Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

Matthew 17: 1-9

Growing up, I was a church kid. We never missed. And every Sunday, our pastor would end the service with a traditional blessing, “May the Lord bless and keep you, may his countenance shine upon you and be gracious to you; may the Lord look upon you with favor and give you peace.”

It wasn’t until I was in seminary and reading through the book of Numbers that I even knew these words are from scripture. As a little girl, I had no idea what God’s countenance was but I knew I wanted it. Countenance is a fancy way of saying God’s face.

To recap:

Jesus take Peter, James and John up to the top mountain and a couple other guys, Moses and Elijah, appear. Which is significant in that they had already been dead for a long time. God comes in the form of a cloud and tells the disciples to listen to Jesus cause he’s the real deal and he is beloved. Disciples freak out and move into the fetal position on the ground. Jesus’ clothes turn bedazzling white. And his faces gets all glowy—maybe this is the original glow up. And Jesus sees that his disciples are incapacitated with terror so he and puts a hand on them and says “Oh honey. It’s okay. Don’t be scared. Get up.” Jesus sometimes raises us with just a word but this time it’s also with touch.

This is a near-life experience.

A time when you are so filled with light and life it spills over into everyone and everything all around you. And your face shines with the glory of it all.

It’s someone newly in love. (That light is uncontainable).

Or someone who is  pregnant with a human. Or someone newly pregnant with possibility.

Think of a child who has good news to share. Or a good knock-knock joke.

A while back, I spent a couple hours at the Finnish Bistro. And there was a giant table of people gathered to surprise their 90 yo father on his birthday. You know why I know this? Because they couldn’t contain their light. That joy spilled out in the line while we waited to pay for our coffee—in conversations with the baristas—with other patrons all around them. There was live music in the shop—and these folks danced as they made their way to their table. The guitar player on the little stage noticed and laughed and nodded with joy. The guitar player and I locked eyes, seeing we both giggled in a “yeah, I see it, too.” Absolute glory.

 

This is our practice.

We watch for the light.
Take the light in.
We let it change us.
We reflect it to the world.
That’s transfiguration.

Is it possible to never be transfigured? Maybe. I also think this is about putting on your shoes and showing up every day. Painter Chuck Close said inspiration is for amateurs. Show up and do the work. Those disciples hung around Jesus for a solid 3 years and how many stories do we have? 15? 20? We have the highlights reels. I wonder how many days were a slog. Were just putting on their sandals and showing up in the town square, or around the fishing boats or at Mary and Martha’s house or at the leper colony hoping something good might happen.

Being a disciple takes daily courage. Remember that the disciples in the today’s story were down on the ground in the fetal position. Fear drove them there. That is a normal response to experiencing something scary. Who in this room hasn’t felt that in the this last 10 weeks? It is a wild miracle that we are all up and about today. It is by the grace of God that everyone is functioning at all.

We as a community bear light for one another. At some point, we will all need someone else to put a hand on us and say, “I’m here.”

People around the country and around the world are praying for us. I shared a bit of this at the end of the annual meeting but I want you to hear it again. We are on the hearts and minds of preachers in New Jersey and Atlanta, Georgia. Lest you think we are an island here in Minnesota, our siblings in Christ in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Reykjavik, Iceland, Guatemala City, Guatemala are all praying for us.

There is a song that the resistance choir began singing in early January that perhaps you have heard in the streets or at a gathering or on social media. It’s one line: Hold on, my dear ones, here comes the dawn.

This song is also being sung around the world. For us. With us.

Friends who lead worship at Faith UCC in State College, Pennsylvania sent a clip of their church choir singing Hold on.

And then came a clip of the church choir at First Presbyterian Church in Annapolis, Maryland singing Hold On. And at First Presbyterian in New Haven, Connecticut.

And then came a clip of the Cathedral of St John the Divine’s cathedral choir in NYC.

They said, Jodi, this is for you guys. Tell your church. If you are crippled with fear, or just worn down to the bone, these faithful people around the world are Jesus. This is the hand of Jesus on  your shoulder saying it’s okay. I’m here.

On Tuesday evening, I slid into a pew at Central Lutheran Church in Minneapolis and sang Hold On, my dear ones, here comes the dawn with 1500 other humans. As I was on my way out the door for that event, my husband Nate said, “Have fun honey. And I hope they teach you a second song.” Because I have sung this song so much—maybe too much if you live with me. So Tuesday night, it was good to be with all those who gathered as part of this organic resistance choir. We gathered to sing, to resist, to rest, to remember and to raise $70,000 in rent relief mutual aid.

I was with the 9 and 10 graders at confirmation last week. And we invited in one of Gloria Dei’s superheroes, an attorney who works in immigration. We wanted our teens to be able to ask questions and have someone who knew real answers about what is legal and what is not. Just as we were wrapping up, one student asked, “Is this the way it’s always going to be now or will this be over at some point?” I came in with a firm pastoral, “Yes, at some point, what we are experiencing right now will end. This is not going to be our lives forever. There is something on the other side that is better.”

Here at Gloria Dei, we have teams who do justice work on all of our behalf. And that has been happening for years. The racial justice committee, the immigrant justice team, Loaves and Fishes serving meals at Dorothy Day, the weekend backpack program who fills kids backpacks with food for the weekend. We are so proud of the work that we do through these teams. They are powerhouses for good.

And what we are realizing now in this crisis is that we are all on the immigrant justice team now. We are all on the racial justice team. We are all on the Loaves and Fishes and weekend backpack teams. As we engage and deliver meals to neighbors and support our local schools in so many vital ways. This crisis is changing us. Part of what is being revealed to those of us with white skin is the privilege that white skin affords us—maybe seeing and understanding in a new way or for the first time what communities of color and Indigenous folks have known forever. Maya Angelou said “The truth is, no one of us can be free until everybody is free.” Our freedom is bound up together. We are not leaving anyone behind.

As a denomination, we have a reputation to hold on to. We are known by the folks in disaster relief work as the ones who are the first to show up and the last to leave.

Faithful Lutherans have organized and worked their committees and given generously when there is a crisis and we have been doing if for generations. So we are going to keep on singing and getting up off the grounds of terror. We are going to keep putting our boots on showing up to serve our neighbors. We will rest when we need it and then we will keep going.

The glory and light that shone on that mountain with Jesus is rooted in hope and love. God says this is my son, the beloved. God’s countenance shone upon Jesus and the disciples. Today God’s face shines on Sadie Mae, the newly baptized, and says this is my child, the beloved. The same to each of you gathered here. Beloved. And this belovedness is fertile ground upon which the world is being reborn. We have been transfigured by Jesus and this light and we are not going back.