“A Dalek-shaped god or a Jesus-shaped God?: The choice is yours.” (a sermon)

The scripture lesson on which the sermon is based comes from Paul’s letter to the Galatians, and is a combination of parts of two weeks’ readings from the lectionary.

 

 

I’m not a science fiction enthusiast.  Murder mysteries are my guilty pleasure.

While I’m not a science fiction enthusiast, I enjoy watching the occasional episode of “Doctor Who”.  Anyone who’s ever watched any episodes of “Doctor Who” would know of the Daleks, who are Doctor Who’s enemies par excellence.  The Daleks are creatures which are part-living beings and part-machines.  They look like vacuum cleaners on steroids, and have a large gun-like contraption where their noses should be.

The Daleks are not merely out for world domination, but for universal domination, and are willing and able to destroy anything that stands in their way.  Whenever the Daleks are on the march, their war cry is always the same:  “Exterminate!  Exterminate!”

 

 

Sadly, many of our neighbours think that the God we worship as Christians is a Dalek-shaped god, a petty little small-g god whose attitude toward most of humanity is one of condemnation.  They believe that we worship a god with an attitude of “Exterminate!  Exterminate!” toward anyone who doesn’t measure up to an impossible standard of perfection in their behavior.  That’s one of the main reasons why you wouldn’t find some of our neighbours in Church in a pink fit.  Who in their right mind would want to worship that sort of god?

Sadly, there are even some Christians who worship a Dalek-shaped god.  That sort of Christian makes a lot of noise and gets a lot of attention in the media, particularly when they’re politicians, rugby players, or other celebrities.  They’re the reason why many of our neighbours think you and I worship a Dalek-shaped god.  The worshippers of a Dalek-shaped god get a lot of attention in the media.  As a result, many people in the community think that’s the only sort of god on offer.

However, there is a real alternative to a Dalek-shaped god.  The alternative to a Dalek-shaped god is a Jesus-shaped God.  The alternative to a god who acts like a Dalek is a God who acts like Jesus.  The alternative to a small-g god of “Exterminate!  Exterminate!” is a big-G God who is radically inclusive, radically compassionate, and radically loving. 

This is the God of whom Paul writes in the letter to the Galatians, … the God in whom our human demographic differences become matters of enrichment and diversity rather than issues of destructive divisiveness, … the God who calls forth a collection of generous and inclusive virtues among his worshippers. 

The alternative to a Dalek-shaped god is the God whom you and I already worship.

We need to let our neighbours in on this secret.  The alternative to a Dalek-shaped god is the God whom you and I already worship.  But that won’t be easy, for three reasons.

1.   The first reason is that many people who worship a Dalek-shaped god are keen to bang on about their beliefs, while those of us who worship a Jesus-shaped God are much more reserved about sharing our faith.  We don’t like to bang on about religion.  We’ve been taught that banging on about religion  is as much a sign of poor taste as banging on about politics or sex, or (even worse) banging on about money.

It’s a bit like the way the purveyors of junk food and fast food advertise theirs wares constantly, while the producers of healthy food rarely advertise.  You’ll see a lot of ads for McDonald’s on TV, but very few ads for broccoli.  Similarly, the purveyors of junk religion bang on about their faith, while those of us who embrace a healthy religion often keep it to ourselves.

2.  The second reason is that the notion that all people in churches worship a god of “Exterminate!  Exterminate!” is far too ingrained in our culture.  (There’s the prevailing cultural stereotype about churches.  It used to be that the churches were full of wowsers and hypocrites.  Now, we’re full of wowsers, hypocrites, and paedophiles,) These stereotypes make it far easier for our neighbours to jump to the comfortable conclusion that’s there’s nothing in the churches that are relevant to their lives in any positive way.  It’s good to undermine this notion, but it won’t be easy.

