03/02/2014 ~ Transfiguration Sunday ~ Last Sunday before Lent ~ Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 2 or Psalm 99; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9 ~ Communion Sunday.
The Glory of God
“Now, to the Israelites the glory of Yahweh, God, was like an all consuming fire on the top of the mountain.” — Exodus 24:17.
When the reading from Exodus was introduced you heard this word: theophany. That word was defined as a manifestation of the presence of God.
But what is the presence of God? Is it a feeling? Is it a form of wisdom or knowledge somehow imparted? Does it happen only in certain places, under certain circumstances, at certain times? (Slight pause.)
To be blunt, I am not sure I can offer a definitive definition of theophany. I can, however, tell you some stories about things that have happened to me.
Are these stories theophanies? Was the real presence of God with me when these things happened? I don’t know. All I can do is tell you the stories. (Slight pause.)
Toward the end of his life my grandfather suffered a series of relatively minor strokes. He seemed to bounce back from each quite nicely. That is until the last one. He was hospitalized four days and then died.
At the time I was in my early 20s. I was employed by a major corporation and working the night shift. Having completed my shift, I left for home at daybreak and took a subway— I was in New York City— I took a subway toward home.
On that trip I had to change trains once. As I waited on the station for the second train, I had an overwhelming sense that my grandfather had died. I did not expect he would die since he had bounced back so often. But I did have a sense it had happened.
When I arrived home I knew something was up as my mother looked distraught. Holding back tears she said, “Grandpa died.” I said, “I know.” (Slight pause.)
I often wonder why she did not question my statement or at least ask me how I knew. Perhaps it was because I said it with such conviction. But I did know.
So, what happened? Did I have some kind of Star Wars sense of a hidden force? Was I a latter day Obi-Wan Kenobi, able to detect a tear in the fabric of the universe when someone departs these mortal bounds?
Or was that experience a theophany? Did that knowledge come to me by way of the Spirit of God? I don’t know. (Slight pause.)
I have mentioned a number of times my mother died of Cancer at a fairly young age. She was 58. Her treatment started with a major operation.
Before that operation, I asked if I could pray with her. She agreed. So we sat in a room alone together, held hands and prayed. At that point in time we did not know how serious her Cancer was. But at some point in the middle of those prays, I came to a quite unwanted sense that not only was this Cancer serious, it was terminal. (Slight pause.)
So, what happened? How did I know that? Was that experience a theophany? Did that knowledge come to me by way of the Spirit of God? I don’t know. (Slight pause.)
You have heard, probably ad nauseam, about how Bonnie and I met on an island in the middle of Penobscot Bay off the coast of Maine. The first three days out there were solid Maine fog— pea soup. You were lucky to see 20 feet down the trail.
On the fourth day the Sun arrived. There was not a cloud in the sky, nor a breath of wind. The sea remained as calm as glass well into the afternoon. If you know anything about Penobscot Bay weather, you know a lack of wind is not a normal trait.
I don’t remember if I asked Bonnie or Bonnie asked me but, given the conditions, we decided to take a canoe out on the incredibly calm ocean. We had gone maybe a mile off shore when we both heard an odd noise. “What was that?” I asked.
Bonnie said, “I don’t know. Stop paddling.” And there we sat, in silence, on a calm sea. There was not a breath of wind and we said not a word. We simply waited and listened. (Slight pause.)
Suddenly just in front of us several porpoises breached the water, spines curved, blowing air out their blow holes. And then just as suddenly they were all around us— twelve, maybe fifteen of them. And then they simply disappeared. They were gone. (Slight pause.)
Still we said nothing. Without a word we both started to paddle again, knowing that we had seen something so wonderful we felt God was there. (Slight pause.)
Since we were in the middle of Penobscot Bay, a place with no ambient light, that night we decided to sit on the dock and look at the stars. As clear as it was— and it was still quite calm— we had no trouble seeing the Milky Way. Within an hour, the sky in the East slowly got a lighter and a full moon burst over the horizon.
