Readings

FIRST LESSON

The first lesson is from Meditations on a Theme by Anthony of Sourazh

Perhaps you remember the touching and heart-rending phrase of young St. Vincent de Paul: “O God, I am too ugly for human beings, perhaps you have a use for me? We are all ugly but we are all dear to God who has faith in us. Would God otherwise have taken the risk of calling into existence for all eternity—not for a passing moment—each one of us? Instead of asking ceaselessly the question, “What is wrong with me?” why not ask ourselves the question, “In what way am I already akin to God? in harmony with God? How far am I on the way of reaching the full measure of the stature of Christ? Would not that be more inspiring in our striving for perfection?

SECOND LESSON

The second lesson is from the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 9, verses 28 through 36

Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while Jesus was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to Jesus. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, ‘Teacher, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’—not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Child, my Chosen; listen to him!’ When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

This Week's Sermon

Date: February 14, 2010

Title: Transforming Ourselves

Message Delivered By: Rev. Dr. Joe McMurray

Many of us grew up in faith traditions that still teach the doctrine of heaven and hell, which justifies the existence of these two polar entities in both time and place. Many still adhere to this somewhat outmoded theology which establishes as its basis reward for a good life and punishment for a life that was not so good. They believe in the traditional heaven; Purgatory, the in-between place where those who have sinned remain until the end of time; and that other place that needs no description except that it’s very, very hot. Still others believe that all people, no matter what life they’ve lived, will enjoy a spiritual communion with God.

A few years back, Pope Benedict issued support for the findings of the International Theological Commission, a Vatican advisory panel, which stated the possibility that infants who die before they are baptized may not be in “Limbo” but may get to heaven after all. Many theologians had long taught that non-baptized children, though forever stigmatized by the stain of Original Sin, could at least enjoy the benefits of Limbo—an eternal state of perfect happiness though without realizing a full communion with God. While I’m sure this ruling came as a great relief to us—that the powerfully connected had determined that the fate of non-baptized babies had improved—they still urge caution because they were not completely sure.

“We can say we have many reasons to hope that there is salvation for these babies,” said the Rev. Luis Ladaria, a Jesuit and the Commission’s Secretary-General. But again, he stressed that there was no certainty—just hope. At least it’s something to hold onto.

These are the same folks who taught us that non-human creatures could ever achieve heaven or be in communion with God, even though it was God who created the universe and God who issues the invitation. The inclusion of non-human creatures could never fit into the doctrine of heaven and hell, or of Original Sin, or any other such belief because it would deny the primacy of the human being. Animals, it is said, cannot make choices but instead, act out of their natural instinct. It is also believed that animals don’t have feelings or emotions. Many of us who have spent our lives in communion with our animal companions I’m certain might believe differently.

You may recall the 1989 film “All Dogs Go To Heaven.” The premise was that dogs, being naturally good and loyal and kind, are automatic candidates for the realm of God. In honor of our animals on Valentine’s Day, I relay the story of a man walking his dog along a road. He was enjoying the scenery, when suddenly he remembered that he had died.

He began to recall his death experience. Then he also remembered that the dog walking beside him, a loyal and faithful companion, had been dead for many years. He began to wonder where the road was leading.

After a while, they came to a high, stone wall along the side of the road. It was made of marble, and at the top of a long hill, it was broken by a crystal arch that glowed in the sunlight. He saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like it was made from mother-of-pearl, and the street leading to the gate was paved in gold. They walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man sitting at a desk to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out to the man, “Excuse me, where are we?”
“This is heaven,” the man answered.
“Oh goodness, how wonderful! Would you happen to have some water?” the traveler asked. “We’ve come a long way.”
The man gestured him forward as the gate began to open.
“Can my friend come in too?” the traveler asked, gesturing to the dog.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t accept pets,” the man said.

The traveler was taken aback; he thought for a moment, and then turned around back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog in tow.

After a long walk, at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a woman inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.

“Excuse me,” he called to the woman. “Do you have any water?”
“Yeah, sure, there’s a pump over there, come on in,” she said.
“How about my friend here?” the traveler asked, again gesturing to the dog.
“There’s a bowl right near the pump,” she answered.

So the man and the dog went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it. The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, and then gave some to the dog. When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the woman who was still standing by the tree.

“What do you call this place?” the traveler asked.
“This? This is heaven,” she answered.
“Well, that’s confusing,” the traveler said. “The man down the road said that that was heaven too.”
“Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and the pearly gates? Nope, that’s that other place you’ve heard about,” the woman said.
“Doesn’t it make you mad for them to use your name like that?” asked the traveler.
“Nope,” the woman answered, “we’re just happy they screen out all the folks who’d be willing to leave their best friends behind just to get in.”

Perhaps if the Vatican heard more stories like these, they’d reconsider their teaching about doggie Limbo, too. We can only hope.
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Will you pray with me? God you have created a universe of multiple parts where one entity is greater and more beautiful than another. Help us to better appreciate the miracle of all of life, to treat it with respect and love, and to treat it as if it was our gift to you. We are privileged and grateful to be part of your creation. May my words and all of our thoughts be filled with honor and praise to you. Amen.