3.  The third reason is, if we seek to let people in on the secret that we don’t worship a god of “Exterminate! Exterminate!”, we run the risk of being openly critical of those who do worship such a godlet.  We’re all far too “nice” to be fully comfortable in conflict.  We’ve often seen our faith calling us to follow the “gentle Jesus meek and mild”, the one who wants us (dare I say it?) to be his “sunbeams”.  

Many of us have been critical of the overly argumentative Paul, even when he does come up with some important affirmations about inclusivity, compasssion, and love.   (And it’s interesting to note that in the same letter we’ve read parts of today, Galatians, with its strong affirmation of inclusivity, is also a letter in which, at times, we find Paul at his grumpiest.) 

If we let our neighbours in on the secret that a Jesus-shaped God is a better God to worship than a Dalek-shaped one, we’ll come across as argumentative to those who are committed to worshipping a Dalek-shaped god.  We’ll cop some flak.  But the flak will be worth it.

In the 1980s, Adrian Plass wrote a series of screamingly funny books about a British congregation.  One of the members of the church was a man named Leonard Thynne, a sporadically recovering alcoholic who grew up as part of a rigid Brethren-like sect.  One Sunday, the congregation had a visiting preacher, a monk.  Leonard’s reaction to the monk’s sermon was this:  “He worships a different God to the one I grew up learning about.  His God’s nice!”

May we enable our neighbours to say the same thing about the God we worship.

“‘New!’: When is it good? When is it bad? When is it ugly?”: a sermon (Revelation 21:1-6; John 13:31-35)

I mentioned this earlier in the service, but I’ll say it again.  All of my preparation for worship this week was completed before the polling places opened yesterday.  Nothing in this sermon or anywhere else in the service should be regarded as a comment on the result of yesterday’s election.

My sermon has the title “‘New!’:  When is it good?  When is it bad?  When is it ugly?”

Let us pray.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer.  Amen.

The word “new” features in both scriptures passages we’ve heard a few minutes ago. 

In our lesson from the Book of Revelation, we hear of a vision of a new heaven and a new earth, with a new Jerusalem descending from God.  We hear of the voice of God declaring, “See, I am making all things new.”

In our lesson from the Gospel of John, the setting is the Last Supper.  Jesus gives his disciples a “new commandment”, to love one another.  Oddly, Christians will argue about the meaning of this new commandment:  with some saying it’s a command to love our fellow-Christians, others saying it’s a command to love all people, yet others saying it’s a command to love all creation, and a few particularly sad sorts saying you’re off the hook as long as you love those who are the same sort of Christian as yourself.  Personally, I think the wider the definition of “one another”, the better, so that we don’t cause Jesus to ask us the question “What part of ‘Love one another’ don’t you understand?”

But meanwhile, here’s a fun fact about this passage.  The word for commandment in Latin is mandatum, from which we get our English word mandate.  The fact that this word is used in the Latin version one of the gospel accounts of the Last Supper is why the day before Good Friday has been called Maundy Thursday (in the English-speaking world at least) since the Middle Ages..

That Latin word is also relevant to the fact that there was an election yesterday.  After elections, politicians (at least the ones who won) talk a great deal about their “mandate” from the voters.  In our passage from John, Jesus gave us all a new mandate, to love one another, with the widest definition of “one another” which is possible.    

But looking at this word “new” or, in Greek, kainos, we see that the word is used in these passages to speak of something very good:  … a new heaven, a new earth, … a new Jerusalem, … a new commandment.  Here the word new implies being renewed, and perhaps even (as they say in advertisements) “new and improved!”

But, in the Bible as in our day-to-day lives, the word new doesn’t mean always mean renewed.  Sometimes new may merely refer to a novelty or, as Luke called it, a kainotoron.   In the Book of Acts, as Luke described Paul’s travels, he mentioned his visit to Athens with some exasperation.  The Athenians were only interested in discussing the most recent novelty, the latest thing, the kainotoron.  Reading Acts 17, it’s easy to pick up that Luke was expressing Paul’s sense of both profound annoyance and sheer boredom with the Athenians.

