Born Again… Formation through Fidelity and Faith

Seems to me that in today’s lessons we’re continuing a theme from the past several weeks – transformation, temptation, and trust.  Or, formation, fidelity, and faith.

We’re hearing of how faithful people face the challenge of God’s call to step out of comfort zones and lead with a wider mind about the expansiveness of God’s grace and plan for redemption and deliverance of us all.

In the case of Abraham…

As Paul is suggesting in the excerpt from his letter to the Romans that we’ve heard this morning, faith and trust are fundamental to our covenant with God well before the establishment of particular laws and traditions meant to support and encourage our faith. 

Before the call of Moses and his delivering of commandments, we have this story of the call of Abraham and God’s promise to redeem us all through his legacy.  We’re told that before Abraham, God tried many things to get us to turn from our selfish ways and return to divine righteousness as a family.  God even attempted a re-boot through the great flood and the call of Noah to restore better order.  Alas, even Noah falls off the wagon.

Along comes Abraham.  We’re not really clear why Abraham, a decedent of Noah, is chosen, but perhaps there’s a lesson in that.  God seems to be less interested in his past story and more concerned about the strength of Abraham’s faith and what that can mean for the future the people he will lead.

God calls Abraham to leave behind the life that he knows – to uproot his current identity; to surrender his sense of safety, security, protection, and prosperity - and to venture forth into something new – a new place that will be blessed and greater than where he’s been. 

"Abraham Sarah and Yitzhak" by Yorah Raanan

Abraham, following God’s call, arrives the city of Haran (charan; Strongs 2771:  חָרָן ), which can mean ‘crossroads’ (it’s a city is located a crossroads of some main highways/routes).  Indeed, in following God’s call, Abraham will face choices that impact his future, the future of his family, and a nation.  It’s his fidelity of faith and trust in God’s gracious intentions and promises that will drive his choices.

Do you find yourself at any crossroads this Lenten season?  Are there choices that you’re facing that have significant implications for you, your family, and your community?  Does it feel like you’re being asked to leave what is familiar and venture into unknown territory with God?  Do you ultimately trust God’s intentions?

In the case of Nicodemus…

If you’re like me, you might be hesitant to let go of what is known in order to follow where God is leading you.  And, frankly, what’s being asked of you might seem unrealistic. 

We might imagine that Nicodemus struggled with this as well.  Here we have a respected Pharisee who is part of an esteemed group of community leaders who is not quite ready to trust in what God is revealing to him.  Quietly, under the cover/protection of darkness, he comes to Jesus acknowledging that he believes God must be up to something, but clearly he’s not quite ready to publicly acknowledge this.  Because of later references to his challenging his peers about their hasty condemnations of Jesus (John 7:50), and his bringing of valuable spices for Jesus’ burial (John 19:39), we know that Nicodemus, while conflicted, is sincerely struggling to trust in Christ.  It’s just that in this moment of very personal questioning, he’s not quite ready to go public with his faith in God’s intentions through this messiah.

Jesus essentially tells Nicodemus that you can’t see what’s God’s up to if you stay put in your current state of mind and heart.  He says that you have to be born anew – through baptism with the Spirit – in order to see clearly. 

Nicodemus is obviously troubled by this; perhaps he’s contemplating the profound implications of being born into a new way of understanding God’s kingdom and all that might mean for the changes that need to take place in his life and in the world around him.  As with any transformation, this means that some things will need to cease to be in order for new things to be.  

Jesus addresses the potential fear about such changes – he says that those who believe in him don’t need to fear death, for they will actually find eternal life in this faith.  He makes this even more explicit in his reference to being lifted up (possible allusion to his own death on the cross) like the snake on a pole that Moses lifted up during the plague of the poisonous serpents (Num 21:6-9)… all who look up to this sign might have life rather than death. He proclaims that God’s call to us and covenant intention for us through Christ is not condemnation, but salvation.  We simply must have faith and believe in this intention as we follow Christ out of our status quo into a new way living.

