At our church fair last fall, I spent most of my time – and my money – in the used book room, where I bought about 20 videos.  My prize purchase was the movie “The Ten Commandments,” one of my all-time favorites.  Although I believe this is an example of the book being better than the movie, I do love the way Hollywood uses a stirring musical score, spectacular special effects, and a cast of thousands to portray the Hebrew people’s exodus to freedom.

 

One of my favorite scenes in the movie depicts this morning’s Old Testament lesson from Exodus, when Moses comes down from Mt. Sinai where he has spent forty days and forty nights.  Hear again these words:  “As he came down from the mountain with the two tablets of the covenant in his hand, Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God.” [Exodus 34:29b]. 

 

The Hollywood make–up artists had a field day with this assignment.  When he comes down from the mountain, Moses – or should I say Charlton Heston -- has shed his shepherd’s headpiece to reveal thick, voluminous hair and a beard streaked with white.  His face shines with a radiance, and his bearing is assured and confident.  The people know immediately what has happed.  “Look at his face,” they marvel.  “He has seen God.”  Up on that mountaintop, Moses has had a theophany – that’s a big seminary word for an encounter with God – and it leaves him dramatically, radically, and powerfully transformed.

 

The Bible is full of such stories.  Whether they be major figures such as Abraham and Paul, or nameless ones identified only by their infirmities, when people behold God, the are forever changed.

 

And in this morning’s Gospel lesson, in Luke’s telling of the Transfiguration, Jesus – like Moses – has a mountaintop encounter with God.  Jesus has recently fed the five thousand, stilled the storm, healed and preached.  And he has told his disciples that he will undergo great suffering and be killed, and on the third day be raised [Luke 9:22].  And now he goes to the mountain with Peter, John and James to pray, and while he is praying, the appearance of his face changes, and his clothes become dazzling white.  On that mountaintop, God’s voice booms from the heavens, “This is my Son, my Chosen,” and Jesus is transformed.

 

The Transfiguration story is important because it shows the divinity and authority of Christ; it is the fulfillment of the “Law and the Prophets,” represented by the presence of Moses and Elijah.  But most of all, the story is about how we are changed when we encounter God.

 

Anne LaMott’s wonderful book Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith is all about transformations, and she includes a true story about a woman named Ranola.  Ranola is a pillar in their church, where she sings in the choir and teaches Sunday school.  Everybody loves Ranola, and Ranola loves everybody -- well, almost.  Ken also attends the church.  Ken has AIDS and is gay.  Ranola, raised by conservative Baptists in the South, doesn’t know what to do with Ken, so she usually just ignores him.  Ken had been attending the church faithfully for a year, but then he has a stroke and is absent for several weeks. 

 

When he returns, his face is lop-sided, and he is very weak.  During prayer time, he speaks joyously of his life and impending death, of grace and redemption, and how safe and happy he feels despite his illness.  The next hymn is “His Eye Is on the Sparrow”;  Ken remains seated, too weak to stand.  "Why should I feel discouraged?” the congregation sings, “Why do the shadows fall?"  For a moment, Ranola watches Ken skeptically from the choir loft, and then her face begins to melt and contort like his, and she comes down to his side and Ranola, who had been so afraid of Ken, bends down to lift him up and holds him next to her, as they sing – and then begin to cry -- together.[1] 

 

Somehow, from her perch in the choir loft, her mountain, if you will, as Ranola looks out at the world, she begins to see it from a completely different perspective.  She looks at Ken and she hears somewhere deep inside of her, "This is my child, my beloved."  During that church service, Ranola has an encounter with God, and it transforms her.

 

To be transformed by the power of God is not something we can understand or explain or control.  Instead, it is something that happens to us — if we open up and offer ourselves as channels of God’s grace.  But such experiences are difficult to convey to others.  It’s difficult to put our finger on just what it is that has changed us, and when we try, it almost sounds banal or trite. 

 

I encountered God the very first time my newly-delivered babies were placed in my arms – and every time I have held them since.  Being a mother has changed me in so many ways.  But I don’t even begin to know how to put it into words.

 

I know my heart burst with joy when I discovered God’s purpose for my life.  But the holy experience of being called by God seems somehow diminished when contained by mere words.

 

And how do I describe the overflowing love I feel for each one of you when I offer you the bread and the cup of holy communion, or when I baptize your children, say good-bye to your loved one, or simply lead you in worship?

 

These are all times that I encounter God and am changed.  And my prayer is that you have similar experiences, that you walk out of this sanctuary each Sunday a little different because you have seen God, and that has enabled you to open your hearts and offer yourselves as vessels of God’s grace.

 

When Jesus comes down from the mountaintop, transfigured, he begins his journey to the cross.  This week we observe Ash Wednesday and begin our own journey down the road we call Lent.  The next forty days is a time for us to acknowledge our rough edges and our separation from God; it is a time for us to repent, to turn back to God.  And Lent is a time for us to be transformed by God’s presence and grace.

 

One more story, this one told by a surgeon:

 

“I stand by the bed where a young woman lies, her face post–operative, her mouth twisted in palsy, clownish.  A tiny twig of the facial nerve, the one to the muscles of her mouth, has been severed.  She will be thus from now on.  The surgeon had followed with religious fervor the curve of her flesh; I promise you that.  Nevertheless, to remove the tumor in her cheek, I had to cut the little nerve.

 

Her young husband is in the room.  He stands on the opposite side of the bed, and together they seem to dwell in the evening lamplight, isolated from me, private.  Who are they, I ask myself, who gaze at and touch each other so generously?  The young woman speaks.

 

“Will my mouth always be like this?” she asks.

 

“Yes,” I say, “it will.  It is because the nerve was cut.”

 

She nods and is silent.  But the young man smiles.

 

“I like it,” he says.  “It’s kind of cute.”

 

All at once I know who he is.  I understand, and I lower my gaze.  One is not bold in an encounter with a god.  Unmindful, he bends to kiss her crooked mouth, and I – so close – can see how he twists his own lips to accommodate hers, to show that their kiss still works.  I remember the gods appeared in ancient Greece as mortals, and I hold my breath and let the wonder in.”[2]

 

Simply being in the presence of God changes us, sometimes in ways that we cannot even comprehend. 

 

And so, my prayer for you is that your eyes be open to God’s presence and working in your lives; may your hearts be open that you can be channels of God’s grace.

 

May you allow God to transform you, so that you may behold and be changed.  Amen.