Creekside Church Sermon of February 22, 1998 "Though the Darkness Hide Thee" Luke 9:28-36	Rev. David Bibbee
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I would love to be a mountain climber, but I have a problem with heights. Standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon last summer was an incredible experience, and unsettling, too. At every lookout I had a death grip on the guardrail. But if I wasn't altitude challenged, I would climb mountains. If I could, I would climb the highest mountain, Mount Everest...29,028 feet high. What could match the thrill of standing atop the highest vantage point on earth? Since Sir Edmund Hillary first scaled the summit in 1953, there have been many successful assaults and many tragedies on Mount Everest. What motivates people to dare such a feat? As one man from Nepal put it, "Why do white people come to die on our mountains?"

To date, one hundred forty have died. In May of 1996 an unexpected storm took eight more lives on Everest including two of the world's best mountain guides. Into Thin Air is a book that tells the story of their fateful climb and why climbers flock to Everest. The author concludes it is the lure of danger and divinity. In many cultures, mountains are associated with power, mystery and transcendence. This is certainly true of the Bible. Whenever mention is made of a mountain in scriptures, there is usually a deeper significance attached to it. What more fitting place to receive a revelation than on a mountain high between heaven and earth?

Today's gospel lesson is a mountain climbing story. Eight days before Jesus took Peter, James and John on the climb, he had asked them who he was. Peter said, "You are the Christ," and Jesus spelled out what that meant. He said he would suffer, be rejected, die, and be raised. Furthermore, to follow him meant self-denial, taking up a cross and losing your life for his sake. But this wasn't on their minds at the moment. They were following Jesus up the mountain to keep him company while he prayed.

Whenever Jesus prayed, at least two things could be counted on. One, something big was going to happen, and two, the disciples would fall asleep. While Jesus prayed and they snored, an amazing thing happened. His appearance changed and he was bathed in a dazzling white light. "Transfigured" is the word used to describe it, not an everyday word for us. If you didn't know it was a spiritual term, you might apply it to the fitness center ads in the paper with pictures of Charles and Charlene Atlas and their Greek god bods. Transfigured. Maybe it could be the end result of liposuction. Transfigured.

Jesus' prayer flowed into an intense spiritual experience of being illumined from within, bedazzled in God's ineffable light. Luke called it "glory". Jesus was then joined by two pillars from the past, Moses, the great lawgiver, and Elijah the prophet, whose appearance would usher the Messiah's appearance. The three are in conversation about Jesus and where his glory would take him. The transfiguration is a bridge connecting Epiphany, the time which reveals who Jesus is, to Lent, the time which reveals where Jesus is headed.

The big three, the Mount Rushmore of lawgiver, prophet and Messiah, are discussing Jesus' death. They didn't say death. They used the word "departure" which also means "exodus". Just as Moses scaled Mt. Sinai, had his appearance transfigured, and was sent to free God's people, so God was about to do with Jesus. This time the bondage wasn't to Pharaoh, but to sin, fear, and death which had made slaves of all God's children. Moses led the people through the Red Sea with his staff. Jesus would split the dark of death with his cross and lead us to freedom.

The disciples weren't privy to the conversation, but they woke in time to behold the sight and became swept up in the splendor of this Epiphany. I doubt that we have ever had an experience like this, but we have had moments we didn't want to end. We have known times of being bathed in a light of certainty, clarity, security, and peace. We've known moments of being flooded with the awareness that life is beautiful, and everything fits, and God is real and you belong to him and nothing could make you feel otherwise.

Walter Harroff knows all about this experience. He can tell you of what it was like hovering between life and death when he saw himself carried by his surgeon with arms outstretched to a healing light. In that moment, he knew that everything was going to be all right. Maybe something came over you on some mountain, in some worship service or in solitude, in a hospital or some unexpected place or time. Glory was the only word for it and you wanted it to last. The disciples wanted their fine moment to last, but it didn't. The light that enveloped them was swallowed. Light turned to darkness. Crystal clarity gave way to a shroud of cloud. Awe gave way to fear.

What happened to the glory? They would wonder all the more when the face that shined like the sun would glisten with spit and sweat and crimson blood. It was hard to believe that from the cross the exodus to freedom had begun. What Jesus told them eight days before their climb and what Jesus, Moses, and Elijah discussed about Jesus' departure...it wasn't just a preparation for Jesus' death, it was a preparation for his disciples and you and me to face the darkness we all enter.

Barbara Brown Taylor says God's glory is found in the dazzling light and the dazzling dark. For us, light and dark are opposites. For God they are the same. By enduring a lonely, humiliating death, by dying as we all will, we are given the trust that though the dark is frightening, it is not a threat, for the dark belongs to God too. If this mountaintop event has anything to tell us, it at least is the thought that the dark we instinctively fear is filled with the presence of God, hard though it is to see.

Several years ago I had a watershed dream I've told some of you about which describes both the fear and opportunity we face. In this dream, I drive at night into an unfamiliar city. I am directed by a guide who is with me every moment, who is very real, but whom I cannot see. He tells me to park on a side street where we get out and stroll down the sidewalk. The street is brightly and beautifully lit, and lined with exquisite shops. My guide asks if I am impressed. "What could be better than this?" I replied. Then we stood at an intersection. Behind us everything was light, before us was pitch black.

"You're not going over there, are you?" "Why not?" I told him why not. "You don't know what's over there. You can't see where you're going. Something bad could happen. You might not come out." Fear was the reason. The light turned green and the guide asked, "Are you coming?"

In this dream and ones similar to it, I have asked God, "Why do you insist on taking me into the dark?" The words that keep coming to me are, "The dark is where you need to go." I need, you need to trust that God's glory isn't confined to the bright, wonderful, warm mountaintop moments. His glory is there in the dark hours of life when we are sick, searching, depressed, and dying. He is there when we can't see much of anything. It is not an easy thing to believe, but still we can trust him to accompany us through the inevitable dark nights we will face. Christ has been there before us.

In Edmund Hillary's autobiography, Nothing Venture, Nothing Win, he said that reaching the summit of Mt. Everest was a supreme challenge of flesh, blood, and spirit. But it is significant to note that he and his companion only spent fifteen minutes on the summit. They hugged each other, took pictures for ten minutes, ate a cake, buried a crucifix, put their oxygen back on and began their descent. You would think he would have had a more glorious response to this incredible moment. But on the last page of his book he puts it all in perspective:

"Some paths will be spectacular, others not. But who is to say which is most important? For me the most rewarding moments have not always been great moments, for what can surpass a tear on your departure, joy on your return, or a trusting hand in yours...most of all I'm thankful for tasks still left to do...for adventure still lying ahead."

We are grateful for those bright moments of life when all is well and we are given a glimpse of Christ's glory. But there are adventures and challenges ahead. There will come times when clouds will swallow us and we cannot see him. Then we remember what the frightened disciples heard: "This is my Son, my chosen. Listen to him." Then we remember the darkness also belongs to him. Then with trust we can pray:

When the darkness appears and the night draws near,
and the day is past and gone,
at the river I stand, guide my feet, hold my hand,
take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

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