Can’t we relate?  How often do we, in the privacy of our hearts, know that God is calling us to step out in trust toward something transformative in our lives?  And, how often do we choose to talk to God about these things in private, so as not to reveal to others our own potentially naïve beliefs about God or our fears about what must die in our lives in order for us to fully live?  This sort of private faith can be good inasmuch as it moves us toward righteous action eventually… but God through Christ is calling us to live our faith more out loud and in public.  If we keep reading the next verses after today’s Gospel lesson, we hear Jesus go on to say, “those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.” (John 3:21).

We’re being called to leave the presumed safety of the shadows – to put our fears to rest - and to live fully in the light of Christ, trusting that God is leading us toward deliverance from all that tries to kill us.

ANECDOTE: Each year, thousands of visitors make their way to a little town in northwest Kansas named Nicodemus.  There they find a national historical site in honor of the black ‘Exodusters’ from Kentucky / freed slaves who settled in this town during the Reconstruction Period following the Civil War.  We’re told the town is named for the legendary first slave to purchase his own freedom in the U.S. – essentially being ‘born anew.’  Today, the Kansas Black Farmers Association still promotes “promised land flour” from the Nicodemus co-op and you can buy their pancake mix at nicodemuswheat.com.  In this local Nicodemus story, we find another example of people called to something beyond what they had known who courageously followed-through toward freedom and new life in faith.

In conclusion…

This week, following our themes of formation, fidelity, and faith, in our church calendar, we’re called to remember a number of saintly people who we honor for their steadfast trust and faith in God’s call, even when such fidelity cost some of them their lives: Bishop Thomas Ken (willingness to speak truth to power/the king), Archbishop of Canterbury [and martyr] Thomas Cranmer (early architect of our Book of Common Prayer), The Rev. James De Koven (advocate for ritualism as adoration of Christ), and Archbishop [and contemporary martyr] Oscar Romero (for his consistent protesting of corruption and injustices).

And, on Friday, many Episcopalians will commemorate the blessed Mary with the Feast of the Annunciation.  As it states in Holy Women, Holy Men, “Mary’s self-offering in response to God’s call has been compared to that of Abraham, the father of believers.  Just as Abraham was called to be the father of the chosen people, and accepted this call, so Mary was called to be the mother of the faithful, the new Israel…. Her response to the angel, ‘Let it be to me according to your word,’ is identical with the faith expressed in the prayer that Jesus taught, ‘Your will be done on earth as in heaven.’” (Holy Women, Holy Men: Celebrating the Saints. NY: Church Publishing, 2010)

I close with a call to reconsider what it means to be born again / anew / from above.  Rather than this being a single event that proceeds from an intellectual understanding or verbal utterance of certain words about beliefs, I propose that this is an emotional and spiritual birthing process that comes only after a period of spiritual gestation and through physical labor/actions.  It’s less about what you do with your mind or mouth one time, and more about what you choose to do each and every day fueled by trust and faith in your heart.

I invite you to consider the remainder of Lent as a period of gestation for your own formation of greater fidelity and deeper faith that moves you to take action.  You don’t have nine months… or even 40 days left at this point.  You have about a month left to seek counsel with Jesus before he his handed over to be crucified. 

What do you most need to talk to Jesus about? 

What might Jesus tell you to let go of in your life in order that you might better see the kingdom?

Will you dare to leave your current circumstances this Lent to follow Jesus into a resurrected reality?

What might be born anew/again at Easter if you do?

Lenten Christian “40” - resisting the temptation of misplaced trust

This morning I’m not going to trace the early church origins of our contemporary Lenten practice – there are articles and websites you can explore for that (and I encourage you to do so).  Nor am I going to spend much time examining the tradition of fasting.  Regarding fasting, I simply invite you to consider that this practice is not simply about self-disciple or seemingly arbitrary self-denial.  This ancient practice is about leading your body, mind, and heart into a new state of awareness.  It’s about a sustained period of intentional self-denial, inducing chronic hunger or want, in order to come to become more aware of our shared state of dependence and primordial needs.  From this place of depravity, you can develop more compassionate cravings and begin to see the promise of abundance in God’s kingdom anew.  And, in contrast to fasting, there’s a more contemporary practice of taking on a new discipline during Lent rather than giving up something.  But, these are not what I’m preaching about this morning.