This brings me back to the question I asked in this sermon’s title.  When something is new, … when is it good? … when is it bad? … when is it ugly?

When does “new” equal “ugly”? … When does “new” equal “bad”?

Sometimes a novelty can merely equal a trivialisation, a cheapening, or even an outright trashing of our culture.  Not all things which are new are examples of profound ugliness.  Most are not.  But some are. 

If something new, for example, happens merely (or even just mostly) for shock value, this is usually something profoundly ugly.  Sometimes, it crosses the line into something that’s also ethically bad.  To give an example of an event from two years ago, I would not call it “art” when a person cuts up a dead animal in front of an audience.  If the meat from the animal is than wasted, rather than used for food, the ugliness of the act is compounded into something that’s ethically very wrong. 

To give another example, much of “reality television” can involve the manipulation of vulnerable people to behave badly, in the interest of becoming a “celebrity” (whatever that means).  Frequently a group of strangers are placed in a confined space and presented with an artificial situation, while the viewers watch and wait for them to fight.

And, in the quest for the latest superficial novelties, the churches are by no means immune.  In the name of “relevance”, “getting bottoms on seats”, being “contemporary”, and (dare I say it) being “missional”, some churches have become as enthusiastic as Paul’s Athenians in embracing mindless kainotorons.

So, then, when does “new” equal “good”?

That is where the new commandment, the new mandate comes in.

Whenever something new makes us more caring, … more merciful, … more inclusive, … more compassionate, … more loving (as individuals, as a culture, as a nation, as a human race), the new development is good.  To use words politicians like to toss around, it’s progress.  It’s a reform.  It needs to be embraced and celebrated. 

If it makes us less caring, … less merciful, … less inclusive, … less compassionate, … less loving, it’s an abuse.  Get rid of it.  (Do not pass “Go”.  Do not collect $200.)

Jesus gave us a new commandment, a new mandate:  “Love one another”.   As I said earlier:  Personally, I think the wider the definition of “one another”, the better, so that we don’t cause Jesus to ask us the question “What part of ‘Love one another’ don’t you understand?”

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

“There was a man with two sons …”: a sermon (Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32)

Today’s gospel lesson is one of the most familiar passages in the entire Bible.  As with any familiar passage of scripture, we can find many different things jumping out at us from this parable.  In the lectionary, we hear this passage on this Sunday in the middle of Lent once every three years.  I looked back on some of the ways I treated this passage in sermons during my ministry.

I first prepared a sermon on this passage as a first-year theological student.  In the subject “Introduction to Preaching”, one assignment was to write a sermon based on one of a number of passages.  I chose this passage and wrote a sermon that was pretty forgettable – as forgettable as most sermons prepared by first-year theological students.  I don’t think I ever preached that sermon … and just as well really.

I wrote my second sermon on this passage while I was still a theological student, at this point a second-year student.  This time, I prepared the sermon, not for a classroom assignment, but to preach in my field education church.  The sermon was a dramatic monologue, telling the story of this passage from the perspective of the elder brother.  At the time, I thought it was pretty good. 

This sermon became my “travelling sermon”, maybe even my “party piece”.  For a number of years, whenever I was invited to preach anywhere where I hadn’t preached before, I trotted this sermon out (regardless of the lectionary). 

The point I made in this sermon, as I acted (overacted?) the part of the elder brother struggling with his decision whether or not to join the party for his younger brother was this:  Through God’s grace, we are a forgiven people.  God also calls us to be a forgiving people.

(And, of course, to forgive someone does not mean that everything is emotionally OK between yourself and the person who wronged you.  Far from it.  It means that you seek to promote the well-being of the one who wronged you, even if things will never be emotionally OK.)

A few years later, when I was considering the same passage, I had recently read the book Poet and Peasant by Kenneth Bailey.  Bailey was involved in research in villages around the Middle East, telling the parables of Jesus to peasant farmers.  After telling the story, Bailey asked the question  “What would happen if someone in your community did this?”

