March 2: the Last Sunday after the Epiphany

Hi. I’m Daniel. It is so good to be with you all today. It is dangerous to begin thanking folks, as I know there will be many I will forget to name. …But I must begin today by saying thank you. Thank you to Charmaine and Wayne, and the rest of the discernment committee, for their warmth and kindness to me, Krysta, and Paxton, for their prayerful dedication to the work you all called them to do. And thank you to Jeff and Barbara, for their leadership of St. Mary’s during this interim period. They have given so much of themselves to support the staff and this parish and have shepherded me so graciously these past few months as we began to make our way here. Thank you to Kilpy and the rest of the staff for carrying on so faithfully when asked to add even more to their full plates. And thank you for your prayers of discernment, for opening yourselves up to the movement of the Spirit in this place, and for your work of listening, listening to where God is calling St. Mary’s in this next chapter of life together.

This morning, as the season of Epiphany comes to an end, and as we will begin our Lenten journey in a few days, we are invited even more deeply into such a posture of listening. “Listen to him,” the voice said from the cloud. “Listen to him.”

In today’s Gospel lesson, we hear this command from the very mouth of God, a gentle reminder to Peter.… A subtle rebuke for Peter to settle down, and to slow his roll. “Listen to him.” Because here Peter is, standing with arguably the two biggest names in Hebrew scripture, Moses and Elijah, and he thinks he has something to offer the situation. He thinks he has the bright idea, the knowledge of what is good and right in this scenario. Peter speaks, but he does not know what he is saying. He speaks, but he hasn’t taken the time to listen first.

When Moses and Elijah show up and start talking to Jesus, Luke tells us that they discuss Jesus’ departure, or more precisely, they talk about Jesus’ exodus, something Moses knows a thing about.
The three of them discuss his rejection, his death, his resurrection. They discuss how in his exodus, Jesus will bring salvation not just to some, but will bring salvation to the whole world. So when Peter thinks he has a great plan and inserts himself, suggesting for them all to stay, to build some tents and stay put on the mountain, God intervenes, “Listen to him, Peter. Listen to him.”

Years ago, I was tasked to lead a small bible study. I was working as a chaplain at the VA hospital in Durham, North Carolina, one summer and was asked to step in and lead a study for some of the residents of the hospital. These residents lived in the long-term care and end of life portion of the hospital. Taking my task seriously, I spent a good amount of time preparing what I was going to teach. Tellingly, I can’t remember what I was going to teach, but I do remember that I thought I had something quite interesting to share with them. I just knew they’d be awed with my lesson, filled with all wisdom, and so grateful for my presence with them that morning.

So, when it was time for the bible study, I walked down to that wing of the hospital and sat in the stale, empty cafeteria, eagerly waiting for their arrival. One by one about a handful of veterans slowly came in, most assisted by their aides. We made some small talk for a while, getting to know each other. We shared a quick prayer, and I began the discussion.

But then, a few minutes into the study, a cell phone began to ring. Loudly. I looked over to the man sitting next to me on my right and I could see him trying to fish for his phone. I noticed his unsteady hands, frail and stiff. His long fingers were shaking as they searched and searched for his phone, which was buried deep in his front shirt pocket. The rings continued through his efforts, only stopping as the call moved to voicemail. The handful of us sitting there then smiled at each other, brushing off the incident. These things happen. So I started again, continuing where I had left off. But after a few short minutes, his phone began to ring a second time. His hands moved to his shirt pocket where he, almost painfully, again struggled to grab hold of his phone.

At this point, I figured he would grab the phone to silence it or set it to vibrate, as it was clearly interrupting our bible study. I tried my best to keep my face as calm and respectful on the outside, but inside, I began to get a little annoyed. I had spent time preparing this lesson, wanting to offer them some of the knowledge I had gained from my years of study. My expectations for that experience were for me to teach, and for them to learn, and this phone was not fitting nicely into how I had planned our time together.

But then, getting a hold of his phone, the man flipped it open, and answered it! …In the middle of our Bible study, while all of us were sitting around a table, obviously distracted and derailed by his phone and now his conversation. My innards began to churn even more. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually take the call! But still, with my polite face on, I paused, and we waited for him to end his conversation.
But he was in no rush. No “I’ll call you right back,” No “I’m in a bible study, can this wait.” No! He had a full-on conversation! After a few minutes, he finished the call, saying, “I love you, too,” and hung up the phone, putting it back in his shirt pocket. We all politely smiled again at each other, and I tried to regain my composure and continue on.

“That was my daughter,” the man with the cell phone began. “That was my daughter. She calls me every day around this time. She calls to check in on me and to tell me that she loves me. I love it when she calls. It’s one of the only times each day that I feel love… that I feel loved.”

My Bible study suddenly became less important. It suddenly became not important at all. I thought in my wisdom I had something to teach these veterans, something interesting, something that would impress them, but I knew not what I was saying. I knew not what I was doing. His cry, his desire, his want was to know and feel loved, not my ramblings about something that I thought was supposedly so important. I was talking when I should have been curious and listening.

During Epiphany, we have seen with new eyes the light of Christ that has come to this world, the Word made flesh, God dwelling among us. This morning’s lesson of the transfiguration is not about Jesus changing, but about seeing Jesus for who he is and who he has been all along. We see his glory made manifest even before the resurrection. We witness a foretaste of what’s to come fully on Easter day. And God invites Peter to sit with that, to ponder these things, like Mary did at the manger, to listen to Jesus as he followed Jesus back down the mountain. Such is our call as we approach this season of Lent. Such is our call as we begin this new season of life together at St. Mary’s.

We are embarking on a new chapter. And like any good book, we don’t really know everything that will happen next, of everything that God has in store for us in the days, months, years ahead. But we do know that God is in our midst and has something in store for us. The Holy Spirit is moving at St. Mary’s, continuing to do a good work here, in and through you and this place.

As this next chapter begins, we may feel like we are in the cloud of unknowing… but we move forward with the hope and faith that God is leading us onward into the glory that Jesus is revealing to this world. Like Peter, we may not know how Jesus is doing this, and we may not know where all of our next steps may lead us. We may be unsure of all the turns in the path that lays ahead of us, but what would be the fun in knowing all that! That’s the adventure of our faith. That’s the way of our journey. Whenever we embark on a new path, we never really know all of what’s gonna happen, or how everything is going to play out. But we dare to say, “Okay, let’s go. We’ll follow. We’ll listen. Let’s do this.” …in the hope and faith that God is with us and will guide our way forward.

So, as we make our turn into Lent, may the glory of God continue to shine in our midst, and may we listen more and more for the voice of God calling out to us, reminding us to love, and to know that we are loved.

Amen.

The Rev. Daniel Reeves