When I was younger, I was at best a Christmas Christian.  Later in life, after my baptism as an adult, I was more of an Easter Christian.  In both cases, the locus of identification for my beliefs and faith was with one of these high holidays – these peak moments in which the birth and resurrection of our Lord and Savior are remembered.  These holidays were like mountain tops that I suddenly inhabited every year to remind me of my identity.  However, as I’ve matured in my Christian journey, I’ve recognized that most of my life is spent in the wilderness valley between these peak experiences.  It’s in this wilderness valley – sometimes amid the shadow of death, and certainly contending with temptations – that my convictions are tested and I learn about living as a faithful Christian.  Because in Lent we’re more focused on and explicit about the truths to be discovered and learned from in this sometimes dark night of the soul in the valley, beginning with a jolting reminder of our mortality on Ash Wednesday, I’m come to consider myself a Lenten Christian.  Even more than during Christmas or Easter, lately I’m seeing Lent as “where it’s at”… where the rubber hits to road, so to speak, in our development as faithful disciples.  Might you be a Lenten Christian, too?

Two of the aspects of being Lenten Christian that I want to say more about this morning are embracing “40” and resisting the temptation of misplaced trust.

Embracing “40”

No, I’m not talking about chronological age (although I am learning to embrace this as well now that I’ve recently entered my 40’s).  I’m referring to a qualitative, kairos (καιρός), sense of the number 40 which signals something about our journey in relationship to God.  In today’s Gospel, we’re told that following Jesus’ baptism, the Holy Spirit led (“drove” in Mark) him into the wilderness for forty days, where he fasted and was tempted by Satan. So, why 40 days?  That number sounds familiar to us, doesn’t it?  Often we’ve heard the number forty used in scriptures to signify a special time.  For instance:

1. 40 days and nights of the great flood (Gen 7:4)
2. 40 days Noah waits before exiting the Ark (Gen 8:3-8)
3. 40 days, twice, of Moses fasting on Mt. Sinai while re-affirming covenant with God (Exod 24:18,28)
4. 40 years in the desert wilderness as the followers of Moses leave captivity and traveled to a promised land (Num 14: 33; Deut 29: 4)
5. 40 days that David was taunted by Goliath (1 Sam 17:16)
6. 40 days that Elijah fasted in the wilderness when all seemed against him (1 Kings 19:8)
7. 40 days that the resurrected Jesus helped prepare his followers from the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost (Acts 1:3)

…and so on.

What do all of these 40’s have in common?  The characters in these stories weren’t choosing to enter these 40’s for their health or vanities about self-discipline (I believe I’ll give up chocolate or do more exercise for forty days).  No, they were generally led into 40’s by God for a higher purpose.  Whether forty is numbering days or years, whether the journeys are literal or metaphorical, they’re all periods marked by: being in between; waiting; trials of trust; tests of will and spiritual mettle; and precursors foreshadowing some form of liberating deliverance or salvation.  Forty represents periods when the faithful are pushed, often the brink… by God… to further develop and demonstrate the depths of their faith, hope, and love. 

And so here we are in our 40 – forty days of Lent (not counting the Sundays) – in which we’re invited to learn more about our mettle, our deepest hungers and temptations, and our ultimate reliance on God.   Sisters and brothers, how will you embrace “40” this year as Lenten Christians?