Bailey always received the same reaction when he told this story, whatever the religion or the culture of the people to whom he told it:  “This would never happen here.”  When he asked the villagers why it would never happen, some of the frequent responses were:

·        A son never asks his father to receive his inheritance early.  This implies “I’m looking forward to your death.”  This would be unthinkable.

·        A son would never refer to his brother as “this son of yours” when speaking to his father.  That phrase would implies “He’s your son, but I’m not.”  While a parent may disown a child, a child would never disown a parent.

·        No parent would ever beg their child to do anything, as the father did when he tried to persuade the elder brother to join the celebration. 

·        Neither would a man of high status run in public, as the father did when he saw the younger son returning.

The point I made in the sermon was this :  Even when people do shockingly (and scandalously) hateful things, as both sons did in the story, God’s grace enables us to do shockingly loving (and scandalously loving) things, as the father did a number of times in the story.

Another time was shortly after the death of Dr. Benjamin Spock, who wrote the classic book Baby and Child Care.  Dr. Spock taught generations of parents that it is better for children to love their parents than it is to fear them, and that (as a result) it is no sign of weakness for parents to show their love to their children.

I used the example of Dr. Spock – alongside the image of the father in Jesus’ parable - as a jumping-off point to say that our own views of God are often dependent on our responses to the ways our parents raised us. 

·        Those who grew up with the care of warm, loving parents often find it easy to appreciate the loving care of the Living God.

·        On the other hand, those who perceive their parents as having been cruel, harsh, selfish, erratic, or merely absent, may have problems coming to terms with a loving God.  Instead, they may find themselves worshipping a god of wrath, … rejecting a god whom they see as nonexistent, … or ignoring a god whom they regard as irrelevant to their lives.

(And, of course, it may not be terribly helpful to use this as an excuse to play the popular game of “My family’s weirder than your family.”)

Another time, I preached completely off the cuff, for the first – and only – time in my life.  It was on one of my visits to Bangladesh, visiting Christmas Bowl projects.

One Sunday afternoon, I attended worship in a Baptist congregation in a poor neighbourhood of Dhaka.  I was told by the Bangladeshi staff person who had brought me to the service that I’d be asked to give a brief greeting to the congregation on behalf of the churches of Australia. 

The service was in Bengali.  The Bangladeshi staffer was translating parts of it for me.  After about half an hour or so, the staff bloke translated the minister saying, “And now our Australian visitor will preach the sermon.”

I asked “Are you sure he said ‘… preach the sermon?’”

“Yes.”

I thought for a moment.  I had no sermon with me.  The only Bibles I could see were in Bengali.  I had to say something.  It had to be on a passage of scripture I knew well enough to talk about off the cuff with no warning.  I asked the minister to read the fifteenth chapter of Luke’s gospel.

“The whole chapter?” asked the minister.

“Yes.”

While the minister read (in Bengali) the parables of the lost sheep, and the lost coin, and then the one about the two lost sons, I thought about what I’d do.

I’d retell the story of the man with two sons and hope that the congregation found there was sufficient vitality in the story itself.  So, after the minister read the passage, I started to re-tell the story.  Periodically, after every few sentences, the minister would translate my English into Bengali.  That gave me sufficient time to re-gather my thoughts to tell the next part of the story.  And, yes, in this ancient story that Jesus told, there was sufficient vitality for the story itself to suffice for that congregation in Bangladesh.

And, today, I still believe those things I learned on those previous occasions:

·        Yes, our own views of God are often dependent on our responses to our parents.

·        Yes, through God’s grace, we are a forgiven people.  God also calls us to be a forgiving people.

·        Yes, even when people do shockingly hateful things to us, God’s grace enables us to do shockingly loving things in return.

·        Yes, there are some sermons written by first-year theological students that are better left unpreached.

·        And, yes, in this ancient story that Jesus told, there is still great vitality in the story itself.

