Transfiguration & Transformation: to repair with gold

Sharing a sermon preached by one of our members, Kori Pacyniak for Transfiguration Sunday / Last Sunday of the Epiphany. Preached on Wednesday, 26 February 2014 at Diocesan House, Episcopal Diocese of Connecticut.

Readings:
[Exodus 24:12-18]
2 Peter 1:16-21
Matthew 17:1-9

 As Episcopalians, we’re fortunate enough to get to celebrate the Transfiguration twice in our liturgical year - once on the last Sunday before Lent, often known as Transfiguration Sunday, and then again on August 6, the Feast of the Transfiguration.  It’s nice today to think about August – about long summer days and even sweltering heat as we feel the brunt of another ‘polar vortex’, but there is something peculiar, and special about Transfiguration Sunday.

Today’s transfiguration comes at the end of the season of the epiphany, at the end of a long and particularly arduous winter, on the threshold of lent. This year, Christmas and Epiphany seem like long forgotten memories, buried under the snow and ice that have been a near constant presence. There is a hope that spring lurks just around a corner, but on a day like today, spring shows no sign of hurrying. Liturgically, we are at a threshold, or, as one of my priests calls it, a hinge day. A hinge between the seasons of epiphany and lent, but more than that, a hinge between heaven and earth. That’s what we glimpse at the transfiguration, a disruption of the norm and a supernatural event that causes fear in the disciples.

 In the icons of the transfiguration, Jesus is usually depicted standing between Moses and Elijah, enshrined in gold and light on the mountaintop with rays of light emanating force, piercing the disciples. In contrast, Peter, James and John are shown lying down or with their faces turned away. We glimpse a moment of liminal space, a moment of transition and transformation and we become acutely aware that something is happening. Something is happening and we are invited to be transformed.

 In the first reading, we are called to be attentive to the prophetic message, “as a lamp shining in a dark place” until the day dawns and the morning star rises in our hearts. There is a feeling of waiting, of expectation, of hope in spite of the darkness. Peter, James, and John needed this hope. Six days earlier, Jesus had told his disciples that he would be handed over to the chief priests, killed and raised up on the third day. Difficult news for anyone to swallow. It is not difficult to imagine the sort of darkness the disciples were living in – having to come to grips with the revelation that their beloved teacher would be taken from them and killed. At the same time Jesus was asking them to take up their cross and follow him. We can imagine the feelings of fear, hopelessness, betrayal…through this, Jesus asks his disciples for acceptance of what is to come.

 And now, Jesus takes Peter, James and John with him up on a mountain, apart from the others and is transfigured before them – as if they didn’t have enough to deal with. But this clearly supernatural event only gets better. Out of nowhere, Moses and Elijah appear, talking with Jesus and then a voice emerges from the heavens, “This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased, listen to him.” The disciples naturally fall to the ground in fear and it is Jesus who rouses them, reassuring them and telling them to not be afraid. It might not be only fear that causes the disciples to fall down and turn away, but the knowledge and awareness that they are participating in something greater, something beyond their wildest imagination. They know they are being invited into transformation.

 Who are these words from heaven for? In the disciples, they seem to cause more fear than anything. Perhaps it is Jesus himself who needs to hear these words, this reassurance of his father’s love, of approval, of his mission. Despite the supernatural nature of the transfiguration, perhaps this is a moment where we see Jesus’ humanity bleed through. Aware of the task before him, the difficulty of accepting what he is called to do, he takes some of his friends and goes up on a mountaintop to pray. And what is the result? Two of prophets come to speak with him and his father’s voice booming from the heavens. 

We know what comes next. The forty days of lent, the triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, the last supper, the crucifixion and eventually the resurrection. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s take a moment to stand here on the mountaintop, to consider our own selves on the brink of transition – transition into a new liturgical season and transition into a new space for our work. Transition is scary. New things are scary and often hard. Sometimes we don’t feel ready for the change, something we feel that we are incapable of bearing it. We so easily forget that the journey up the mountain, the journey into the wilderness, can carry with it the potential for transformation.