Resisting the temptation of misplaced trust

Today’s readings from Genesis and Matthew, along with Paul’s exposition on sin, reinforces the point of view that Christ’s obedient life reversed the effects of the ‘original sin’ of our disobedient ancestors Eve and Adam.  “…just as one man's trespass led to condemnation for all, so one man's act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all.”  The good news is that our ‘fall’ has been reversed by his ‘rising’, right?  Well, there’s more to consider in these lessons as we live most our lives between the peak experiences of Eden and Easter.

The Temptation and Fall of Eve by William Blake, 1808

Do you hear in the story of the Garden of Eden that our fall was the result of the sin of disobedience?  What if the trespass that resulted in us living more in the wilderness of the world rather than the perfection of God’s garden was the temptation of mis-placed trust?  ….trust in the reasoning of a crafty serpent who tempted us to trust in our own intentions more than God’s. …trust in what is a delight to the eyes more than what is written on our hearts.  …more trust in the fruitfulness of our own curiosity and will to power than in God’s promises and provisions for us.  If you were to ride tandem with me for a week, admittedly you’d probably observe evidence that I seem to trust myself more than I do God, getting off course and tempted by the belief that I’m in control of more than I really am or mistaking knowledge for wisdom.  Surely some of you have had the experience of mucking up a good thing by following your own misguided sense that you “knew better” than anybody else… only to look back later and ask, “now why did I go and do that?”  As my grandfather used to say, “if it ain’t broke, don’t try to fix it.”  And, yet, we almost can’t help ourselves.  We are often tempted to trust our own desires and abilities before we trust God’s.

What does Jesus show us about temptation and trust? In today’s Gospel, the author tells us that Jesus, after his baptism, was led by the Spirit into a wilderness of temptations.  In the Bible, reference to “time in the wilderness,” not unlike the use of “40,” brings up images of trial and testing.  It’s an in between space - between being released from one thing and before the opportunity to embrace something new. Emphasizing this idea, we’re told that Jesus fasted for 40 days, cultivating his sense of dependence and communion with God before continuing his mission call.  Assuming that Jesus is fatigued from fasting, but underestimating the trust and faith that has been cultivated over these 40 days, the Devil tempts Jesus to shortcut his self-depravation by appealing to parts of the Torah that might be read to suggest that Jesus is not meant to deny himself at all… and that, in fact, maybe Jesus is entitled to grander wants than just his needs.  Like the crafty serpent, the demon is tempting Jesus to believe in his own power to test God’s trustworthiness.  Can you hear the devil whispering, “God trusts you to provide for yourself. If you’re tempted to do something stupid and self-destructive, go ahead; hasn’t God promised to save you?  It’s really easier than you think to have all that you desire in this world – simply trust in ambition, prestige, and power.” 

Christ in the Wilderness by Ivan Kramskoy,1872

Jesus deflects these temptations by appealing to other wisdom in the Torah (Deut 6:13-16; 8:3) clarifying that faithfulness is not all about our temporal needs and immediate desires.  We should keep our mind and heart on God for the long term; trusting, not testing God on a whim.  We are to remain steadfast in our trust that God will provide us with spiritual food that is more nourishing that any material goods we might seek as hasty substitutes for true satisfaction.  And, importantly, unlike the anonymous serpent in Genesis, Jesus is able to name the source of his temptations (Satan) thereby empowering his command for it to flee from him.

Conclusion

Although we pray each week, “Lead us not into temptation… save us from the time of trial,” we are, as humans, often tempted and tried.  In the wilderness of your life, what hunger of yours is most easily exploited?  What desires do you have right now that have the most potential to lead you away from God?  If we were to examine your behaviors closely, what would be revealed about who/what you trust in the most? 

Sisters and brothers, how might we grow as Christians this Lenten season by learning to name the sources of our most troubling temptations and then turning to God for help with them; trusting in God’s power, more than our own?

Let’s embrace the wilderness journey of these 40 days, taking a deeper, more honest look at where we place our trust, and recalibrating our convictions toward reliance on and hope in a risen Lord who we will meet anew at Easter.

