One Brief Glimmer of Light
Matthew
17: 1-9 (NRSV)
Six
days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led
them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them,
and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white.
Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter
said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make
three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he
was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the
cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased;
listen to him!” When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were
overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not
be afraid.” And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself
alone.
As
they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the
vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”
On September 10, 1946, a
young woman named Agnes Gonxhe Bojaxhiu felt a calling that would change the
world forever. Already committed to service to God as a missionary in the
Sisters of Loreto, our beloved sister in the faith realized that God was
calling her to a whole new ministry, one that would take her away from her
duties as headmistress of her convent and propel her head-on into life in the
slums of Calcutta, dedicated in lifelong service to the “poorest of the poor”.
Of course, our tradition and
our hearts remember this woman not by her birth name, but by her revered title,
The Blessed Teresa of Calcutta, or, lovingly, as Mother Teresa.
In 1950 the Vatican gave
Mother Teresa permission to officially turn her new ministry, and new-found
passion, into an official monastic order—that of the Missionaries of Charity. By
the end of her life in 1997, the Missionaries of Charity had gained more than
four thousand sisters worldwide who serve in orphanages, hospitals, and
charities for refugees, the blind, the disabled, the elderly, alcoholics, and
those afflicted by homelessness, floods, famines, disease epidemics, and AIDS.
Throughout her whole life, and even in the years since her passing, Mother
Teresa has been recognized, lauded, and awarded for her selfless, steadfast commitment
to God and to her neighbor. She received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979, and was
beatified by the Roman Catholic Vatican in 2003—meaning that, today, this woman
is one step shy of being officially recognized as Saint Teresa.
And when asked to describe who she was, where she came from, and where she
belonged, Mother Teresa’s reply was, “By blood, I am Albanian. By citizenship,
an Indian. By faith, I am a Catholic nun. As to my calling, I belong to the
world. As to my heart, I belong entirely to the Heart of Jesus.”
No one can count the lives Mother Teresa has touched, and no one can
measure the impact Mother Teresa has had, not only on the Church, but on the
whole world. In every way she deserves the title “blessed”, and, in every way,
men and women of faith can look to her as a glorious example of someone who
saw, and lived in, God’s light.
So, of course, in 2007, the world was shocked when Mother Teresa’s
biography, Come Be My Light, was
published, and these words were revealed from her own personal diaries:
“In my soul I feel just that terrible
pain of loss, of God not wanting me — of God not being God — of God not
existing.”
Historians, pastors,
spiritual directors, and even mental health experts have all chimed in on what
Mother Teresa could have been going through, could have experienced, that would
make a woman of such devout faith spend, in reality, the better part of her
adult life wrestling with such strong doubts. She went on, in her diaries, to
write,
“In my heart there is no faith—no
love—no trust—there is so much pain—the pain of longing, the pain of not being
wanted. I want God with all the powers of my soul—and yet there between
us—there is terrible separation. I don’t pray any longer.”
One might ask, how could a
woman like Mother Teresa go from feeling so connected to God, and so profoundly
called, that she left a very prestigious position to found a whole new
congregation, to feeling so spiritually depressed—all within the span of just a
few years?
Or, maybe on a day like
today, on this day that we hear the Gospel story of Jesus’ Transfiguration on
the mountain, we might ask: How could a moment of such radiant light be so
brief?
We might imagine this
morning that the three disciples Jesus took up the mountain with him—Peter,
James, and John—might have been able to relate to just a little bit of what
Mother Teresa experienced. Like her, Peter, James, and John were already called
to a lifelong ministry, and were already serving Jesus. Then, suddenly, out of
nowhere, this incredible divine moment happened—Jesus was shining, and dazzling
in their eyes, and they experienced not only his holy presence, but even the
company of their greatest ancestors, Moses and Elijah.
Then, just as quickly, Moses
and Elijah disappeared, everything went back to normal, and the overpowering,
radiant light of the Lord was gone.
At least for the time being.
A lot of us have a “call”
story—your story of when you knew God wanted you to be a minister. Most, if not
all, of you have heard mine, at one point or another, but I bet a lot of you
have a story to tell, too—your own story of where you were and what you were
doing when you knew God was calling you to serve him, in all the wonderful ways
that you do.
Or you might have a
different, special story about your faith on your heart. You might have a story
about when you decided to start coming to this church. You might have a story
about a moment when you felt “saved”, or “born again”—and what those words mean
to you now. You might have a story about a time when you prayed, and you knew
God answered your prayer, or about a time that you knew you saw a miracle. Or
maybe even a story about one day when being a person of faith just simply felt
really, really awesome.
I hope you have a story like
that. And if you don’t, I hope we can help you find one here.
And if you do have a special
story about your faith journey, a special time, a special moment, then you,
too, know at least part of what Peter, James, and John felt on that mountain—you,
too, know what it’s like to be engulfed in God’s light. You know what it feels
like.
And, if you have such a
special story, a special moment, then you know that those moments don’t last
forever. It would be awesome if they did, but they don’t. Our lives go back to
some version of normal, we walk back down our proverbial mountain with Jesus,
and we go back to regularly scheduled programming.
But our journey doesn’t end
there.
Over a lifetime of serving
God, you will experience these great, shining moments, and you will experience
moments of darkness. As much as you feel certain, joyous, and hopeful, you will
also have times when you feel doubt, darkness, and even isolation from God. It’s
part of being human.
But today, on
Transfiguration Sunday, on this day that we celebrate the dazzling light of
Jesus, we also celebrate that his light is always with us, even when it isn’t
so obvious.
We celebrate, that even in
her times of darkness, Mother Teresa wrote in her diary, “In spite of it all—I
am His little one—I love Him.”
We celebrate that those
glimmers of God’s light in our lives, however brief they may feel, are so often
exactly as much as we need to become the ministers God has called us to be—the Mother
Teresa’s, the St. Peter’s, the pastors, the speakers, the musicians, the
teachers, the stewards, and the servants of our church and our world.
And we celebrate, above all
else, that, even in moments of despair, doubt, and darkness, God is merely
waiting for another moment to reveal his light again.
Amen.
You
can read more about Mother Teresa, her life, and her legacy, here:
As
well as here: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/29/opinion/29martin.html?_r=1&
And
here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mother_Teresa
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