Have you ever been disappointed in Jesus? disappointed in God?
I have.
Times when I lost, or got turned down for, an opportunity or
a job that I really thought God was leading me toward. When the underdog,
faithful athlete or team is overwhelmed by the cheaters or the arrogant
dynasty. When my candidate – obviously
on the side of right, or at least better for the world than the other one –
doesn’t get elected, the courts make the “wrong” decision, or the bill that
makes the world better doesn’t pass. When doing the right thing – in
compassion, in retirement planning, in workplace ethics or relationships – backfires
and dumps me or you in conflict or crisis.
And maybe it all works out in the long run – the very long
run – but still, I can feel my disappointment.
So can Peter.
Peter is painfully disappointed in Jesus, right now. Just
six days ago, Peter’s deep, hope that the Messiah, God’s anointed, had finally come was spoken out loud, and affirmed
by Jesus.
Yes! This is it. This is
what we’ve been dreaming and waiting for.
And then – in the next breath – it’s denied. Yes, Jesus is
the Messiah. But he’s talking about failure. About dying. About shameful crucifixion
instead of about making God’s constant promises about freedom and abundance and
a world you can actually trust come true. It’s a bitter disappointment, and
Peter probably still doesn’t know how to take it.
And now Jesus invites him, and James and John, up the
mountain for a little retreat day, and the two greatest heroes of the faith
just appear. Clearly, unmistakably: Moses
the founder of the faith and Elijah the greatest of prophets are so close he
could actually touch them. Jesus is blindingly, unnaturally, bright, bleached,
and dazzling. And God’s voice – unmistakably, powerfully – God’s voice announces
that this Jesus is closer to God than anyone ever before, full of glory, worthy
of trust.
All of God’s glory is right there. Face-to-face with Peter, all
around Peter. Confused, impulsive, error-prone, oh-so-human Peter, is now standing
in the full glory of the presence of God – which, by the way, is supposed to kill
you if you encounter it un-purified – and living to tell about it.
Peter is learning, again, that Jesus is not going to save
the world the way Peter knew he was supposed
to. Instead – though Peter may not realize it yet – Jesus has already saved Peter (and James, and
John, not to mention you and me), already transformed and transfigured Peter so
that he can stand in the full glory of the presence of God and not be destroyed
by his flaws and faults and errors.
It’s still a disappointment, maybe. It’s a power and a gift Peter
wasn’t looking for, and it disrupts his hopes and plans just as much as this
news about crucifixion for the Messiah does.
Because – for better or worse – it seems God’s promises to
transform the world don’t necessarily mean that God is going to do it all by
Godself; so that the Savior comes, or the moment is right, we will wake up one
morning to a world that’s right at
last.
We probably won’t ever get a messiah – political, emotional,
or divine – who does make it right from the top down.
That probably won’t stop me from hoping or wishing. But God
has a track record of doing salvation the way I wasn’t planning. God has a
history of transforming us – flawed,
ordinary, confused human beings – with the power and the gift we weren’t
looking for, so that we can be part of making God’s vision and promises real.
Now, you might look around at other human beings you know –
at home, at work, in the next lane on the highway, or in DC or Trenton – and
expect that humans are going to screw up whatever God leaves in human hands.
It would be so much simpler for God to send one good savior –
a good politician, a religious figure, maybe Oprah. One messiah seems so much more
trustworthy; so much stronger and simpler, than the whole messy mass of our
humanity.
But every time we fall into the temptation of trusting that
there is someone else God will send to make it better, we are bound to be
disappointed. Even in Jesus.
Not because God doesn’t want to save us, not because Jesus
doesn’t keep God’s promises – but because while we were waiting, Jesus has
already transformed and transfigured us
to stand in the presence of God with all our flaws and frailties that should by
rights have destroyed us, and still – like Moses, like Elijah, like Peter
eventually – carry that overwhelming grace and glory out into the ordinary
world. To be building blocks of the Kingdom of God on earth as in heaven.
It’s a big job, yes.
I can’t solve poverty by myself, or division and racism and
economic inequality. I’d like to pray or vote that done by God or some
charismatic leader who can fix it all. Of course, when I try that, I’m usually disappointed
– in other people, in myself, and, in spite of myself, in God.
But down in Camden, Project Interaction is making the abundance
of the Kingdom of God real one breakfast at a time, built on the actions of
ordinary, fragile, perfectly normal human beings from this congregation, among
others.
You’ll get to hear more about that next Sunday, as our
Lenten series on Loving Our Neighbor begins. And you can hear more, again, each
Sunday during Lent, about the organizations Trinity supports, and the ordinary
people that make the abundance, justice, compassion, and healing of the kingdom
of God real in small and transformative ways in our neighborhood and region.
I can’t solve the
long-term, pervasive, dismissal of women’s pain and the objectification of
women’s bodies that has created a culture which accepts sexual assault and
harassment as normal, accidental, and “natural.” And I'm aware, sadly, of my own temptation to
play down a violation rather than to challenge that culture with my words and
actions.
But over in a Michigan courtroom a couple weeks ago, there
was a parade of ordinary women and girls and their parents who let their own
flaws and faults and limits show as they told their stories of assault and pain
and silencing, and in that speaking, shed light and grace and the opportunity
for healing into a history of errors and evil.
And grace and glory grew brighter and stronger in our everyday world
where we need it most.
You and I aren’t superheroes or saviors. We can’t,
ourselves, solve the many complex pains and challenges that face the world. We
aren’t the ones who can make the world right
overnight.
But we can’t wait for those people, either. We’re bound to
be disappointed if we do.
And we might just be more like Peter than we know:
transformed and transfigured without expecting or asking for it, into carriers
of God’s grace and glory.
Just as we have been called, as Peter was called, to bear the
cross, we have also been called to bear the glory. To be the transfigured Body
of Christ: not one person to fix the whole world, but many workers.
We might not get invited up a mountain with Moses and Elijah
this week, but we can, we should, in the coming weeks of Lent, go to these
Sunday conversations, read the news, pay attention to the people around us, and
examine our own lives, looking for the bright, unexpected clues that God has
transfigured us into people who can experience the full glory of God in our
ordinary, flawed and fragile human state, and carry that grace out, a little
bit at a time, into actions that transform the world.