St. Patrick, who we remember this week, returned to Ireland (where he had been enslaved as a shepherd in his youth) at about age 40 to proclaim the Good News and lead people to Christ.  In his Confessions, he writes, “…I give thanks to my God unceasingly who has kept me faithful in times of trial, so that today I offer sacrifice to him confidently, the living sacrifice of my life to Christ my Lord, who has sustained me in all my difficulties…. Whether I receive good or ill I always render thanks to God who taught me to trust him unreservedly.” (as quoted on page 95 of Celebrating the Saints: Devotional Readings for Saints’ Days, © 2001 by Robert Atwell and Christopher L. Webber / Morehouse Publishing)

Let us pray…

Come Holy Spirit, lead us deeper into the wilderness this Lent.  We trust you are with us, as you’ve been with our ancestors in their times of trial.  Yet, your promises of resurrection can seem so far away and out of our reach as we surrender to fasting hunger and vulnerability, encountering some of our deepest fears, openly wrestling with the anxieties of our circumstances, and facing the implications of our mortality during this Lenten season.  Have mercy on us as we wander in this wilderness.  Nurture the hope that you’ve instilled in each of us and as a community, cultivate the faith you’ve placed in our hearts and the generosity of this family, and nourish our spirits through you Word.  Help us fully experience this time of penitent preparation so that we’re led to let the untrustworthy in us truly die as we await being born anew into a promised kingdom.  All this we ask in the name of Jesus, our Christ, as we walk with him toward the cross as Lenten Christians.  AMEN

...and to dust you shall return

‎(as I feel the ashes today) “Let no one hope to find in contemplation an escape from conflict, from anguish or from doubt. On the contrary, the deep, inexpressible certitude of the contemplative experience awakens a tragic anguish and opens many questions in the depths of the heart like wounds that cannot stop bleeding. For every gain in deep certitude there is a corresponding growth of superficial ‘doubt.’ This doubt is by no means opposed to genuine faith, but it mercilessly examines and questions the spurious ‘faith’ of everyday life, the human faith which is nothing but the passive acceptance of conventional opinion.“ 
- From Thomas Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation

Metamorphosis & Mission

May I speak in the name of the transfiguring Christ, Light from Light, who challenges us to change and grow through co-missioning.

Metamorphosis.  In the lectionary readings assigned for today, the last Sunday after Epiphany, we’re hearing about Jesus’ transfiguration while on a mountain with some of his disciples.  The Greek verb form that has been translated as ‘transfiguration’ is a word that you’re probably familiar with in its Latin form: metamorphosis.  It means beyond-form or to change form, to re-form, to re-model, to fundamentally change shape or state; a paradigm shift.  For rhetorical purposes, I’m going to refer to ‘metamorphosis’ rather than transfiguration.

Mission. For the last fourteen years, the Episcopal Church* has observed World Mission Sunday on this Sunday before Lent begins (*note: Roman Catholics observe World Mission Sunday in October).  The stated purpose of this observance is to “hold up and celebrate our shared commitment and call to mission.” This year, we’re asked to celebrate and pray for the work and witness of 60 missionaries we have serving in 25 countries around the world… and to remain mindful that the Episcopal Church's official name is The Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society of the Episcopal Church.  All members of the Episcopal Church are also members of the Society and, therefore, we are all missionaries.  And, in fact, I am a ‘missioner’ (my work is domestic, here in this diocese among the college and university campuses) and with me is Nic, one of our campus ministry interns, who will be a short-term foreign missionary this summer with our Kansas2Kenya college team.  We’ll come back to this in a bit.

Light. As we consider metamorphosis and our mission, we also should reexamine our relationship with light… what light means in our lives as Christians.

So, you have three things to juggle in the next few minutes – listening for and considering ideas about metamorphosis, mission, and light.  Listen for how they’re related.  And, consider your own relationship to them. If you have trouble keeping them all in play as we look more closely at a couple of our lessons, focus on the one that resonates most with your heart this morning – the one through which the Spirit is most speaking to you.