Once again, we realized we were seeing something wonderful. Was God with us? I don’t know. (Slight pause.) I am certain of this: we both God thought was present. (Slight pause.)
What is a theophany? What is the presence of God? Is it a feeling? Is it some form of wisdom or knowledge somehow imparted? Does it happen only in certain places, under certain circumstances, at certain times? I don’t know. (Slight pause.)
We find these words in the work known as Exodus: “Now, to the Israelites the glory of Yahweh, God, was like an all consuming fire on the top of the mountain.” (Slight pause.)
I don’t think a definitive definition of the experience of God can be offered. In fact, I think any definition of the experience of God is offered only through the telling stories. And I think that is what we have in this passage from Exodus.
I know this passage is a theophany because the term “the glory of God” is used here. It is the Hebrew word is kabod. That means “the glory of God” in Hebrew. It effectively means the presence of God.
What seems clear to me is the Israelites are not trying to speak about God in literal terms. They express themselves in terms of story. And there are, in fact, several sections in the passage meant to indicate different stories, different theophanies.
{Note: as each of these are enumerated, the Pastor counts them off by hold up the number of fingers which represent the number of incidents being listed.} God speaks to Moses: a theophany. Moses goes up on the mountain into the clouds: a theophany. The clouds are pictured as the presence of God: a theophany.
The same presence is seen as an all consuming fire on the top of the mountain: a theophany. Then God calls to Moses yet again: a theophany. Finally, Moses disappears in the cloud: a theophany. (Slight pause.)
What is a theophany? What is the presence of God? A feeling, a form of wisdom or knowledge— does it happen only in certain places, under certain circumstances, at certain times? I don’t know. (Slight pause.)
In our Newsletter this month our friend and parishioner Lynn Olcott tells a story. This is what she wrote.
“While shoveling the walk, I fall into conversation with God. I remark to God on the beauty of the day, the silky snow, the subtly tinted sky and the clean, cold air that is barreling through our valley just now.”
“By the time I reach the end of the walkway we’ve had quite a good discussion about life, about work, about the family and the past. But what I really need is advice for today.
“I’m getting ready to move. I’ve moved many times— for necessity, for convenience, for adventure, for love.”
“In my nomadic past I relocated with the carefree, box-slinging, single mindedness of youth and later with the grudging cheerfulness of middle age. Now I am old.” (Slight pause.)
“I turn my face into the wind and breathe. I ask God for the energy to pull this off. I ask God to fill my mind with sunlight. I thank God for listening and go back inside to pack another box.” (Slight pause.)
You see, I think Lynn has the answer about the presence of God. Yes, God is with us at special times and in special ways. But God is with us always.
And if we take time to talk with God and to occasionally listen we will realize God is with is. If we take time to see the face of God in those around us we will know God is with us. (Slight pause.)
We live in a world that feels busy. So our tendency is to not take the time we need to be aware of God. But if we do take that time— no— if we purposefully make that time— then we will realize the Spirit of God is all around us, always. And that, my friends, is the reality and the consummate definition of theophany— the presence of God is with us always. Amen.
03/02/2014
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE— It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Congregational Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “Let me emphasis once again, the only way to speak about the real presence of God is through story. That is because, paradoxically, there are no words to define God. But there are words to describe what it feels like to be in the presence of God. It has been said many times here in the last several weeks that we are in our 200th year as a Congregation. Over that time there have been hundreds of stories of our experience of God, which raises a two fold question: what is your experience of God as an individual and what is our experience of God as a Congregation? Unless we are willing to do what the Israelites did and share those experiences, no one we encounter will recognize us as a church.”
BENEDICTION: Let us go in joy and in love and in peace, for our hope is in the one who has made covenant with us. God reigns. Let us go in God’s peace. And may the face of God shine upon us; may the peace of Christ rule among us; may the fire of the Spirit burn within us this day and forevermore. Amen.
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