Showing posts with label Ash Wednesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ash Wednesday. Show all posts

Friday, February 21, 2020

Gospel text for The Transfiguration, Sunday 23 February 2020


Matthew 17:1-9        Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

                  God's Grandeur 
        by Gerard Manley Hopkins

      Suggestion - please read Hopkins poem aloud.

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
    And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Reflection    What is it you sense when you hear these words? Do you have eyes to see and ears to hear the shining of shook foil? Are you attuned to Divine Presence saturating and streaming through you and all that is? Do you allow yourself to be agog in silence when the grandeur of God like a cumulus cloud cloaks the mountaintop? Or do you join our friend Peter staking a tent to procure perpetuity? Perhaps pull out your cell phone camera to suspend the moment?

Pondering the story of Jesus and his three companions, Peter, James and John climbing to his sacred place and enveloped in the grandeur of God, something new occurs to me. Anglicanism, the Anglican Episcopal tradition, has everything to do with transfiguration because it has everything to do with experiencing the grandeur of God.

Let’s back up a little. What is Anglicanism? Much may be said about the history of the Anglican Tradition rising from the 16th century Protestant Reformation. We can talk about its unique posture simultaneously holding the Roman Catholic liturgical and Protestant evangelical customs and practices while  insisting that reason and experience also be brought to the theological table.  We can dive into the complicated nuances of Anglican Episcopal polity and politics, not today. But at the heart of all of that information I believe the Anglican Episcopal Tradition is aimed at one thing. Transfiguration. 

What do we mean by transfiguration? Returning to Hopkin’s poem, I believe transfiguration is seeing beyond the “smudge and smell of our bleared and smeared bodies.” It is feeling our bare toes dig into the sand, unearthing the “dearest freshness (of) deep down things.” 

What is the “dearest freshness of deep down things?” I believe it is the grandeur of God, the light of Christ flickering within us, our deepest true unconditioned selves longing to shine out like shook foil. The “dearest freshness of deep down things” is nothing less than our transfigured selves flaming out the grandeur of God.  

This Sunday marks the end of the season of Epiphany and the grand Epiphany is this. Jesus is glowing with the grandeur of God and we are meant likewise to flame out like shook foil because the light of the risen Christ promises to radiate the grandeur of God and transfigure each one of us. This is very good news. Here is the thing, the promise of the risen Christ demands our response. Grace is not cheap. It is up to us to moisten our seared skin and wash away the smudges that overshadow our true transfigured selves. This is the work of Lent which we will begin on Ash Wednesday and continue for forty day and forty nights.  

For today it is enough to bask in the grandeur of God “Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings” and we are “charged with the grandeur of God.” 


If you found this post to be meaningful please share by clicking on icons below. Thank you.

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Hebrew Testament reading for Sunday 9 March 2014

Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7        The LORD God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. And the LORD God commanded the man, "You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die."
Now the serpent was more crafty than any other wild animal that the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, "Did God say, `You shall not eat from any tree in the garden'?" The woman said to the serpent, "We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said, `You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.'" But the serpent said to the woman, "You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil." So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate. Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves.
Reflection        Here is the biggest, boldest, most outrageous lie ever told to humanity. “You will not die…” That’s what the serpent said to the woman in the garden when tempting her to eat the forbidden fruit. It is a lie that set humanity on the course of denying, resisting and refusing death. It has not served us well.
Slightly more than half of Medicare dollars are spent on patients who die within two months. 22 million ‘hits’ came up in 35 seconds when I typed anti-aging into my computer’s browser. At the bottom of the recession in 2009, Americans spent $10 billion on cosmetic procedures.  Models’ careers end at “28 if they are lucky, 21 if they don’t age well.”  Every form of media markets youth, vitality, agility and would have us deny the inevitable degeneration of our bodies and our minds. Culture would have us buy the serpent’s lie… “You will not die if you buy my stuff.”

But, for at least one day each year we Christians refuse to be bamboozled. Across the globe on Ash Wednesday priests dip their thumbs in ashes, smear crosses on our foreheads while saying, “Remember you are dust and to dust you will return.” In other words, you are going to die. It doesn’t matter what fruit you juice, what supplements you take, what extreme medical procedures you undergo, you are going to die.

Ash Wednesday begins the season of Lent, a time for calling our the serpent and admitting the lies we tell ourselves. “I cannot help if when I lose my temper, when I judge and speak ill of others, when I take the extra drink, eat when I am not hungry or shop compulsively. I am not good enough to deserve your love, to deserve God’s love. I don’t need help. I can handle this myself. I am not going to change. I am not going to allow things to change around me. I am in control.” These are lies that we tell ourselves. Lies that we tell ourselves to boost our sense of safety and security, to enhance our self image and self esteem, to amplify our feelings of power and control. 


But instead of saving our lives, the lies cause us to fall out of relationship with God, but only until we expose the serpent and purge our lies. This is the hard work of Lent; admitting the lies we tell ourselves and dying a thousand humiliations as we walk through Lent in the hope of the resurrection life of Easter. 

If you found this post meaningful please share it with your friends by clicking on the icons below. Thanks.