“We need a little Lent, right this very minute.”: a sermon (Matthew 6: 1 – 21, Luke 4: 1 – 13)

Today’s sermon was a work in progress for the past week-and-a-half.  It began to take shape in my mind around the time when the result in a high-profile criminal trial was announced.  (Given the fact that there’s an appeal in process and the matter is still sub judice, I won’t be commenting on the actual trial or the actual charges.)  The sermon has changed a bit during the past week-and-a-half.  As a result, the sermon has had a number of working titles.

·        It began as “Observing Lent even in the age of Donald Trump and George Pell.”   

·        It morphed into “Even at a time when arrogance is treated as a civic and religious virtue, let’s do Lent anyway.”

·        I’ve eventually settled on “We need a little Lent, right this very minute”.

Let us pray. 

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer.  Amen.

In your order of worship, you’ll find a copy of a drawing by the very talented cartoonist Jay Sidebottom.  The scene is during a worship service on Ash Wednesday.  As the minister is about to put some ash on the forehead of a member of the congregation, she says,   “Remember that you are dust…”, but then she adds “…but a very high quality sort of dust.” 

There’s some real and profound theological truth to this.

We are dust.

·        In contrast to the eternal God, the God who is Life itself, we are mortal; we are finite.

·        In contrast to the God of Love, the God who is Compassion itself, we struggle to reflect the love of God in any consistent way in our own lives.

We are dust.  Lent reminds us we are dust.

Nevertheless, we are “a very high quality sort of dust”. 

·        We have been created in the image of God, with a capacity for rational, logical thought.

·        We have been created in the image of God, with a capacity to appreciate beauty, both in the world of nature and in the achievements of human art.

·        We have been created in the image of God, with a capacity for ethical choice.

·        We have been created in the image of God, with a capacity to express love.

·        We have been created in the image of God, with a capacity to worship the God in whose image we live, and move, and have our being.

We are “a very high quality sort of dust”.  And Lent should also remind us of that.

This is tremendously important.  There are many people for whom a warped, ultraconservative religious faith – Christian or otherwise - has taught them a destructive sense of low self-esteem, in which they believe that the true response of true faith is to always think, “I’m evil; I’m evil; I’m horrible; I’m horrible!”  An approach to faith – Christian or otherwise – which encourages this low self-esteem is a sick faith.

A healthy faith - again, Christian or otherwise – reminds us that we are “a very high quality sort of dust”. 

Lent challenges our personal arrogance.  We are dust.  Lent also reminds us that we are people living in the image of God.  We are “a very high quality sort of dust”. 

In both readings from scripture we’ve used today, we see both these concerns.

The lesson from Matthew was the gospel reading for Ash Wednesday.  Jesus is teaching his disciples about religious practices, good and bad.  Our practice of the faith shouldn’t call attention to ourselves and our own piety.  Long-winded, ex tempore prayers are unnecessary (particularly if they’re packed with pious jargon).  Don’t whinge or look dismal when fasting.  When you give to the poor, do it in a way that advances social justice and shows respect for the people you’re helping, not in a way that entrenches dependence or which insults and embarrasses the person who needs help. 

The lesson from Luke is the gospel reading for today, the First Sunday in Lent.  Jesus resisted the temptation to focus on his own immediate needs.  He resisted the temptation to go for a flashy, showbiz, special effects approach to the life of faith.  He also resisted the temptation to give in to despair and say “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

In both of these lessons, we are challenged, as those who seek to follow Jesus, to be “a very high quality sort of dust”. 

Those who remember the musical “Mame” will remember the song “We need a little Christmas”, sung by Dame Angela Lansbury (and, as we all know, there’s nothing like a Dame).  If you don’t remember the musical, you’ll know the song from watching “Carols by Candlelight” on TV.  Anyway, I’d like to paraphrase Dame Angela’s song by saying, “We need a little Lent, right this very minute.”  (Oh, blow it, I’ll sing it.)  “We need a little Lent, right this very minute.” 

