A cloud is at the center of the mystery of the Transfiguration today. Of course, we know that a cloud is not only a “visible mass of condensed water vapor floating in the atmosphere.” We also know that the Cloud is “a global network of remote servers that operates as a single ecosystem, commonly associated with the Internet.” When we speak of the Cloud, it’s tempting to suggest that the term is only a metaphor. The Cloud is not a place we can go to or visit. It’s not up or down, it’s not here, nor is it there. But it is accessible from nearly anywhere. The Cloud is much more than a metaphor. In it are found not only the dearest memories of our past (often in picture form), but also crucial power that lets us get on with our lives in the present, as well as essential material for the future. So when we think of how often the scriptures report to us that God is found hidden or shrouded in, but also revealed by a cloud, we already know that a cloud can be real without having a singular location. And we can already imagine a cloud in which can be found so much that is so important to us - not as a metaphor, but as real memories, real power, real hope.
It’s surprising to me that reflecting on the Cloud, helps to make more plausible the report of God’s presence in a cloud on top of the mountain so very long ago. But I think it might. In fact, I think this reflection on the nature of the Cloud could make it easier for people of the twenty-first century to believe in the ancient stories of so long ago, that have become, in many ways, harder for us to believe in today. Because it’s tempting to wonder what’s the point of faith or religion, now that we know so much, and we don’t need to make up stories about the origins of the universe, and we have so many means of healing at our fingertips that far surpass the prescriptions of mere faith?
And doesn’t most, maybe all, religion belong in the category of what St. Peter called in the Epistle reading today “cleverly devised myths”? Surely there is a long tradition of religious myth: stories that were shared to provide meaning in life. But where did such stories come from? Were they ever made up of anything other than whole cloth? And what distinguishes the Christian stories from the Roman stories of gods and monsters, or the Greek stories of gods and monsters? What distinguishes the Christian stories, for that matter, from the Jewish stories of prophets, and chariots of fire, and commandments, and a God who dwells mostly among clouds on a mountaintop?
“Cleverly devised myths.” It’s a little jarring to find in our own scriptures such an accurately and succinct critique of faith and religion - including, perhaps? - our own. As the culture around us shifts, and more and more people see less and less meaning, purpose, or truth in religion or faith… I suspect that a lot of people out there assume that nearly everything that goes on in here is about following cleverly devised myths, fables, and stories that cannot be true. And it may be that you suspect this possibility too. It may be that you are not so sure that all of this does not stem from cleverly devised myths.
I always object to this use of the word “myth” to signify something that is patently un-true. I believe in myths as a paradigm of truth. But I have to admit that the scholars tell me that that is not how St. Peter, or whoever wrote this epistle, is using the word. In this instance the word seems to be pointing clearly at the kinds of narratives that provide backstories for a universe of gods and monsters.
And there’s an implied question here, about whether the stories about Jesus are just another set of stories about gods and monsters that can’t really be true. After all, there are patterns at work in these stories, patterns that are identifiable in other middle eastern religions of the period: patterns of cleverly devised myths. There are other stories told of miraculous births. There are other songs sung by virtuous women. There are other traditions from other religions that have been borrowed, co-opted, or re-deployed. And knowing what we know, how can we see the Christian faith as anything more than another cleverly devised myth? Cleverly devised myths, indeed! Is it not possible that the Christian religion, that the Christian faith, is a carefully woven fabric of carefully devised myths, the fibers of which are straining considerably beneath the weight of modern science and consumer culture?
As I say, it’s surprising to find ourselves in the clouds today. But it is in and through and by the cloud that something is revealed in the feast of the Transfiguration. And I think we should revel for a moment in the confluence of this ancient revelation in the cloud that holds so much of the past as well as the power of the present and hope for the future. That’s what Peter and James and John found in the cloud when they went up the mountain with Jesus, who was transfigured before them, and who chatted with Moses and Elijah, and who was revealed to be the Son of the living God by the voice that spoke to them from the cloud, “This is my Son, my Chosen. Listen to him.” And remember what Peter wrote (more or less) when he reflected on the memory of the revelation inside that cloud. “We did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty.”
We have been eyewitnesses of his majesty.
The feast we celebrate today - the Feast of the Transfiguration - is perhaps most significant as a celebration of eyewitnessing. Because when it comes to religion and faith, very little of significance is ever observed by eyewitnesses.
You want to believe that an angel went to Mary and greeted her with news that she would in her virginity bear a son? Fine. I do too! But no one one witnessed it. You want to believe that angels sang while shepherds watched by a manger in Bethlehem? Fine. I do too! But no one witnessed it and reported about it. You want to believe that Jesus rose from the grave, and that angels attested to his rising? I do too! But let’s at least stipulate that no one witnessed his emergence from the tomb, except perhaps the angels.
But on that day on the mountain, Jesus took with him Peter and John and James so that they could be eyewitnesses of his transfiguration, which St. Peter would go on to describe as Christ’s “majesty,” which he saw, with his own eyes.
At first glance, the feast of the Transfiguration seems like a sign that requires interpretation. What are we to make of the changing appearance of Jesus’ face, of the dazzling whiteness of his clothes, of the vision of Moses and Elijah? What are we to make of the cloud that enveloped them, or the voice that then spake from the cloud, “This is my Son, my chosen. Listen to him”? It feels like we have to decipher all this in order to know what’s going on. And it may not hurt us to try to do so. But there is another possible response to this account of the Transfiguration, and it’s the one that St. Peter urges upon us: to simply accept the eyewitness account, and to see Jesus for who he is, and to bask in the glory of his majesty.
Code lives in the cloud. And the code, so to speak, that underlies the faith of a church like Saint Mark’s, was written on that mountaintop with Peter and John and James, who were eyewitnesses of Christ’s majesty. Because in the sacramental gift of his Body and Blood, Jesus gave every subsequent generation of believers a way also to be eyewitnesses of his majesty. To be sure, we have to arrive at our own mountaintops with the eyes of faith - but faith is a gift not a skill, and anyone can have it. But this church was built to be a place where people could sort out the many cleverly devised myths they’d encounter in the world by coming face to face with an eyewitness of Christ’s majesty.
This church is a cloud - often more smoke than vapor, but that is neither here nor there. And to say that this church is a cloud is not to suggest a mere metaphor. It is to assert that herein are found the dearest memories of the past (often in picture form), and crucial power that lets us get on with our lives in the present, as well as essential material for the hope of the future.
Every single day we come face to face with Jesus here. And if the details of the daily revelation of who Christ is have more to do with bread and wine than they do with a blinding white light and the appearance of Moses and Elijah, well, so be it. This church was built to facilitate the daily encounter with the living God within the cloud wherein his Presence can reliably be found. Which is to say that, contrary to what so many may now believe, this place was not built to be an incubator for cleverly devised myths. It was built to be a gathering place for eyewitnesses of Christ’s majesty.
Remember what else Peter wrote, reflecting on the revelation in that cloud: “you will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.”
My friends, we have not been called here to follow clever devised myths. Rather, we have been called here into the cloud, wherein are found our dearest memories, our power for the present moment, and our hope for the future. We have been called into the Presence of the living God so that we can be eyewitnesses of his majesty - presented to us day by day in the form of his Body and his Blood. We are eyewitnesses; we see for ourselves the evidence of his beauty, his grace, his forgiveness, and his love every single day. And here, in this cloud, we see him face to face, by the gift of faith.
We will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in our hearts. But until then, we remain in the cloud, eyewitnesses of his majesty!
Thanks be to God!
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
6 August 2023
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia
