“Slow Motion Miracles” A sermon by Rev. Aaron Fulp-Eickstaedt At Immanuel Presbyterian , McLean VA On February 15th, 2015

II Kings 2:1-12, Mark 9:2-9

Our first passage of scripture is from the book of II Kings. It’s the story of how the was taken up to heaven in a whirlwind and his mantle—the coat that was a symbol of his prophetic work—fell to his successor, .

Now when the Lord was about to take Elijah up to heaven by a whirlwind, Elijah and Elisha were on their way from Gilgal. Elijah said to Elisha, ‘Stay here; for the Lord has sent me as far as .’ But Elisha said, ‘As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.’ So they went down to Bethel. The company of who were in Bethel came out to Elisha, and said to him, ‘Do you know that today the Lord will take your master away from you?’ And he said, ‘Yes, I know; keep silent.’

Elijah said to him, ‘Elisha, stay here; for the Lord has sent me to .’ But he said, ‘As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.’ So they came to Jericho. The company of prophets who were at Jericho drew near to Elisha, and said to him, ‘Do you know that today the Lord will take your master away from you?’ And he answered, ‘Yes, I know; be silent.’

Then Elijah said to him, ‘Stay here; for the Lord has sent me to the .’ But he said, ‘As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.’ So the two of them went on. Fifty men of the company of prophets also went, and stood at some distance from them, as they both were standing by the Jordan. Then Elijah took his mantle and rolled it up, and struck the water; the water was parted to the one side and to the other, until the two of them crossed on dry ground. When they had crossed, Elijah said to Elisha, ‘Tell me what I may do for you, before I am taken from you.’ Elisha said, ‘Please let me inherit a double share of your spirit.’ He responded, ‘You have asked a hard thing; yet, if you see me as I am being taken from you, it will be granted you; if not, it will not.’ As they continued walking and talking, a chariot of fire and horses of fire separated the two of them, and Elijah ascended in a whirlwind into heaven. Elisha kept watching and crying out, ‘Father, father! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen!’ But when he could no longer see him, he grasped his own clothes and tore them in two pieces.

He picked up the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him, and went back and stood on the bank of the Jordan. He took the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him, and struck the water, saying, ‘Where is the Lord, the of Elijah?’ When he had struck the water, the water was parted to the one side and to the other, and Elisha went over.

Our lesson for this day, Transfiguration Sunday, is the story of how , who had gone up a mountain with his closest disciples, had his appearance change in front of them—and how the disciples reacted to that. Notice that he is flanked on either side by —the one who received the tablets of the law on Sinai—and Elijah—the prophet who we heard about in the previous story—the prophet who became representative of all prophets, the one who was taken up into heaven in a whirlwind. When you hear the word transfigured, know that it means, “a momentary change in appearance.” The Transfiguration is meant in part to demonstrate that Jesus is the fulfillment of the law and the prophets. But that transfiguration is only a momentary change in appearance. So I think the story is about something more than that. Listen now with fresh ears to the story.

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, ‘, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.’ He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!’ Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them anymore, but only Jesus.

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

Yesterday it happened again. I was conducting the wedding of Mark Van Wersch and Cornelia Hammer who will become part of our next new member class. As I stood in front of two people who were and are so obviously in love, so obviously meant for each other, I watched their faces almost literally glow as they looked at each other. They were almost transfigured before me and those in attendance. There they were, flanked by their best man and maid of honor and their faces were shining with happiness.

Now, it wasn’t like Jesus on the mountaintop with Elijah and Moses—not that dramatic—but still, it was noticeable. You can ask the people who were there.

That sort of transfiguration happens in baptism, too, like the one we had earlier today for little Brooke Ellen Frederick, who is so precious and did so, so well. It happens even when the baby cries, or if they’re old enough to talk, like my daughter was at her baptism at 15 months, and they say, “No water, no water,” like she did.

Even in those circumstances, there’s this thing that occurs. The baby doesn’t all of the sudden glow dazzling white, even though she might be in a white baptismal gown. But there’s always a sense in which the heavens open at least a crack and we get a glimpse of the glory of what it means to be Beloved.

The parents, shifting nervously, worried that the baby is going to make a fuss; the grandparents sitting proudly in the first pew; the gathered congregation looking on; we almost all catch it: the sheer hope and possibility that is wrapped up in this little life, just how precious she is, just how much she is loved. It’s not a transfiguration, exactly, but still, it’s noticeable.

Such transfigurations happen in adult baptisms, too, of course. If you were here for Jamshidi’s baptism back in November, when he made his conversion from to , you know what I mean. Those of us who were here will not soon forget that moment, watching Ali make an intentional and public choice to embrace the way of an embodied love that does not return evil for evil, that loves and prays for enemies as well as friends, the way of Jesus—a way we do not always follow very well, incidentally.

