Lent is when we go downstairs, down into the basement of our souls, into the dark, dingy, dirty places, and clear out the junk we need to get rid of. In Lent we don’t need to beat ourselves up. We need to lighten our load, bag up those fears and desires that are leaking all over everything, take our guilt and shame out to the curb. It’s not easy to lay our hands on broken things, to look deep into the gummed up works. That’s why Jesus shines with his light, shines so we can see our way down into the dark, see to lift up the junk and hand it over, so he can haul it out into the light of the dumpster. The light Jesus shines is good with dark places, so we know even from the deepest hole down there we’ll come out. The light will lead us. We’ll be OK. Mucking around down there we get dirty, and we come up with grime on our hands and ashes on our foreheads for everybody to see. But we’re free of all that blame and disappointment. And the darkest, deepest cellar hole becomes an empty tomb.
He was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. —Matthew 17.2-3
Jesus has just said he will be killed, and raised again. If you give away your life for love, he said, God will give you a new one. Jesus has already surrendered his life. He is already the Crucified One. And now we see him, with others who have died, and he is shining with Easter light, risen again, before it even happens.
Jesus is the lighthouse shining at the mouth of the bay where we enter the narrows of death, shining to show us the way through to deeper, wider life. The light emboldens us to enter the dark— the neglected, the unseen, the unfamiliar, the unloved— to find life there, healing and beauty and resurrection.
In this dazzling light, if we trust it, if we follow it, we ourselves may be transfigured.
Beloved, when you pray to me set aside your prayers. Just sit with me.
It gives me joy to be with you. Of all my creations in all the galaxies, including the galaxies themselves, none is any more precious to me than you. You delight me. Unseen, unheard, unfelt, I hold you. I enfold you. I know at times I come on too strong, at times too vague, but dearie, I’m doing my best to be just small enough for you. Come sit in my lap. Just let me look at you.
He was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. —Matthew 17.2
Oh, please don’t explain this story. It’s truly, divinely, accurately weird. Sure, there’s a moral of the story— several, in fact: theological constructs, stuff you should believe. Fine. Hold those in your pocket. Meanwhile, sit there for a minute, cock your head a little and just gawk at this story. It’s weird. Jesus shining, dead people chatting, Peter talking nonsense, a cloud that enters like a crab and holds them in its pincers, a disembodied voice. Whoa. Don’t start in on theology,or psychology, or meteorology, or any fool ology. This is not about ology. This is about wonder. How Jesus shines. Life just shines. The glory of God spills out of things, leaks out of every container, even people. Being alive is beyond explanation, grace is odd, love doesn’t make sense and God is inexplicable— a real, absolute, true mystery. Not a puzzle: a mystery. The uncanny more-than-itself-ness of life. Faith is not about having religious opinions, not knowing, certainly not certainty. Sometimes faith is just awe. The willingness to be bedazzled, to look at life and go, “Wow.” When beauty and grace and loveliness overwhelm you, when words fail and being smart is of no use. You sense God may be afoot but can’t say how. All you can do is say, “Huh. Whaddya know. Wow.” Let this story be weird. Let life be amazing. Let God be more than you can grasp. Your faith needn’t be much more than grateful, gob-smacked wonder. If you really want to get religious, let this be your creed: “Wow. Amen.”
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Steve Garnaas-Holmes Unfolding Light www.unfoldinglight.net
Trees stand in awe. The sky holds out its hands. Rivers flow with tears of joy. Stars have that look in their eyes. The ocean waves and applauds. The sun doesn’t stop its praise, even for a moment. Birds hold open their arms. The desert surrenders everything. Every living person sings their life. Your heart and lungs, they keep on praying, even when you’re asleep. You don’t hear any of this. But the Listener inside you does, and is dancing all the time.