There are two hills where Jesus stands, and two lights: it’s the second one outside the city that matters to you and the universe, not today’s hill.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Transfiguration of Our Lord, year B
Text: Mark 9:2-9 (plus 10)

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Jesus must have had a subpar marketing department.

Everything about how this event was handled seems like a mistake.

If you’re going to reveal your true divine glory, competent marketing people would tell you to invite the money, the folks who fund your mission, to convince them. Jesus should have invited Joanna and Susanna and Mary Magdalene up this hill. They and a bunch of other unnamed women disciples were the financial backers of this whole operation.

Or, good marketers might suggest, invite the ones working against you. Dramatically put the fear of God into them so they come over to your side. Also you’ve got Israel’s two great heroes, Moses and Elijah right there, affirming you’re legitimate. Jesus should have invited the scribes and Pharisees.

But he only invites Peter, James, and John. For no known reason, except they seem to be among the leaders. And worst of all, he forbids them from saying anything to anyone about what they’d seen. He shuts down all media concerning this event, until he has risen from the dead.

It’s a massive contrast with the other hill Jesus will soon climb.

On this second hill, outside Jerusalem, he will again meet with two people. But this time they’re two criminals, not great leaders of Judaism, and they’ll all be hanging on crosses.

This time Jesus doesn’t get to invite who comes, or insist on silence. Everyone in Jerusalem can see if they want. It’s a public spectacle.

And this time, instead of glowing with divine light, Jesus is naked, bloody, beaten, humiliated.

This is the revelation that everyone sees, the Jesus the world experiences. Someone doesn’t seem to have paid very careful attention to the visuals of these two events.

We certainly would like to see something like the first hill.

Moses and Elijah, and Jesus glowing like the sun in all his divine glory. Wouldn’t our faith be stronger if we’d see something like that?

Well, my mother had a vision of Jesus. She and my father were discussing marriage on a bench by Lake Phalen in St. Paul. There were real challenges they faced. And she looked up and saw Jesus, and immediately was at peace, and the decision was made. I asked her where he was, was it just his face, how did she know it was Jesus, what did he look like? She never could answer that – visions are hard to retell.

But I realized long ago it didn’t bother me that I’ve never had a vision like that. Like the choice of Peter and the others, I have no idea why Jesus appeared to my mother. And while it changed her life, in truth, her vision was never the core of her faith.

What my mother witnessed to me again and again was the unconditional love of God. She trusted it fervently and lived it. My father taught me to love theology, to think critically, to care for words, especially words of faith. My mother taught me God’s love.

But my mother’s theology of grace wasn’t related to her vision. It was grounded in the love of God in Christ that she knew from her deep and long study of Scripture, and their regular worship and devotional life. Her trust in God’s love came from that other hill.

See, there really wasn’t a marketing failure.

The important hill to see is the public one. The vision to see is the humiliating, bloody one. That is, if you really want to know what God is doing in Christ. Any theophany worth its salt will have the god-figure glowing and shining. In mythology and world religions, events like the Transfiguration are a dime-a-dozen.

But no one would expect God to come in person and die on that hill outside the city. But it’s the only thing that truly reveals God.

In Mark only three times does someone call Jesus the Son of God. First, a voice from the heavens at his baptism, just for Jesus’ ears, “you are my beloved Son, I am well pleased with you.” Second was here, this time saying for witnesses to hear “This is my beloved Son, listen to him!”

But the third time it wasn’t from the heavens. It was from the earth, from one of us. That’s how you know this is the hill to watch. The third time it’s a Roman centurion who recognizes God when he sees how Jesus died. Somehow this foreigner who knew nothing of the God of Israel, said, “Truly this man was the Son of God.” And this is your sign: this is where you’ll also recognize God.

The light shining from the cross is the true light to look for.

It’s not a shiny god-moment like today’s Gospel. There’s a reason Jesus didn’t want people to talk about the Transfiguration until they’d seen him die and rise. Because the light that shines from the darkness of the cross reveals God’s true identity.