Transfiguration Sunday is the day we commemorate another culminating point of Jesus’ public ministry. This is the event when Jesus, accompanied by three of his disciples, goes up to the mountain to pray. When they return from the mountain, each of their lives have dramatically changed.

Throughout the ancient religious history of Israel, the mountains, or more specifically “going up to the mountain,” became a symbol of great significance. Mountains represented a place where the most sacred encounters with the Divine occurred.
Mountains were designated places of sacred isolation and meditative prayer. They ultimately provided an atmosphere where enlightenment could occur, and the result often included a direct, life-changing encounter with God.

Quite often, in fable and story, the seeker would hear the actual voice of God. Indeed, the word “transfiguration” connotes that a dramatic change or transformation has taken place—not just an inner or private spiritual experience, but an outward, tangible and often public expression of grace. This was accompanied by a perceived change in physical characteristics—a unique facial expression, the altered look of the body or the hair, sometimes even a change in the clothing of the person who experienced the encounter.

After the Israelites fled Egypt, Moses ascended to Mt. Sinai to pray. The Book of Exodus says that during this encounter, Moses was given the law, the ten commandments that Israel was to honor and obey. In the presence of God, Moses’ features, his demeanor, even his aura were transformed.

Of Moses, Exodus says: “His face was shining” and “the others were afraid to come near him.” In seeing him, they knew something monumental had taken place. Moses covered his face with a veil to diminish the fear of the Israelites. He was aglow, and they could not look upon him.

In the Transfiguration, the face of Jesus, his demeanor, even his aura changed dramatically in full view of the disciples. Even his clothes were a dazzling white. Unlike Moses, who was alone in the presence of God, there were witnesses here who were compelled to look at Jesus in awe. This type of event was a dramatic and important event that demanded witnesses. The same could be said of the healing stories of Jesus, his suffering on the cross and the events at the tomb, as well. Though the disciples still did not comprehend what had taken place on this mountain, later—long after Jesus’ death—they were better able to understand what they had witnessed.

And as if to signal the great importance of this event, the images of Moses and Elijah appeared beside Jesus. This was no coincidence. This was a preparation for something dramatic. Historically, Moses represented the law of Israel; Elijah represented the prophets. Together, they symbolize the Israel of old—the historical, prophetic Israel—the Israel that God said would be delivered to a promised land all their own should they remain faithful.

The transfiguration was a symbol of the passing from the ancient generation to the next generation, the new Israel—the new promise of God fulfilled in Jesus. Jesus, the one whom God sent, was the embodied Spirit of God, the one chosen to lead people to a new promise—the promise of life everlasting.

As the voice of God spoke before at Jesus’ baptism: “You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Now the voice of God, heard by the disciples, proclaimed “This is my Child, my Chosen; listen to him!” The disciples witnessed the glory of the event—though they misunderstood its significance.

Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians implored that particular community to take a different approach than what Moses did by covering himself with a veil to hide evidence of his encounter with God.

To Corinth, Paul said we must have hope and act with great boldness, rather than hide the glory of God behind a veil. He said it was Jesus who removes the veil, frees us from insignificance, and reflects in us the glory of God. Paul felt that only through Jesus’ life, and particularly his suffering, death and resurrection, could we be capable of transforming ourselves.

Indeed, this much is true: our lives are filled with joys and sorrows, with experiences worth remembering, as well as those that should be forgotten. It is through our life experience, including our faith (however you choose to define faith), and our reverence of the Divine that make transformation possible.

Last Sunday, I laid out a few principles about humanity, character, the ability to change, and the possibility for redemption. I said a lot depended on our choices, and that even given the dysfunction of human nature, transformation is possible; and through transformation, change is possible.

Someone made an appointment with me last week, and we discussed my sermon. They acknowledged that they felt challenged, but said though it might, in fact, be possible for one’s character to change, or for a person to act out for good in spite of their nature, they wanted to hear more. They wanted to know specifics of how this might be possible. How could this come to fruition? How might someone who wanted to believe this be guided, especially if they were unsure how to go about it?
My first reaction was to say that because we’re all different, such potential for change lay within our individual selves. I felt then as I feel now that this type of deep change is a very delicate and subjective undertaking. Change must come from within; it involves desire, faith, hope, the requirement to dream, and lots of prayer, time and energy.

The more I thought about this, the more the questions riveted me to seek some answers: what are some of the specifics about change, and about changing one’s nature—and are they universal? And what about moving forward and opening your heart to areas and things you never thought possible?

Was that all there was to it? I knew the answer to that question was “no.” Then I asked myself if there was a formula, a prescription that would fit all or most situations? That answer was clearly “no.” But are the questions for this process of change applicable to anyone who seeks to inquire about such dramatic transformation in their lives? I found that answer to be “yes.”

But how could I possibly convey it? How could I satisfy the person who came to me when the specifics of change are always so distinctive and unique?

The only way I know how to offer any honest perspective is to share a bit from my own experience. Because the primary reason I know that such transformation is possible is because it has happened to me.