In Japanese, there is a word called kintsukuroi, which means to repair with gold. It was a word that came into mind when I read over today’s Scriptures, a word that refers to the art of repairing broken pottery with gold and silver lacquer and understanding that the pottery is more beautiful for having been broken because it is precisely those broken shards that allow the luminescent gold to show. This fits in with the transfiguration. The disciples were not perfect people. These were ordinary individuals, each with their faults, each asked to take up their cross and follow Jesus. Asked to leave behind their family and their possessions and enter into this journey with Christ. We, too, are invited into that journey, into the moment of the transfiguration. How will we let Christ transform us? How will we let him repair our brokenness with gold so that we are more beautiful for it?

Into the Cloud: Transfiguration Liberation

Episcopal/Anglican Fellowship, Harvard Divinity School 

Readings for Transfiguration Sunday, Year C

Monday, February 11, 2013

Transfiguration greetings from inside the cloud.  I say this not simply because of the fog that envelopes us here in Cambridge as rain melts our record snowfall, not only because of the in-between place this diocese has entered in the wake of our bishop’s retirement announcement, or even in honor of the strange possibility that, as this article explains, "a new Archbishop of Canterbury and a new Pope may be enthroned in the same month."  I say this inspired by Luke’s unique observation that all of those present on the transfiguration mount were not only “overshadowed” by a cloud but actually, terrifyingly, “entered into it” (Lk 9:34).  In some way, Luke seems to do more with the Transfiguration, to link the very paschal mystery to it, and to make that mystery accessible to his readers—to all of us.  In the hands of Luke, all of us are delivered into the mysterious liberation that is transfiguration.

This cloud-envelopment is not the only unique gift brought to us by the Year C in our liturgical/lectionary rotation.  Only Luke, among the synoptic witnesses, gives us a window onto the summit conversation between Jesus, Moses and Elijah.  All three accounts tell us that Peter, John and James see these towering figures of the Law and the Prophets.  But Luke alone explains that “they appeared in glory” and, most importantly, that “they were speaking of [Jesus’] departure which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.”  The term for departure is ἔξοδον, a word that evokes the Exodus of the Israelites from their Egyptian captivity.  Already the gospel story draws upon Moses’ shining encounter, as our first reading reminds us.  But Luke’s window onto Jesus’ mountaintop discourse gives us more on which to chew.  Jesus was about to embody Exodus.  Think about what that might mean.  Think of what we know about the journey that lay before him:  the downward slope into Jerusalem, the crucifixion, the resurrection and ascension.  The shorthand Luke uses for this, the frame through which he wants us to read it is ἔξοδον.  It is liberation from oppression. It is the transformation of an individual body—suffering and death followed by resurrection life—as the transformation of a collective body.   Does this relationship of collective to individual embodiment not shift how you might read Jesus’ words of agency? Do you not hear the notion of “accomplishing” this paschal mystery in a different way?  It is not simply a matter of deciding to suffer and to die (which, of course, is not simple in and of itself).  This “accomplishment” is about the exodus of a people, or as Paul puts it in our reading from 2 Corinthians, freedom, which flows out from “the Spirit of the Lord” (2 Cor 3:18).

Both in written reflection and in iconic depiction, the Christian East has long honored the Metamorphosis (as it is often called, after the term with which Matthew and Mark describe Jesus’ transformation), and has seen in it a deep connection to the mystery of Easter itself. Transfiguration is not only something that happened to Jesus on Mount Tabor, as our unnamed peak is often called.  It is also the effect of resurrection power in our lives here and now, as well as at the end of all things, when that power will lift us up from the grave.  Transfiguration is the transformation “from glory into glory” to which Paul speaks in this breathtaking vision: “all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Cor 3:18).  This is not an effect reserved for the end.  It is with us now.  It is why, “we do not lose heart” as we carry forward in our ministries (2 Cor 4:1).  The present, pervasive reality of transfiguration allows us to discern the holy in this cloud in which we stand.

