St. Paul's Episcopal Church

St. Paul's Episcopal Church
425 Cleveland Ave SW
Canton, Ohio 44702
Phone: 330-455-0286
Fax: 330-455-9818
E-mail: office@stpaulscanton.org

Last Sunday of Epiphany
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Canton OH
Exodus 34:29-35, Luke 9:28-36

February 14, 2010
The Rev. Barbara L Bond

May our faces shine

Have people ever looked at you, really looked at you, and said, “What happened to you?”

It happened to me on Jan. 16, 1991, which was incidentally the day the Gulf War began, but that is not what I remember about it. That was the day I just happened to attend the mid-day Eucharist service at the Episcopal seminary, Seabury-Western. I was not a student there – I was a student at the Methodist seminary across the street, because I had decided, somewhere in the circumnavigations of my journey, that I was not supposed to be a priest, but rather an academic, and therefore I was enrolled in an academic program through Northwestern University. I had been a student for a mere two weeks, assuming I was on the right path. Until that day, when I just happened to go across the street to Seabury for midday Eucharist.

I will try to tell this story without crying. Please bear with me.

There I was in the seminary chapel, hearing the familiar Episcopal liturgy that I so loved. All the music was comforting and familiar. The preacher was a seminarian from Tennessee, where I grew up. Everything clicked that day. It was practically a set-up!

As I sat in the pews, surrounded by love and beauty and grace-filled sounds, I suddenly felt a light shining down on me, and I knew, without any doubt, I knew God was saying to me, “Barbara, you were right the first time. You are called to be a priest.”

I walked out of the service in shock. I went back across the street, and all the Methodists said, “What happened to you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” I guess I had – the Holy Ghost! I began transfer applications that afternoon, graduated from Seabury two years later, and was ordained an Episcopal priest in 1996. I was sustained throughout the long process, and I am still sustained, by that mountain-top encounter I had in the seminary chapel nineteen years ago. My life was changed, redirected, and apparently the change was clear to see on my face.

When Moses came down from the Holy Mountain, his face shined with a light so bright that he had to wear a veil when he spoke to his own people. Whenever he went back to talk to God, the veil came off.

When Jesus took Peter, James and John up the mountain, all of them had a stunning experience. Jesus himself took on a radiant appearance, dazzling white, while he engaged in conversation with the towering figures of his tradition, Moses and Elijah. They were discussing the Plan – that Jesus would soon head into his final week, to accomplish God’s plan. The text says, “they were speaking of his departure, [his death], which he was about to accomplish in Jerusalem.” This was an unveiled conversation, very clear about the mission ahead. For the three disciples, however, it was too much. The encounter stunned them, and Peter wondered how he could hold on to it – perhaps build some shrines? But then came the most frightening part: they were covered up by a cloud, and a voice said, “This is my Son, the Chosen. Listen to him!” The three of them didn’t talk about this encounter with the Divine. But I’ll bet that it showed on their faces.

When we talk about the Transfiguration of Christ, most of the emphasis is on Jesus, and his surrounding prophets Elijah and Moses. The icon on the cover of your bulletin is classic Orthodox, showing Christ in his glory, a pre-figuring of the Resurrection, which, by some accounts, happened about a week later. Jesus came down from the mountain and set his face towards Jerusalem, and all the events of that final week of his earthly life followed.

But what about us? We know what happened to Jesus, but what about us? Icons of the Transfiguration also show the three disciples, usually falling over in astonishment. I imagine that they got up slowly, dusted themselves off, and followed Jesus back down the mountain, too stunned to say anything. I imagine they perceived, even if they couldn’t voice it, that their lives too were changed. I imagine that they understood a clear call, to follow Jesus to the end, and then pick up where Jesus pointed into the future.

What about us? When we encounter the Living God, through life experience, through Word and Sacrament, through our interactions with others, can we take and hold that encounter? Can we let it shine in our lives and direct us towards a future that offers more light for others? Do we let it change us? Do we dare to speak about it? Do we follow Jesus down the mountain and on to Jerusalem, through our own betrayals, sacramental moments, tortures, pain, and death? Do we follow Our Lord through it all to New Life? If we do, we will be transformed, we will be changed. Let us take off our veils and shine with the light of Christ.