess. After worship last Sunday, Carrie and I had grand plans of rushing home for a sandwich, spending time at Duke Gardens, and then Carrie was going to take the kids to her mom's for a couple of hours. That was to be my present…peace and quiet and a nap on the couch. Of course, it didn’t work that way. Lunch was chaos, and Ella Brooks was in her full obstinate three-year-old glory. Everything took a long time. Duke Gardens was great, but full – it took forever to find a parking spot. We finally left way too late for Carrie to go to her mom’s, and both kids erupted in tears for no apparent reason on the way home. We got home and Heath refused a nap, Ella Brooks fell and bumped her head. It was not a day of celebration. But then, around dinnertime, Heath decided to doze briefly. He went down, and Carrie and Ella Brooks and I went and sat on the porch, on the front steps. My girl on my lap and wife beside, we sat up and looked at a glorious, bright full moon. What a year, we thought. This time a year before we were in Greensboro, no hint we would not be there awhile, still in the sleepy haze that accompanied our three-week old son. We had no idea the things that would be contained in that year. And we sat, huddled together that chilly evening, our eyes glistening; knowing the God who put that moon in place sustained us, through the joy and despair of that year. No glitz, no glamour, no fancy party and pile of presents, but a moment on the porch and a moon dazzling white, as Mark said, such as no one on earth could bleach it.

It is easy to look for the big, dramatic things, isn’t it? Sure, we are fed and formed as we worship, as we attend Sunday School or Bible studies, as we head out to serve together. But take good care friends, especially as we approach the beginning of Lent, to attend to those small and quiet places, in quiet conversations, phone calls, e-mails, talks in the parking lot, that offer us places to embody the love of that One who goes ahead of us to the cross, calling us to follow Him there in service.

[1] Brian Blount and Gary Charles, Preaching Mark in Two Voices, (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2002), p 153.

[2] Mark 8:29

[3] Mark 1:11

[4] This idea comes from Blount and Charles, 155.