Creekside Church Sermon of March 2, 2003 "Hagios, Sanctus, Taboo " Mark 9:2-9	Rev. David Bibbee
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As you scanned the worship bulletin and saw today's sermon title, you probably said to yourself, "What!?" As you know by now, I don't use conventional titles. Judging from today's title, you might think I've gone off the deep end. You may wonder if "Hagios, Sanctus, Taboo" is a voodoo curse or an ancient cultic chant. You may think you have a clue about the sermon theme because you know what "taboo" means. Taboo means "forbidden". If something is taboo it is off limits. But this is not the correct definition.

When the first British whalers arrived in the Polynesian Islands they became friendly and flirtatious with the native women. The islanders were indignant. "No, no. Taboo!" As the British explored the islands, their Polynesian guides showed them the sights, but some places were restricted. They were not allow them to enter certain caves or climb certain mountains. "No, no. Taboo!" The Brits took this to mean "forbidden". This interpretation made it into English, but taboo really means "holy". "You must leave this woman or this place alone." Holy things were set apart for God and belonged to God for his exclusive purposes and no one else's.

Hagios, Sanctus, Taboo is "holy" in Greek, Latin, and Polynesian. "Holy, holy, holy"-- words we use to describe the indescribable; the best words we have to respond to the absolute otherness of God. "Holy" describes the transcendent encounter found in today's gospel text.

Jesus took three of the disciples to a mountain top. When mountains are mentioned in scripture, you can be sure something spectacular will happen. Mountain tops are where earth and heaven meet. Mountain tops are where humble people meet the Holy God. On the mountain top, Jesus' appearance changed before the disciple's eyes. He became radiant. His clothing turned an intense, dazzling white. Peter, James, and John stood frozen, their eyes bulging, their mouths gaped open. They knew Jesus was holy. Now they realized his holiness was of an order that defied description. Their speech failed. Their brains had no category to file what they were seeing.

My senior year in college I spent a month in Bogota, Colombia. Bogota lies at the foot of Mount Surrat. To the Colombians, Mt. Surrat is taboo... holy. At the summit is a Catholic church. Its chancel is filled with discarded canes, crutches, and braces of people who climbed the mountain, prayed in the church, and were healed.

On a Sunday afternoon we climbed Mt. Surrat. I remember the people we passed on the long, steep path that zig-zagged up the mountain.... sick and handicapped children were carried on their parent's backs. Disabled people crawled on their hands and knees to the summit. longing for a healing glimpse of the holy God. Perhaps some of them recalled the transfiguration of Jesus as they climbed, hoping they, too, would be transformed.

Years ago, William James wrote a landmark book called, The Varieties of Religious Experience. James described four characteristics common to mystical experiences. One was "ineffability." An ineffable experience cannot be described in ordinary language. People can only describe an ineffable experience as, "It was like..." or, " It was unlike..." This experience finds expression in the hymn, "Crown Him with Many Crowns"-- "Crown him the lord of years, the potentate of time, creator of the rolling spheres, ineffably sublime..."

We are dealing here with big concepts. The Transfiguration story gives preachers fits because it doesn't fit our picture of reality. If the disciples couldn't put it into words, how can a preacher? But observing Peter's reaction to the transfiguration, we can draw connections to our experiences.

There is a saying that goes, "Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large crowds." To this lets add, "Never underestimate the propensity of people to say stupid things when in situations where there is nothing to say." Witnessing this holy moment charged with wonder and mystery, our brother Peter blurted out, "Master, this is awesome! You, Moses, and Elijah just stay put while we build three tents for you." Mark explains the reasons for Peter's impulsive plan-- "He didn't know what to say for he was exceedingly afraid."

Suppose this event happened today and you witnessed it? What would you say? Maybe you would blurt out, "This is a Kodak moment! Did anybody bring a camera?" We would go for detailed documentation. Nail it down. Get hard evidence. Put it on the 6:00 o'clock news.

Peter wanted to frame the moment, but no sooner had he spoken than a thick cloud descended, and from it thundered the same voice heard at Jesus' baptism: "This is my beloved Son; listen to him." Then the cloud, Moses, and Elijah vanished, and things returned to conventional reality.

What I find interesting about this scene is the lack of instructions given by Jesus. He didn't tell the disciples to "do" anything. We expect to leave worship with instructions about what we must do to be better Christians. The preacher says, "This week I want you to read a chapter of the Bible a day. Work on your prayer life.... do it a half hour each day and don't let your mind get distracted. Husbands, be sensitive to your wives. Wives, if your husband comes home in a lousy mood, don't push him to tell you how his day went. Children, don't give your parents a hard time." We show up Sunday morning to get our orders g so we will be productive Christians.

The transfiguration tells us something. Our first response to God's holiness isn't performance! Our first order of response is listening. In that holy mountain moment, Jesus didn't hand the disciples a "things to do" list. We do live our faith in concrete acts, but we need to know when to set the doing aside and simply enjoy being in the holy, loving presence of God, listening to what God has to say.

We Brethren aren't sure what to do with scriptures having a decidedly mystical, component. We focus on the "practical" aspects of faith. We're in our element cleaning up after floods, rebuilding houses flattened by tornadoes, making health kits for people in some impoverished corner of the world, or working to right some social wrong. We're uncomfortable marinating in the mystery of God's holiness.