And the reason we “need a little Lent” is that Lent challenges our arrogance.  Lent reminds us all that we are dust, even if it is “a very high quality sort of dust”.   Looking at the rampant arrogance in the world around us, I believe “We need a little Lent, right this very minute.” 

And here, I suppose is where the “colourful American political identity” and the “colourful Australian religious identity” I mentioned earlier both come into the picture.  We live in a time in history in which arrogance is treated as a virtue.  If the 1980s was the decade in which people believed “greed is good”, we’re living now at a time in which many people believe that arrogance is a civic and religious virtue. 

In the realm of business, in the realm of the media, in the realm of politics, and, sadly, in the realm of faith, some people are trying to tell us that we’re living in a “post-truth” era.  In other words, you can talk the worst rubbish imaginable, but if you seem sufficiently sure of yourself (arrogantly sure), people will follow you.  Sadly, it is possible for an arrogant con-man to become a senior leader either in the body politic or in the household of faith.  When this happens, it undermines the credibility of all the institutions in the community.

“We need a little Lent, right this very minute.” 

Lent challenges our arrogance.  Lent reminds us that we are dust.  … Donald Trump is dust. … George Pell is dust. … I’m dust.  … You’re dust.

“We need a little Lent, right this very minute.” 

And, at the end of Lent, Easter will once again remind us that we are “a very high quality sort of dust.”  

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

Down from the Mountaintop? ... Up from the Mountaintop? ... Out from the Mountaintop?: a sermon (Luke 9: 28-36)

For many of us, it happened in our youth.  A camp or a youth conference makes the faith dramatically real for the first time for some young person.  The first stirrings are seen of a deep personal identification and commitment with the faith.  I can remember my own faith – and my sense of identification with the Christian church – being deepened as a result of participating in Methodist youth events in New Jersey in the 1960s and 1970s.  Here in Australia, here in Tasmania, are many people whose Christian faith was deepened as a result of their involvement in such youth events as the Uniting Church’s NCYC and the Catholic Church’s World Youth Day.

While this deepening of faith as a result of a single event is often associated with events for young people, it is not exclusively an experience of youth.  Adults have had similar faith-deepening experiences at a range of events.

·         Dr. Billy Graham’s missions in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s had a profound effect on many people who are still active in churches in Australia today.

·         At a very different point on the theological spectrum, the visits to Australia of Bishop Jack Spong in more recent decades have also challenged many people in the churches to take their faith much more seriously.

·         For those who’ve had an opportunity to travel overseas, visits to communities of Christian renewal such as Taizé or Iona have also had such an impact.

·         With the ecumenical movement, our growing opportunities to experience the worship and spirituality of other churches have been such a transforming experience for many.  To give a personal example, my own experiences as a student of the awe and wonder of Episcopalian, Roman Catholic, and Eastern Orthodox worship had a profoundly positive effect on the development of my own faith.  Without these experiences, I really doubt if my Christian faith would have survived my undergraduate years.    (Actually, when some of my “evangelical” friends ask me to talk about my “conversion experience” or when I was “born again”, I tell them about a Catholic Mass I attended during my first semester as an undergraduate.  They’re usually more worried about the state of my soul after I tell them this story than they were before.  …  I can live with that.)

Such events of a profound deepening of faith are often called “mountaintop experiences”.  And in this phrase is a link with today’s gospel lesson. 

And now, we’ll have our readings from scripture.

Exodus 34: 29 - 35

Luke 9: 28 – 36

“Down from the Mountaintop? ... Up from the Mountaintop? ... Out from the Mountaintop?”

Let us pray. 

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer.  Amen.

Jesus took the core group of his disciples: Peter, James, and John; up a mountain to pray.  In the experience of the disciples, a dazzling light began to shine.  They saw two great figures of Jewish history . . . Moses, the liberator and law-giver, and Elijah, the greatest of the prophets ... appearing, and speaking with Jesus.  A thick, almost smoky, cloud enveloped them all.