The idea that to be transfigured is to be changed, to be transformed, to be metamorphosed first drew me to the theology of transfiguration-- as someone who has transitioned, this spoke powerfully to me.  The complexity of my gender identity also gave me a particular appreciation for its liminal placement in the liturgical year.  But surely I am not alone in my love of the uniquely clear way in which the transfiguration (and more specifically Transfiguration Sunday, placed here, at the threshold of Epiphany and Lent) makes the heart of the gospel-- the good news of God’s transforming, healing, reconciling work -- available to us, a prism through which to see our own lives as in some way part of this larger collection, these stories of salvation history.  This combination of liminality and transformation should prompt us to see not only the obviously-set-apart places, the mountaintop locales, but also the more mundane interstices, the in-between spaces of our lives, as places of transfiguration. 

These thresholds can be temporal, spatial or both.  Perhaps we might look afresh at the context of divinity school and of the university more broadly.  This context is a crucible—as you surely don’t need me to tell you—a space of intensive formation, and which carries to some degree the anxiety of next-steps, both for students and for faculty and staff.   And so I want to invite us all to consider here and now, in this peculiar perch:  What is the ἔξοδον you are about to accomplish, or rather, that God is about to accomplish in you?  How are you being called to embody the paschal mystery in all its incorporation of death and new life?  Stand on this verge today and know that by virtue of your membership in the body of Christ, you too are being transfigured.  You, dear friends, are caught up in the mystery of metamorphosis, you are poised to leap up from the sacramental waters of your baptism. In the least likely spaces of your life, you are being “changed from glory into glory,” invited to grow like the engrafted olive shoot you are into the very heart of the living God.  The death Christ died and the resurrection life through which creation itself was recast—these fundamental tenets of our faith our not mental exercises, but spiritual realities with deeply concrete implications.  As we move toward the dust-filled return of Ash Wednesday and the wilderness territory of Lent, think on this mystery.

Luke’s vision of the Transfiguration frames our entry into Lent and Easter like no other gospel.  To be sure, the placement of this day at the end of the season of Epiphany, as the bookend to Jesus’ baptism (another iconic favorite in Eastern Christianity) works similarly in all three years of our lectionary.  Transfiguration stands as the mandorla, the holy hinge on which the cycles of Incarnation and Pascha swing into one another. But Luke’s version alone gives us a prism through which to read the paschal mystery itself.  Luke alone truly uses Transfiguration as the key for interpreting the cross and the empty tomb.  Luke alone refracts our very body/ies through the lens of Exodus (for an Easter preview, see Luke 24:1-12).  And so again I ask you, what is the ἔξοδον that God is seeking to accomplish in you?  How are you being called to embody the liberation that is the Paschal Mystery?  Amen.

CP

Meant To Be Transfigured

And it’s a wrap.  General Convention 2012 is now one for the history books.

From my perch here on my last night in this Indianapolis hotel room, I am struck by a combination of wonder, gratitude and just plain exhaustion.  This church has done so much over the last couple of weeks, and they’ve also been long.

And in that spirit of Eucharist – of thanksgiving – and of the comfort and challenge communion offers, I offer a couple of snapshops from my experience of two communion services in the latter part of Convention:  The Integrity Eucharist and the TransEpiscopal Eucharist.

It was a huge honor to serve alongside Bishop Mary Glasspool, Bishop Gene Robinson, and Deacon Carolyn Woodall in the service.  And words cannot describe the emotion of the evening, which was a capstone to the passage of resolutions D019 and D002 earlier that day. The crowd of 1600 was positively elated.  Members of the TransEpiscopal team sat in seats of honor in the front row.  I have no words for how I felt looking out from the platform, seeing both longstanding TransEpiscopal teammates and newer members, several of whom are mentees (or, as became our GC joke, padawans…) and friends from Massachusetts.  I was particularly proud of our young adult presence this year.  There they all were being preached to, directly, by +Gene Robinson, who emphasized again and again, “we were meant to live in tents.” 