It pierces the love of God into every shadow and every evil in the world. It exposes evil to the truth of God’s love, a love that will die just to bring you and me and all people and all things and the whole creation back into the life of the Trinity. There’s not much to learn from a God who can glow on a mountain. But the life of the universe depends on the true God offering God’s own life at the cross.

God’s love seen here is vulnerable, self-giving, and it transforms. It brings about Jesus’ resurrection and yours. This cross-shining light of love heals your heart of your pain and sorrow, forgives your sin and evil, holds you now and always in peace.

And this cross-shining light of love empowers you to offer yourself in love to this world. Jesus never told anyone to keep silent about this light. Instead, he said to all who would follow: bear this in your heart, in your body, into the world. It will be your life, and you will bring healing to my broken world for me.

So, you didn’t miss anything by missing this light show.

It just isn’t that important for you or me or the world. It actually seems that the importance of the Transfiguration was for Jesus. He needed Moses and Elijah’s encouragement and support as he turned his face to that second hill.

And as we begin our Lenten journey this week, practicing our baptismal calling, we also remember where we are headed, to the hill that really matters. But you’ve already seen it, been changed by it, shaped by it. So, even now you and I can bear that cross-shining light into the shadows that surround our world. And watch the love of God transform us and all things.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

You matter to God, too. You get to ask for healing and hope, too. You are God’s beloved, always. Trust that.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, Lect. 5 B
Texts: Isaiah 40:21-31; Mark 1:29-39

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

God’s people felt abandoned by the God who had chosen them.

In exile, they wondered why God disregarded them, ignored their bitter path.

And today Isaiah speaks hope: “Have you not known? Have you not heard? The God you call I-AM-WHO-I-AM is not only Creator of the ends of the earth, this God never tires, never grows weary, and is coming to bring power to those who are faint, to strengthen you, God’s people. You are going to be healed, restored.

This is beautiful. But it’s remarkable to me that Israel felt they could cry out their pain and sorrow to God. Because I’m sometimes not sure I have the right to ask God for such healing and hope for me.

In our Prayer of the Day we asked, “Make us agents of your healing and wholeness.”

And we lean into that prayer. So many suffer in the world from hunger and need, and there are so many massive problems in our world, from racism to sexism to oppression, to rising fascism here. And in this place we know the Triune God has called us to do something. To be Christ’s healing. So of course we pray, “make us agents of your healing and wholeness.”

But do you know you get to ask God for healing, too? And I don’t mean “you” for this whole congregation here. I mean you, singular, you personally. Do you know God cares about your pain, your suffering, your struggles? Do you know you’re permitted to pray, “send me an agent of your healing and wholeness, please”?

Have you not known this? Have you not heard?

It’s hard to know what we know and believe we also have a right to ask for help.

The privilege so many of us enjoy, some more than others even in this community, is real. We know that so many of our neighbors daily suffer from things we can’t imagine experiencing. We’ve learned to open our eyes and see that privilege, and in this place – I see it all the time – in this place we are a group of people committed to making a difference.

But there’s a trap there. With a faith like the one we share, you might find it hard to believe you also get to name your pain and ask God to help you. Maybe it’s part of the cultural truth of this area that so many of us learned: “Don’t complain, lots of people have it worse than you.” It’s definitely deeply rooted in my DNA. Why would I tell people if I was in pain or suffering? Isn’t that just whining, compared to the horrors that so many go through?

But have you not known? Have you not heard? God loves you – you specifically – with a love that cannot be stopped by anything.

Jesus, in deep wisdom, commanded you to love your neighbor as you love yourself.

For Jesus, it’s simple: the loving of neighbor you want to do starts with you loving yourself. A friend of mine puts it this way: if you want to live a life of non-violence, the first step is to not be violent to yourself.

So if you’re suffering, you deserve to ask for healing, too. If you’ve got decades of abuse to work through, or new diagnoses of disease facing you, if you’ve felt ostracized or left out, if you don’t think you belong, or matter, or will be missed, God wants to bring life to you. And if you are so filled with guilt over your privilege, or your implicit biases, or your participation, unwilling or not, in the systemic evil that surrounds us everywhere, you get to be forgiven, too.