Peter was focused on the experience: ... the light ... the smoke ... the big-time historical heroes.  He was so impressed by the whole experience that he wanted to make the experience a permanent thing:  “Lord, it is good for us to be here.”  It had the implication of “Do we really have to go back home?”  He suggested building shelters for them, so as to encourage Moses, Elijah, and (presumably) Jesus to hang around with the disciples up there on the mountain for ever.  But:

·        Moses and Elijah vanished into the cloud;

·        the cloud faded away;

·        the lighting began to be more, well, normal; and

·        Jesus led the disciples off the mountain

Peter’s suggestion about building shelters to make the “mountaintop experience” permanent may resonate with our own reactions to our closer experiences of God’s reality.

But in any event, Jesus led the disciples down from the mountaintop.  … Or was that up from the mountaintop?  … Or perhaps that could have been out from the mountaintop?

“Down from the Mountaintop?”

Jesus led the three down from the mountaintop.  He led them back into the real world with all its struggles.  Christ today challenges us to bring the light of his presence into all the difficulties of life.  There are many who resist this challenge to come down from the mountaintop:

·         Some resist coming “down from the mountaintop” because they have a very mystical, otherworldly faith and they do not want the secular world to interfere with the way they experience their faith.  They want to keep their faith “pure” and “uncontaminated” by worldly concerns.

·         Others resist coming “down from the mountaintop” because they don’t want their faith to interfere with the way they live their lives in the world.  They don’t want their faith to overly influence how they behave when they earn their living ... or when they spend their money ... or when they vote.  They have a “firewall” between their life as a worshipper and their life in the world of work and the wider community.  It’s far too inconvenient, they believe, if our faith was allowed to impact on such things as our attitudes toward race, or economics, or human rights, or business ethics.

Both groups resist the challenge to come down from the mountaintop.

Jesus still led his disciples down from the mountaintop, bringing the fruits of their encounter with God into the struggles of everyday life.  He calls us to come “down from the mountaintop” as well.

“Up from the Mountaintop?”

The danger also existed for the disciples, that the dramatic experience on the mountain would become the big thing, instead of the reality of God that lay behind it.  So Jesus challenged the disciples to look up from the mountaintop and to realise the main thing was:

·        not the dazzling light;

·        not the smoky cloud;

·        not the presence of big-time historical heroes;

but God who lay behind it all

Jesus also challenges us to look “up from the mountaintop”; away from the “special effects” of the faith to God’s main plot.

“Out from the Mountaintop?”

It could all have been terribly in-group up there on the mountaintop.  There were just the six of them up there: Jesus, Moses, Elijah, Peter, James, and John.  The six of them could have become a nice, tight, little ‘holy club”.  A group of six people was smaller than most families were in those days.  It would have been cozy, very cozy … far too cozy.

In the scriptures, the story of faith is also the story of the expansion of God’s community from smaller to larger circles of people:

·         from a solitary individual to a family,

·         from a single family to a nation,

·         and, in the New Testament. from a lone nation to two great world-wide religions.

And now, I believe, this expansion still continues:

·         from two closely-related religions to all humanity and even to all life.

We are living in a time when many Christians - and many other people of faith - are being challenged to come to grips with an expanded view of the scope of God’s love and concern.  I strongly believe that it is God who is challenging us to this broader view.

Just as Jesus challenged the disciples to look wider than the cozy little circle of six, Jesus challenges us to ensure that our transforming, faith-deepening, experiences expand, rather than contract, the scope of our concern, to reach “out from the mountaintop”.

Down from the Mountaintop?

Up from the Mountaintop?

Out from the Mountaintop?

On the mountain, Jesus shared a moment of profound significance with his disciples.  We have such opportunities as well.  As with the disciples Jesus continually challenges us:

·        to come down from the mountaintop;

·        to look up from the mountaintop; and

·        to reach out from the mountaintop.

Thanks be to God.  Amen.