2 Co 4:3-7
2 March 2003
Transfiguration
“Light”
I don’t remember very much from the one class on physics I took in school, and my subsequent reading on the subject hasn’t helped me a great deal, but there is one discussion I do recall. It was about a question that must go back to the dawn of the human race: what is light?
Our physics class didn’t go into all the history of the thing. We just looked at the options that science had produced. Is light a wave or a particle? A matter of great controversy! (You may feel like Banu, who when I asked her that question, dismissed it by saying, “I’m not a big physics person.”)
Anyway, some say it’s a wave—for example, look at how a ray of light gets broken up by a prism into the colors of the rainbow. Others, pointing to experiments in which light can be passed through filters and screened out, like sand in a sieve, say it’s a particle. Of course, both are right. Light, composed of particles, known as photons, travels as a wave.
I offer this little science lesson to show how something as familiar as light can remain a mystery. It’s something we all understand, and yet no one really understands. Throughout the ages, there’s been no shortage of attempts to explain it. One thing that many ancient and medieval thinkers agreed on was that light, out of all creation, was considered the best reflection of the nature of God.
To give you just one example of that, consider the development of stained glass in the 12th and 13th centuries. The walls of the Gothic cathedrals could proclaim God’s glory in a way never before possible. No longer dark caverns of stone, these massive houses of worship became filled with light. There was now a dizzying display of illumination, of sanctuaries awash in color. It’s hard for us to imagine the impact this must have had on the worshipers. They must have felt like they were getting a preview of heaven.
They must have felt like Peter in our gospel reading (Mk 9:2-9). Up on the mountain, with Jesus being transfigured in his presence, flooding him with celestial light, it’s no wonder that he wants to stick around for a while. Along with James and John, it’s no surprise that Peter concludes that “it is good for us to be here” (v. 5).
Cosmologists tell us that when the universe was still only microseconds old, right after the big bang, there was as yet no division, no distinction. All was light—the universe in its totality. Indeed, “let there be light.”
Light, radiating from the sun, gives life to our planet. Light, radiating from the Son (of God), gives life to our world. More than anything else, this day, the Transfiguration of the Lord, is about the light that comes from God in Christ.
Sometimes that light comes from unexpected places. Sometimes it comes to us in ways not immediately apparent. Sometimes it reveals itself in art, in friendship, in music—maybe even in a song remembered from high school, like “The Spirit of Radio” by Rush!
Last weekend, when Banu and I were on retreat at the Benedictine monastery in Erie, we ate most of our meals in the dining room. I told Banu that some of my worst and best memories involve cafeterias. First, my worst memories: those were the times when I had no one to sit with. Sometimes I didn’t have any friends; sometimes they just weren’t around. It didn’t always bother me when I ate alone, but there were times when it really hurt, when I really wanted companionship at mealtime. And that brings up those good memories, in the company of friends—when the time spent in the cafeteria was an event to be treasured, not simply endured. We can sense something of the holy light from God in those moments. (And by the way, we can spread that light by making others feel welcome!)
In our epistle reading, Paul reflects on that divine light being seen in us. At the end of chapter 3, he’s just taken the story of light shining from Moses’ face and given it a twist. He says the veil that was used to cover his face represents the temporary nature of the old covenant, of the Old Testament law. Then he takes that image of veil and applies it to the people of the present. The “god of this world”—the ruler of this corrupt age—has placed a veil over those who don’t believe (v. 4).
According to the apostle, it is Satan who has blinded the world from the holy light, the light of Transfiguration. It’s not simply lack of education, lack of opportunity, differences in personality or culture—though all those and other things do play a role—but what it really is, is the power of evil. It’s very important to understand that. We miss the mark when we focus solely on people, institutions, governments, or whatever. There are powers at work that do affect us—every single one of us—and if we aren’t intentional about submitting ourselves to Christ, then we become blinded and enslaved.