Jesus said God so loved the cosmos God came to us in the Son, not to condemn but to heal, to save. (John 3:16-17) But Jesus also says God so loved you that God came for you. For your healing. For your new heart. For your abundant life. Don’t omit yourself from the “cosmos.” You also count to God.

Have you really not known this? Didn’t you hear today?

Isaiah says, and you sang the same in the Psalm, that God counts the stars and calls them all by name, doesn’t miss a single one. But God also heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds. The Triune God who holds the entire universe of stars in embracing love, calling them by name in joy, still notices your tears, your sorrow, your pain, your fear, and comes to you, too.

I-AM-WHO-I-AM gives power to the faint ones, Isaiah says, and strength to the powerless ones. That means you, too. Those who wait for I-AM-WHO-I-AM will fly like eagles and never get weary. That means you, too.

It’s right there in these stories of Jesus.

Jesus is doing all these healings and exorcisms, and is probably exhausted. So he heads to Peter and Andrew’s home. And Peter asks him to heal his mother-in-law. Maybe Peter worried he was imposing. Maybe he didn’t. But he asked. And she was made well.

All these people heard about someone healing and driving out demons and flocked to Jesus. They didn’t think, “it’s not for me, others have it worse.” They thought, “how can I not go?”

But you already know this. You’ve heard this.

You’re here or joining online because deep down you need to hear that God loves you. Whether you feel attacked by demonic powers or stricken by medical illness, whether you don’t know where the pain is from or you do, whether you have a sadness needing comfort or a fear needing hope, you came here to see if maybe, maybe, you can find healing and wholeness from God, too. And that’s a good thing.

And yes, in worship you will hear that you are called to be Christ’s love in the world, to reach out to others with God’s wholeness. That’s good and right, too, and you take it very seriously.

But just for today, maybe try to trust this: The Triune God has come to this world in Christ for you. For your healing. For your life. For your hope. There is no one more important in God’s eyes than you, and no one God wants to hear from right now more than you.

Have you not known? Have you not heard? You are God’s beloved, and always will be. Go ahead and ask for what you need. God’s waiting for that very thing, and never gets tired or weary.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

There are real spiritual powers that are demonic, unclean, and God has come – now in you and me – to send them reeling into the abyss.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, Lect. 4 B
Text: Mark 1:21-28

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Maybe we’re too smart for our own good, too enlightened.

See, maybe you hear a story like today’s and it sounds quaint, archaic. Whatever this man suffered from, you think, he probably wasn’t possessed by unclean spirits.

Or maybe you don’t. If you thought this was a moving story of the power of God entering into our lives in the flesh, driving out a demonic strength that inhabited another human being, you’re on the right track.

Too often we dismiss these ancient writers and their “superstitions.” We don’t imagine there really are demons running around possessing people. We can think of several different mental or physical illnesses that fit the symptoms described. No need to bring the devil into all of this.

But this told Capernaum that God had come to them with power and authority.

This is a local synagogue in a small town. Maybe this man just wandered in on a Sabbath. Or maybe he was their friend and neighbor who’d come down with this possession to their great sorrow. And frustration – no one could help him, even though he came every week.

Either way, he came today, and there was someone new there. Jesus from Nazareth. That day Jesus had been teaching them so differently than what they were used to hearing the people saw deep authority in him. Then their possessed firend shouted at him, called him the Holy One of God, claimed Jesus came to destroy him.

You know the ending. Jesus tells the unclean spirit to be silent and get out of the man. And the spirit obeys. And the good people of Capernaum said, “what is this? Even the unclean spirits obey him.”

Jesus’ authority over unseen things showed he was from God.

He could drive away invisible, evil things that plagued people’s lives, could heal not just legs and backs and eyes but minds and spirits. People flocked to him – his fame spread all over Galilee.