A remedy for this condition could be spending time with Lutherans. Martin Luther made a physical and spiritual wreck of himself trying to be acceptable to God by his own efforts. His transfiguring moment came when he realized we are ultimately saved by God's grace-- not our earnest efforts and good deeds.

This weekend our women had their annual gala retreat. They were graced by the leadership of Twig's friend from LaCrosse, Wisconsin, Debbie Dukatz. She comes from robust Lutheran stock. The thing I appreciate about Christians like Debbie and other Lutherans I've known is this-- they don't "do" anything. They know that their destiny and the world's destiny is not dependent upon them but upon God. They are thus freed to "do" ministry without the weight of the world upon them.

There are moments when the door between the material and spiritual realm opens a crack and we catch a glimpse of God's glory. In these unbidden, unpredictable moments the emphasis is not upon doing but being. We are not supposed to build tents, but listen to God.

There is another instructive observation in our story. As Jesus and the disciples descended the mountain, Jesus told them not to peep a word of what they had seen until after his death and resurrection. It has been noted that this was an unnecessary instruction.

I always imagined that if I ever had any sort of mystical experience I would tell it to all who would listen. I've learned otherwise. Having experienced unexpected partings of the veil, I didn't feel compelled to tell anyone. I've held these moments close to the cuff.

There are two reasons. One, they are deeply personal. Two, people might think I have don't have a full sack of lunch. I've known people who outwardly didn't appear spiritually inclined, but who in moments of vulnerability shared a religious experience that had a profound effect upon them. Not even those closest to them knew about it. They didn't have a category for their experience. They didn't have language adequate to describe it. Their experience didn't give them new information or knowledge. What they received was a taste of a different reality... a holy, spiritual reality.

The people who conduct the Gallup polls say that nearly 47 million Americans have had religious experiences. If this is so, then it is likely that some of you have also had them... perhaps a vision, an overwhelming sense of Presence, a keen awareness that those you have loved and lost are not dead.

In the movie, "Contact," Jodie Foster plays a brilliant young astronomer who scans the heavens listening for radio waves that would indicate the presence of intelligent life in the universe. One night as she wore her head set and "tuned-in" to the cacophony of frequencies she had done hundreds of times before, there came a rhythmic set of waves never heard before. Contact had been established. The messages came with greater frequency and complexity. A world consortium of scientists realized the messages were actually blueprints for building a vessel to transport a person to their source. The question was, who would go?

A panel of scientists, philosophers, academicians, ethicists, and theologians had the task of selecting someone to represent the human race. The selection came down to two people-- Jodi Foster and her boss. She was not chosen because she didn't believe in God. "I am a scientist," she said. "I believe in what can be verified, quantified, and known through the scientific disciplines. I cannot believe in what cannot be proven."

However, through an unexpected set of circumstances, she got her chance. She was fitted with elaborate recording devices to chronicle all that she saw. Little did she know that her view of reality was about to be forever altered. As she journeyed through time and space she saw incredible, indescribable galaxies. The rational, articulate scientist was reduced to dumbfounded tears. "You should have sent a poet, not me," she cried. "I don't know how to tell you what I'm seeing." She could only repeat, "I never knew... I never knew..."

She returned with an incredible account of what she experienced, but she was discredited. The cameras indicated she had not gone anywhere. "It was all a fabrication," the scoffers said. Before an international investigating panel, she was asked to defend what she could not prove. All her scientific assumptions had been upended. It was such an irony-- the scientist could only answer factual questions with faith. All she could say was, "I can't explain it. I only know that it was real and that my life has been changed forever."

Had we been able to question Peter about what he saw on the mountain, he probably would have said, "I can't explain it. I only know that it was real and that my life has been changed forever."

We need not travel the vast reaches of time and space to see and know wondrous things. It happened to Martin Luther in a castle tower, which, by the way, was the commode. It happened to John Wesley in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean on a ship with Moravian missionaries. They helped prepare him for his appointment with God in which his heart was "strangely warmed."

Holy moments don't happen by demand, but by God's desire. Who knows when or where such a moment will come? It might be on a mountain top, but more likely in the privacy of prayer, in reading, or meditating, or dreaming, or in worship.... yes, especially in worship.

In worship we offer ourselves to the holy God who is wholly other. We shut out other voices to hear the voice say, "This is my beloved Son. Listen to him." Often we aren't sure about which direction to go or which choices to make. We don't have all the answers, but we do have Jesus' presence, and we do have his promise, and that is why we, like Peter can say in worship, "It is good that we are here."

Let me leave you with an image to bring home the awareness of God's holiness in our lives. Picture yourself standing behind a grandfather and his grandson while they are fishing off the end of a pier. They're unaware of your presence, as you listen in on their conversation. The sun is setting and the young boy is full of questions: "Grandpa, why does the rain fall?" "Why do the seasons change?" "Why is the sunset red?" "Why are some people happy and other people are so sad?" Grandpa does his best to answer, and the boy seems satisfied. After a reflective pause, the boy turns to his grandfather and asks the BIG question. "Grandpa... does anybody ever see God?"

The grandfather looks into the boys eyes, slips an arm around his little shoulders, and sighs. Looking at the sun's reflection dancing on the water he answers, "Son, its getting so I hardly see anything else."

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts.
The whole world is full of his glory.
Holy is the Lord!

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