Verse 5 is the key: “we do not proclaim ourselves.” The way to salvation, the way to life, is the way of self-denial. Standing as we are at the threshold of Lent, that’s an appropriate message. Still, Paul doesn’t mean that we should avoid good things. Nor should we play the role of the punching bag: “Thank you, sir. May I have another?” Paul doesn’t go the vegan route—he does eat meat!
No, he’s about something much more profound. It’s been said, “All the service Paul…renders to [the Corinthians] is not done primarily for their sakes. He has a more compelling love and a more overriding loyalty. He is their servant, because first and foremost he is the servant of Jesus Christ.”[1]
And why has Paul adopted the role of servant? We need look no farther than the next verse for the answer. “For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ who has shone in our hearts.” Paul has been given light, and he doesn’t want it to be wasted. As one who has been enlightened, he senses his responsibility to serve others. Friends, we have been given light. A good example is this. [Gesture toward the Bible.]
But there’s a lot more—stay with me! The verse continues by saying that God “has shone in our hearts…to give the light…of the knowledge…of the glory of God…in the face of Jesus Christ.” Follow those like links in a chain, and the light that God shines in our hearts will make its way to our faces, just as with Christ.
There are people who seem shrouded in darkness. I’m not just talking about those who frown a lot—though a Christian who continually scowls is a puzzle! And I’m not just talking about sadness; it’s something deeper than that. You can see it in the eyes—the lack of light, the darkness.
Conversely, what a change when the light of Christ fills someone’s heart. Even when that person is sad or depressed, the radiance—the glory—of Christ is visible deep within. To see someone come alive in Christ is an awesome thing. Such a person truly brings light into our world.
Having given us this literally glorious news, Paul tosses in a wrinkle with verse 7. “But we have this treasure in clay jars.” What is “this treasure”? Is it indeed light? And what about “clay jars”? One doesn’t need to be an expert in pottery to know that clay jars aren’t exactly unbreakable; they’re fragile.
On Friday at the Warner Home, I used a couple of verses from today’s reading for the Bible study. And the residents tended to agree that we ourselves are a lot like clay jars. Our bodies aren’t exactly unbreakable; we’re fragile. So thus far, Paul is saying that we have this treasure of light in unreliable containers. That sounds like bad news.
Still, hear the rest of the verse: “so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” What a relief that is! You know, that “clay jar” business applies to more than just our brittle bodies. It includes our minds, our emotions, our spirits, our wills—everything about us—all of which can fail.
Have you ever wondered how things would be if you were the single supreme ruler of the world? Well, I have! And while some of us might like to think that things would be run in a wise and just manner, I know that if I were in charge of the world, it would be a disaster. I’m glad God is the one with that job!
And giving his audience another reminder of humility—just as in verse 5, “we do not proclaim ourselves”—Paul seems to underline the point: “so that it may be made clear.” As much as anyone else, the apostle and his associates need to be reminded that this treasure of light, “this extraordinary power,” comes from God. If anything, Paul, the fallible human being—Paul, the one who falls “short of the glory of God” (Ro 3:23)—is in danger of hiding the light from God.
Keeping that in mind, I invite us to do something we did at the last presbytery meeting. It was part of an extended confession of sin, but I want to especially emphasize today’s theme of light. We were asked to write on a little piece of paper (maybe something torn from the bottom of one of the pages in our bulletin) something we want to confess—something we need to confess. We were asked to name a sin that holds us back.
So I invite us to do that now. If you don’t have a pen or pencil, just visualize on the paper what you would write. Then bring the slip of paper forward and place it in the bowl of water. As the words dissolve, understand that, in Christ, our sins also fade away. You’re also invited to receive anointing with oil, as a sign of the Spirit who seals us in Christ. One quick reminder: don’t come up just to be seen. That would be something else to write down!
So, on the week in which we begin the season of Lent, I issue this invitation to name the darkness within you—to ask yourself, “what would veil the light of Transfiguration within me?”