We live in this time of amazing science and medicine where the brains and imaginations God gave us have taught so much and brought great healing, even healing of our minds. If you’re clinically depressed, suffer from debilitating anxiety, are bipolar or schizophrenic, there are medicines to help, to heal. Therapists can help with so many diseases of the mind and spirit, too. God has always used human wisdom and skill to bring healing, not just today.

But what if this story says God has more healing to do than that?

There’s a lot of suffering these days that doesn’t have neat explanations.

People today can describe their being “caught up in something” beyond their control, beyond whatever intentions they might have had. A group of people becomes a destructive mob seemingly in a moment. A political movement based on hatred and destruction is supported by millions of people calling themselves Christian. It’s more than bad choices, bad people.

Or there’s this: I’m not solely responsible for climate change. I recycle, I compost, I even walk around the church moving paper towels people have thrown into the garbage into the green compost bins. But I, and billions like me, together are destroying our planet’s ecosystem, changing the climate for the ill of all living things here. I’m part of that. What power or spirit moves such a reality that seems beyond one person’s control?

One commentator on today’s Gospel says: “We may or may not call addiction or racism or the sexual objectification of women “demons,” but they are most certainly demonic. They move through the world as though by a kind of cunning. They resist, sidestep, or co-opt our best attempts to overcome them. . . . The experience [is] like wrestling with a beast.” ¹

And the good folks at Capernaum call to you and me from over the centuries and say, “what if God is doing something about that, too?”

They see an authority in Jesus, God-with-us, that faces even those beasts that roam in our world and speaks God’s power against them.

Even breaks them. And we’ve seen it. We’ve seen evil systems fall in South Africa and East Germany through the power of prayer and the strength of people peacefully, non-violently, resisting those powers. Surely the people of South Africa saw little hope in ending something like apartheid, and yet, it was broken. The Berlin Wall was taken down by ordinary people. Great, invisible powers were dismantled.

 “There are more things in heaven and earth,” Hamlet says to his friend Horatio, “Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” ² Recognizing demonic powers as true and dangerous opens us to a very real hope: maybe they can be stopped.

If you’ve ever looked at any one of the massive problems in our society and despaired that you, just one person, couldn’t make a difference anyway, this is good news for you. If you ever thought “what’s the point of hoping, things are just getting worse and worse,” this is good news for you. If you’ve ever felt trapped, oppressed, targeted by evil greater than one person or thing, this is good news for you.

If you’ve ever dared hope that this world could be healed, this is good news for you.

Jesus stands in the way of the demonic and says, “no further. Be silent. Get out.”

And then turns to the people around him and says, “follow me.” Follow me to the cross. Come with me into the shadows, into the evil, with the love and grace of God that will break these things apart. Put your lives and hearts on the line. These are powers beyond you, and it’s like wrestling a beast. But I am with you, and will empower you to stand in the heart of the storm and make a difference.

If millions of people are so called and shaped by the Spirit, and stand together, a whole different power emerges. A power of love that cannot be stopped, that breaks down walls, deconstructs systems of oppression and evil, brings life and wholeness to the world.

You’re not the only one Jesus needs. But you are the one Jesus needs.

Maybe you can find hope in those first disciples.

Last week four decided to follow Jesus, leaving their boats and families behind. And in Mark’s Gospel, these four, along with lots more, struggle with what it means to follow, to be anointed as God’s power in an evil world. By the end of the Gospel, most of these disciples seem to have failed.

But Mark knows that these disciples, these men and women who stumbled mightily at first, all ended up faithful. By the time he documented their failure in this Gospel, they’d all gone out into the world as part of the Christ mission against evil and oppression. Some had already died for their witness.

Maybe Mark tells their faulty beginnings to give you hope. These women and men weren’t heroes or special in any way. But filled with the Spirit they told of the coming of God in Christ into the world, and embodied that coming, signaling the end of all demonic powers and evil.

And so can you. So will you, with God’s help.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

^{1 https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/lectionary-commentary-epiphany-week-4
2 William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I, scene 5.}