In the past, I was stuck in a job. I loved my job, for the most part, though I realized, even when I took it, that the job kept me at a static level of engaging my calling. While I learned a lot and had new opportunities, it wasn’t long before I realized I’d learned everything I could in that place. I knew it was time to move on, but I was fearful of the next step.

I also had a supervisor who was a bit problematic. Though at some level she appreciated my gifts, she did not allow me room to stretch and grow. She did not trust my gifts, and had difficulty with anyone whose light shined as brightly as or brighter than her own. I knew I was playing it safe by staying pat and not challenging myself to move on. I also knew I was growing more and more unhappy with my work, that particular situation, and the way I felt about myself and my future.

I did not believe I had the experience or the gifts to move on to the next level. I grew impatient, but my impatience was not as great as my fear. Fear prevented my spirit having room to breathe. It was no secret the frustration would surface. It could not dissipate into thin air. It had to go somewhere. And it did: it fed directly into my lack of self-confidence. I began to believe I was as limited as my job definition, as limited as my supervisor thought I was, and as limited as I believed myself to be. I felt stuck, yet it seemed I was in the wrong frame of mind to imagine anything else.

God works in mysterious ways. It was early January, and just one week earlier I had said I didn’t have time to deal with this now. Then I threw my back out and could barely move. I was stuck on the sofa by day, and in bed by night. And I was given the gift of time to imagine and to dream. During that week, I surprised myself. To this day, I don’t know if it was the bottled up energy inside me, the frustration that had perhaps reached its peak, or the movement of God in my soul. I suspect it was a little bit of all three.

I did something I thought I was incapable of doing. I began to imagine myself taking the next step. I thought about doing things a different way. I pried open my heart and looked at myself perhaps a bit more like God looked at me, and perhaps saw a bit more of what God saw. I had already begun personal work with a life coach, and we had several conversations that week. Suddenly, God’s voice was becoming clearer—at least, that’s what I thought it was.

I envisioned me and my family moving on—moving away from the comfort zone to explore the unknown. I began to do research, and to do that, I had to communicate with people in ways I had not imagined before. And this was a big one: I had to begin believing in myself because I knew that if I did not, others could not do it either. I had to let go of all the preconceived notions of how incomplete a human being I was and to imagine that God created me in God’s own image.

I had to accept the fact that I must open myself to other types of relationships—relationships of responsibility where the buck stopped with me rather than with someone else. I had to acquire new knowledge about things I did not know.

And one of the toughest things of all was to pray for and grant some grace to the person who I felt had made things difficult for me, but who, in fact had helped me to focus on what I needed to do. At one point prior to all this changes, I was on vacation and visiting my sister in Chicago when I received an email from my supervisor who said, “We have some important things to discuss when you return,” but who did not divulge what she wanted to talk about. I remember saying to my sister, “She knows I’m on vacation. Why does she continue to do this to me—to get me thinking, to trouble the waters when I am away trying to relax? How long can this go on?” My sister’s reply was, “Perhaps until you learn the lesson she’s trying to teach you.”

It has not been an easy road. But in looking back, it was actually easier than staying put. It was easier because I could breathe; I could dispel the myths that kept me confined in a box; and I now had acquired the capacity to dream. Life has not been perfect since, so don’t get me wrong. But I have been much happier—and I move through life on my own terms, which has been a huge gift.

So while there was no formula, it was clear that I had multiple rooms in this mansion I call my soul that needed to be unlocked and visited or revisited. They all needed to be cleaned; some things had to be given away; some things were useless to me or anyone else and needed to be discarded. Some items were of value and required dusting, refurbishing or restoration. It was a big job; and I was the only one who could do it.

We suffer, at times, from the delusion that we are all irrevocably wounded; that we are beyond healing or repair; that we are beyond change; and that we’re stuck with who we are and nothing can make a difference in our lives. We may think it’s best to keep some rooms of our mansion locked because they contain unpleasant or painful memories.

This is not so. God’s grace tells us it is not so. Transformation is possible because by the grace of God, we have the ability—each and every one of us—to open old doors that continue to limit us. No one but ourselves can open these doors of resistance; these doors of self-limitation.

We can do this if we choose. We have the capacity within us to make it happen. God did not make us a frail and undeserving people. God put within each of us the capacity to express God’s glory through what we say, what we do, how we treat one another, whether or not we respect each other, how we trust each other, how we manage together with the obstacles that face us, how we engage with the rest of the world, and particularly how we respond to the world in need.

We have the strength. We possess the knowledge. We have the capacity but only if we employ the skills. Nothing is accomplished if we continue to wear the veil that hides God’s glory upon our faces. We must let the aura that surrounds us glow freely.

The questions then are: do we have a strong enough desire to make this happen? Do we have the will to open doors that may cause discomfort or pain? Do we have the courage to remove the veil that covers the glory of God that has been promised to us?

As the season of Lent approaches, let us pray to seek out that desire to become whole, to embrace our potential for change, and to allow ourselves to be a transformed people. And may we continue to follow where God is leading. Amen.