Meeting God

sermon by Torin Eikler
Matthew 17:1-9 2 Peter 1:16-21

In the past couple of weeks, I have been thinking a lot about our church. Who are we? What is our vision? What do we do well? What should we be doing differently? How can we bring more people in?

We are a wonderful community of faith by any measure. We have meaningful worship experiences together. We are open and welcoming of a large variety of different people. We have an extraordinary music program for a church our size. We have a good program for Sunday School, and an energetic and endearing group of children who are involved in church life in meaningful ways. So … why aren’t we bigger?

And then Cindy read an excerpt from “Meant to be Missional,” an article in Bethany Seminary’s periodical at the start of our Leadership Team meeting, and it caught me up short. It reminded me of something that I used to know, that I thought I knew so deeply that I wouldn’t forget it: the life of faith is not about us. At least it’s not just about us. It’s really about God … and our relationship with God.

That’s easy to lose sight of. Our families, our friends, our jobs, our good works take just about all the time and energy we can manage to throw at them and beg for more – sometimes literally. They fill our minds with thoughts of schedules and worries about the future and questions about what’s next and how we will get there and what we need to do. We don’t look for God in the midst of all that. We don’t expect God to be there. And so we don’t notice God even though she’s right there in front of us… every day. Perhaps there are better questions to ask, questions that would help us find God. Who does God want us to be? What is God already doing around us? What will it take for us to see it and join in?

There are many answers to those questions: simple ones, complex ones, vague ones, so many different ones that they can be overwhelming. What we need in the end, what we want when we are at our strongest is a transfiguration of our own. To be there on the mountain top and see Jesus talking with Moses and Isaiah, glowing brighter and brighter until we bow our heads for the pain of looking. To feel the power of the experience change us in ways that we can only begin to understand.


For some people, those kinds of experiences seem to be common, but I have only ever had one … and it wasn’t on a mountain top. It was in a wet front yard on the side of National Road 40. I was walking out under the cloud wracked sky, doing a little head-clearing leg work as a break from working on a sermon for class. And, as I watched the clouds moving across the sky, I saw the sun send a beam of light shining on the grass a little ways away. I stopped and stared as the spotlight moved quickly across the ground and then disappeared, and I was caught up in the wonder of creation for a moment or a minute or five.

I don’t remember how long it was, but it was long enough to find myself on my knees when it was over. I got to my feet, brushing distractedly at the mud on my pants, and as I looked around to see if anyone had been watching (embarrassment is a powerful force); I noticed something on a nearby tree. It was a triangle made by three cicada shells which was surprising since it wasn’t really the season for them to be out in force. I picked up the shells and carried them carefully back our apartment, looked at them for a little while, and wondered (as seminarians will) if they were symbolic of something greater – a sign, maybe, or the “calling card” of a triune God.

It was not an epiphany. I didn’t hear voices. I didn’t feel any sense of guidance or clarity of thought. In fact, I ended up slapping that sermon together late at night because of all the time I spent looking for some esoteric meaning. When I talked about it with a couple of my closest friends, one of them shrugged and said, “I guess you just got to meet God.” I liked that phrase so much that I think of the whole thing as “The Day I Met God.” (hmm …. sounds like a good title for a movie or at least a book!)


I still don’t know what that moment was about, and I’m pretty sure I’m in good company there. I suspect there are others here who have had powerful experiences that left them wondering. Peter, James, and John didn’t seem to understand what was going on on their mountain top either. In Mark’s version of events, Peter doesn’t even know what to say when he sees Moses and Elijah standing with Jesus. Matthew is a little gentler, but it’s still pretty clear that Peter didn’t get it. He offered to build shelters for the glowing visitors who certainly wouldn’t need them. Even after the voice of God had spoken to them, they still didn’t understand. If anything they were more confused, and in the verses that follow the reading they peppered Jesus with questions.

In response to their confusion, Jesus tells them to hold onto the memory … to hold on and not to tell anyone (even the other disciples) about it until later. I’ve often wondered about that. It seems strange that he didn’t encourage them to talk it out amongst themselves or sit them down and explain like he did on so many other occasions.

We don’t know what his reasons were, but the opening to Peter’s second letter shows how he understood his words years later. Signs and wonders, he says, are not to be understood. They are indications of the mysterious presence of God. They can’t really be interpreted through the use of our own intellect and reasoning.

That kind of thing is difficult for me to come to terms with, usually. I’ll admit that I live much more in my head than in my heart or my spirit. Maybe that’s why I don’t often have ecstatic experiences that knock me to my knees. I’m sure that’s why I have wrestled so much with the one that I have had. But, you know, as time has gone by, I find that I am less worried about trying to figure out some particular message in it and more grateful for the way it has shown me that experiences with the divine really do happen, that we really can meet God.


In three days, the season of Lent will begin. It is a season for reflection in preparation for the coming of Easter. It is a time to clear out our lives a little so that we can spend some quality time examining the state of our relationship with God in the face of the suffering that Love will undergo on our behalves.

Usually, I have no problem doing that. I love the slow, considered pace of Lenten reflections. I love have the season uncluttered by frantic preparations. But I sense that it will be more difficult this time around. Lent is coming late and Spring is coming early. Gardens need to prepared, children need to be played with, meetings need to be planned. Busy-ness has already begun to take the place of quiet in the early dark of winter evenings. How am I going to be able to meditate? When will I find time for self-examination? Where is there space for quiet waiting with God? It makes my shoulders bunch up with tension and resentfulness just thinking about it!


Maybe I’m asking the wrong questions again – making it all about me and what I can do all by myself. If I learned anything from that day in Richmond, it was that it doesn’t take specially prepared spaces or quiet times to find God. God comes to us even in everyday moments and mundane places. Maybe I … maybe we just need to ask different questions. Questions that awaken us to the Shining Presence and the Misty Voice when they enter our lives. Questions that open us up to God’s touch. Where is God touching us? Where is God touching the world around us? What is God trying to say to us … to show us in those moments … through those signs? If we ask those questions and pay attention to the answers, we may find God crossing our path in the yard or on the street or over dinner with our families and friends.


For the next seven weeks, pay attention to the times when God crosses your path. You might find understanding or inspiration there before you. You might not. You might only find more questions, but when you open yourself to the presence of God, when you let it touch you, you will find yourself changed … transformed … transfigured in ways that you may never fully understand. And that’s okay. That’s how God works in us. That’s how God guides us toward what we are meant to be … as long as we are willing to open ourselves to that vision.

Are we? Are we prepared? Are we ready to meet God on the mountain or along the road or where ever God comes to us?

Are you?

[Waiting worship]

Confession/Reconciliation:
Would you please stand and join me in the words of confession and the sending hymn….

Our holy and present God, we recognize your power to transform our lives. We confess that we have not always listened to you as closely as we should. We have not always acknowledged your presence. We have not always followed your lead.

(Silence)

God, we know that your grace and mercy extends to us. May your grace cause us to listen more closely, and may your mercy guide us into your ways. AMEN.