MOUNTAINS AND METAMORPHOSIS

Today we’ve heard about both Moses and Jesus going the mountain with some of their trusted friends for encounters with the holy.  Moses ends up staying on the mountain for forty days, being enveloped by mysterious clouds of smoke, and receiving commands from God who is represented by a great fire at the top of the mountain. For Moses, to encounter God more directly would have resulted in death.  When he returns to his people to convey the law as he has received it, his face is glowing (a sign to them that he has been exposed to something holy).  It’s as if he’s been temporarily exposed to radiation and the glow eventually fades.  For Moses, this mountain encounter is a pivotal moment in his understanding of what must be done in order to help his people be fully liberated; but he hasn’t been through a metamorphosis per se.  His mission will now be to record, convey and interpret divine commands and laws that he believes, if adhered to properly with faithful obedience, should keep his people from drifted back into trouble and in healthy covenant with God.

Though there are echoes of Moses’ experience in our journey with Jesus up the mountain (a rising leader, born under threat of death, destined to lead his people to a better life, now ascending a mounting for enlightenment and instruction), something quite different occurs with our Lord, signaling that what follows his mountain encounter will have different implications for us that Moses’ journey.  It is Jesus himself who is revealed as the radioactive source of light in this case.  And, his face doesn’t just glow; it shines like the sun and his clothes like a dazzling, radiant white.  Then there appears both Moses and Elijah, representing the Law and the Prophets, calling forth in the Jewish memory Malachi’s sign of the end-times when the Law and Prophets would come together, “Remember the teaching of my servant Moses…. Lo, I will send you the prophet Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes” (Mal 4:4-5).  And, in context of the stories in Matthew that we’ve been hearing this Epiphany season, we know that this radiant Christ doesn’t just recite law as handed down by Moses, he actually expands on it (“you have heard it said… now I say to you…) with a sense of divinely derived authority.  And, importantly, this more direct encounter with the Divine through Christ does not result in literal death; but we are told that union with Christ results in the death of our former selves.

How does this encounter affect the disciples?  Peter follows an initial instinct (perhaps with the wide-eyed nodding heads of his fellow disciples as a sign of their consent) to want to dwell here with these three prophetic elders and remain sheltered – to bask in the glory of the moment.  But the paradigm shift that is occurring will not allow any such attempt to stay up there on that mountain, away from the people and struggles below.  God’s presence overcomes them and they hear God’s voice repeating what was said at Jesus’ baptism – “this is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased…” with the added emphasis this time, “listen to him!” (we might hear in this command – listen, learn, and follow)  Now, more fully recognizing the divine power that they are face-to-face with, they fall to the ground in fear (that’s how they’ve learned to react in the presence of God – remember this is a great and ‘terrible’ day when the Lord comes).  Rather than the Divine being pleased with having instilled fear and trembling, Christ immediately reaches out to connect with them, tells them to have no fear, and instructs them to “get up”, there’s work to be done.  There is a sort of resurrection occurring here – a death to fear and a rising up of a new relationship with God – more accessible and interpersonal, more immediately loving and compassionate.

I’m left wondering if this encounter was really about Jesus’ need to go up the mountain to connect with Moses and Elijah in order to be re-formed and prepared for the rest of his mission and ministry… or, if this story is more about initiating the metamorphosis that takes place among the disciples, preparing them to re-form the body of the church to carry on Christ’s interpersonal mission… a process that continues in their encounter with the risen Christ and then with the reception of his Holy Spirit at Pentecost… and process that continues in us today as we encounter Christ through our baptism and in love with our neighbors… an experience of the metamorphosis of the elements on the altar, and a re-modeling of our own lives in a new light having received them.

LIGHT

This also causes me to take a moment to reflect on our relationship with light.  We take light for granted in our context here today and mostly think of it as a physical utility or commodity.  It’s not so miraculous anymore or spiritually significant.  We expect light wherever we go – if it’s not already being provided for us automatically on the street, at home, at work, at church, etc. we’ve come to believe that if it’s dark, we need only flip a switch and there will be light.  Our city lights are so bright at night that they flood out the stars above.  It’s even a whimsical luxury for some modern urban dwellers to travel to the country to look in awe at a night sky twinkling with star light.