Referencing the nomadic life of Abraham and Sarah, he underscored how we should expect to be on the move, to be challenged, to grow comfortable with new understanding and then to be challenged yet again.  This is the work of the Spirit, +Gene preached, the Spirit that continues to flow among us, opening us to truths that Jesus told us we could not yet bear.  As John 16:12-13 puts it, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all truth.”  This has become one of my favorite passages over the last several years, particularly since I began working in earnest on trans issues in the church.  It's obviously one of +Gene’s favorites as well. 

The following day the House of Deputies debated one of the major LGBT related resolutions of General Convention, #A049, which authorized a blessing of same sex couples that was developed over the previous triennium.  It, too, passed in a landslide.  It was a huge moment for a church that does so much of its theology through its liturgical practice and development.  It is one thing for couples to already be able to receive a blessing—or even to have their marriage solemnized in church, as Bishop Shaw authorizes clergy to do in the Diocese of Massachusetts—but it is another thing for The Episcopal Church to officially authorize a blessing rite.

Meanwhile, TransEpiscopal was preparing for another Eucharist.  Today I noticed a tweet from someone that read, “I hesitate to ask, but what is a TransEpiscopal Eucharist”?  In short, it was a service of Communion organized and lead by members of TransEpiscopal to which all were invited.  We came into the 2009 Convention with no plans for such a service, but were persuaded by friends within TransEpiscopal, Integrity, and the Episcopal Women’s Caucus to gather in that way.  In 2009 it was small—maybe twenty people – but very powerful.  We gathered in a circle around a table at the back of Integrity’s conference room, shared scripture readings, a group reflection, and the holy gifts of bread and wine.  At one point, someone held up a camera and snapped a photo that conveys well the service’s intimate feel. 

2009 TransEpiscopal Eucharist

This year we decided to do a service again, planning the liturgy more in advance yet still leaving plenty of room for the Spirit to move our preparations.  As Iain Stanford and I finished putting the liturgy together in Integrity’s nerve center, the debate in the House of Deputies on the blessing liturgy was live streaming.  The liturgy passed just as we finished our work.  What a day!

As it so happened, our openness to the Spirit’s blowing allowed us to transform the service into a combination of both Baptism and Eucharist.  One of the totally unexpected delights of the Convention was meeting a genderqueer identified transman who, it turns out, came into Convention considering baptism.  TransEpiscopal volunteers instantly bonded with him, grafting him into the team.  And when Elizabeth Kaeton, President  of the Episcopal Women’s Caucus, baptized another General Convention attendee in the hotel fountain earlier this week, our new friend wondered whether he too might take this step here, rather than back in his home state.  Several long, inspired conversations later, it was apparent that the TransEpiscopal Eucharist was the perfect context for this moment. 

I had never had the privilege of doing an adult baptism before, nor had I baptized someone from the trans community.  This was a truly holy moment.  It also followed a long period of reflection—in place of a sermon—in which nearly all of the forty or so gathered people participated.  There was such joy, love, wonder in that room.  It was such a privilege to see the various roles played by both clergy and laity, trans and allied.  As Rev. Carla Robinson invited us, we all shared the bread and wine with one another, a fitting follow-up to the renewal of our baptismal covenants.  We were living fully into our membership in this one body—this changing, challenging body—and not simply our own, there in the Integrity meeting room, but that of the wider convention, of the wider church. 

 

As we come to the end of this powerful Convention, we stand at a kind of commencement.  An ending/beginning.  We are stepping into a new chapter in the life of The Episcopal Church.  TransEpiscopal’s and IntegrityUSA’s prioritized resolutions were and are part of something much larger. 

+Gene Robinson told us, “we were meant to live in tents.”  Yet even tents can perhaps prove  too constraining.  On the Transfiguration Mount where Peter, James and John beheld the already/not yet resurrected Christ, Peter’s impulse was to “make three booths” or “dwellings,” to try to pin Jesus down, to pitch his tent among us and stay for a while.  A long while.  But we weren’t meant to stay on that mount forever.  We were meant to travel back down, to walk through unforeseen valleys and reach the other side.

We were meant to be transfigured.

CP


**All photos except the 2009 TransEpiscopal Eucharist, were taken by Anderson C.