And here is Peter, awe struck at his teacher enshrined in light—God, he’s sure that this is it, this is perfection, this is the moment they’ve all been waiting for–and, then, he sees the two men turn, Moses and Elijah, turn away from Jesus–and he cries, “Wait! It is good for us to be here! Let us build three dwellings—let us stay—let us be here, in this moment in this glory–please—don’t leave me.”
And, this particular scripture lesson really resonates with me. This is because my faith has been shaped by more than just a love-affair with the Episcopal church, but also, like the disciples here, a paralyzing fear of ghosts.
This story in our gospel lesson has always bothered me. Jesus really isn’t the nice guy in this story. In fact, he’s kind of a jerk in his story. It’s really out of character and confusing.
As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty…
“According to Zechariah, this is where God chooses to be. God chooses to reside in the place that the ancient Israelites could not understand, the place where humility and triumph meet—a place they could never have expected.”
These last few days before Christmas are marked by a sort of Holiday Cheer buzz that has worked itself up over the entire month of December into an almost shrill frequency, like a teakettle full of glitter.
Thomas wants to go back to normal. Like us, he is exhausted by the emotional mess that was his last week: Thomas’ world was one of monotonous powerlessness, poverty and violence, and Jesus’ message of peace and hope thoroughly changed who he was and how he lived in that world.
This is the sermon that I preached on March 3, the Third Sunday of Lent in Year C, on the tree that doesn’t bear fruit and the burning bush.