There’s something you need to know about transfigurations. They are temporary, momentary. They’re not the end of the journey, they are just a brief, but important, stop on the way. Transfiguration is about a momentary change in outward appearance—that’s what makes it different from something more vital and enduring—which is transformation. I think that’s why Jesus, when Peter tells him, “Oh, it’s so good that we’re here! We can build three dwelling places up here on the mountain and we can just bask in this glory,” says in not so many words, in fact no words at all, “Thanks, but no thanks, Peter, you see we have work to do.” I think Jesus is not interested so much in his own Transfiguration (as important as hearing, “This is my beloved son” would have been to him as he started towards the cross)—and he’s certainly not interested in the disciples transfiguration. What he wants is the disciples’ transformation—and that’s a long, slow process. It doesn’t happen on the mountain top.

A couple of weeks ago in the Women of Spirit class that meets on Wednesday mornings at 7:30, when we were studying Brian McLaren’s chapter on miracles, a group member introduced the idea of the slow motion miracle—not a quick one, like the sudden miraculous healing Greg Stanton experienced years ago after being prayed for in a worship committee meeting (and not even the relatively quick one like Bensten Schone—the six year old boy who was hit by a car in a sledding accident and whose family is part of this congregation—opening his eyes and being able to speak). That was a miracle, too.

Incidentally if you want to see what it’s like to be transfigured, go to the video that one of the Washington Capitals players posted of Bensten watching a video the team made for him—and look at how his Mom, Heather, is glowing as she looks down at her son—so happy and grateful is she that he’s alive and able to speak and to make sense of his world.

No, by slow motion miracle, what the group member was talking about was one that develops over a period of months or years, as something that seemed impossible suddenly seems more and more possible. Bensten will experience that kind of miracle, too—as he goes through the hard work of physical and speech therapy and his brain returns to full function.

A slow motion miracle is somehow meeting the love of your life, slowly realizing that you have done so, and having a child when you think your biological clock has just about ticked its last tock.

It is coming to know, over the course of nearly a decade, that you can find it in yourself to let go of an old and deep hurt enough to speak kindly to the one who wounded you so profoundly. Forgiveness— the hard and real kind—is almost always a slow motion miracle, because it takes the long, slow work of God, whose love and priorities are seen in Jesus, wearing us down—through the stories of scripture, the songs we sing and hear, the community that supports us and hears us voice our pain. It’s a slow motion miracle.

Look at the disciples in Mark’s gospel. Do you know what they are? They are slow motion miracles. I think sometimes Jesus thought, “My goodness. How long is it going to take for this miracle to come to pass?” I mean they never, ever seemed to understand what Jesus was saying, until after his death and resurrection. Maybe that’s why he said to them after they came down from the mountain, “Shh! Shh! Don’t tell anybody about this. Not yet.” I think Jesus has them keep it a secret because they themselves didn’t really understand the meaning of it.

What God is interested in, what Jesus is interested in, I think, is transformation. The slow motion miracle that is following the way of Christ. That is loving the people we sometimes feel like are just about unlovable, forgiving the people who have wounded us, serving the least of these when we don’t feel like doing so.

What God is interested in is not the slow motion miracle as much as the quick action miracle—and slow motion miracles take time.

So yesterday, after the wedding, Judith and I went to a little reception that Mark and Cornelia had for family and some friends of theirs from the IMF. At dinner, I sat next to Mark’s adult son, who shared with me just how delighted he was that his father had finally found the love of his life. Sometimes that doesn’t happen the first time around. Sometimes it does, of course.

In the course of the conversation with Mark’s son, something occurred to me, like a bolt out of the blue. I remembered that yesterday--Valentine’s Day--was the 25th anniversary of when Judith and I, on a transatlantic phone call, decided we were going to get married. The wedding happened later that year, in December, after she had returned from her year abroad in Glasgow.

I look back on those early days and I think, “You know, when we started, we didn’t know anything.” We didn’t know anything about marriage. When our girls came along we didn’t know anything about being parents. We didn’t know anything when we started in ministry about being pastors, about preaching and caring for a flock. We didn’t really know anything.

But nonetheless, we got married, our babies came along and they were baptized, we were ordained— and well, in the years since, it’s kind of been a slow motion miracle.

Maybe you know something about that. As you look at your children or your parents, as you look at your own life, as you look at how God eventually brought the right person for you into your life, (or how, even if that didn’t happen or hasn’t happened yet, God provided for you in a community nevertheless), maybe you know something about slow motion miracles, too.

In Jesus’ name. Amen.