Yet, for our ancestors, light-on-demand was rare. Other than from direct sunlight during the daytime and by the periodic full moon on some nights, there was a lot of darkness.  Light in the shadows or at night was a precious thing that resulted from labor and attention – camp fires, torches, lamps that needed oil, candles, etc..  Without directly sunlight or special effort and materials, the world was normatively dark – the streets, the homes, fields and pastures, places of work and worship were otherwise pitch black.  The darkness often represented mystery and danger, literally and figuratively.  When there was no light, you remained ‘in the dark’ and subject to whatever evil might lurk there.  

So, it’s no wonder that in our holy stories, miraculous “light” is an evocative metaphor and image for divine power.  To have something other than the sun become luminous or to shine on its own was something that warranted awe, perhaps fear, thanksgiving, and certainly reverence.  To be given light was a gift.  Light revealed what otherwise would not, could not be seen and as source of life.

Just a small sampling of how light is used in scriptures: God said, “Let there be light” (Gen 1:3, not Westar).  “The sun will no more be your light by day, nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you, for the Lord will be your everlasting light” (Isa 60:19). “The city does not need the sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp” (Rev 21:23). “You are the light of the world…. Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven” (Mat 5:14). “I am the light of the world.  Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).  On the road to Damascus, Paul is suddenly surrounded by bright light before encountering Christ (Acts 9:3). We are told that we are to become children of light.  And, we’re told that “God made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ” (2 Cor 4:6).

Perhaps in some of these examples, we can begin to realize that even in our artificially illuminated world today, we, too, experience moments of en-lightenment, when a flash of God’s glory, the light of God’s love helps us ‘see’ through the darkness around us, even if only for a moment.  The smile of a stranger just at that moment that we’re about to lose our cool under the stresses of the day.  The phone call from a friend or family member that comes at just the right time.  The inspiring image of an unarmed man facing down a line of military tanks in Tiananmen Square.  The sounds of spontaneous hymns being sung in the streets of Haiti after a massive earthquake.  Or, in what Nic and the other student missionaries are likely to experience this summer in southern Kenya.

MISSION

As this college team follows Jesus amid the mountains outside of Nairobi and into an impoverished valley village, they will be leaving their comfort zones, encountering some dim realities, and perhaps feeling some fear and trembling at times.  Yet it will be Jesus who will continually touch them compassionately and say ‘do not fear.’  Where will they encounter divine light and metamorphosis?  After they have listened to the stories of these resilient people; after the students have labored with them to lay bricks and assemble roofs; when the students reach out their hands to widows and children who have been struggling to live in a weather-beaten tents for the past four years after having been violently driven from their previous homes which are now in ruins; when those mothers and children step through the door of their new homes and turn around to look the students in the eyes and smile… and when our student missionaries smile back…. the light of Christ will shine in that moment.  What a metamorphosis that will be… for the mother, her children, and for our student missionaries.  When they return home to share what they have experienced about the expansiveness of God’s family and the power of compassionate love for each other, the paradigm shift that began on that mountain long ago will continue.

LIGHT WITHIN YOU

Christ calls us all to leave the luminance of the mountain encounter, return to the valleys of life, and tend to the needs of our brothers and sisters there.  Christ calls each of us to re-form and re-model our notions of scarcity and abundance in order to better serve the entire family of God.  Christ confronts each of us with opportunities for metamorphosis through interpersonal encounters in which we stoke the divine spark of light within each other.

One author (Marianne Williamson in her 1992 book A Return to Love) has written poignantly addressing our ambivalence about fully living and loving with this God-ignited, transfiguring light within us:

 “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Or, as Christ says, ““You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven” (Matt 5:14-16).

AMEN.