Perfect Worship

February 14, 2010

Exodus 34:29-32, 1 Kings 18:20-29, Luke 9:28-43

It was about as good as worship can get. The only reason it wasn’t straight-A perfect is that there was no music (so far as we know) – no angel voices, no brass or bells, (bluesy) pipe organ or piano, and no choir like we just heard.

Still, if worship draws us closer to God, inspiring us to love God with our heart, soul, mind and strength, then Peter, James and John got the platinum package that day on Mt. Tabor.

Jesus was transfigured in a dazzling light, and three disciples were utterly transformed by it. It woke them from a death-like sleep to the edge of glorious life.  Transported them too, to the threshold of heaven and the communion of saints embodied by Moses and Elijah.

It was ecstasy, pure ecstasy – from the Greek, ek-stasis, which means, “to be pulled from one’s ordinary place.”  Events on Mt. Tabor moved the disciples, taking them to a new way of thinking and doing, a new connection with Jesus, a new understanding of their lives … and, yes, a new way of relating to God.

Worship will do that, or great worship will. Though its duration was brief, the Transfiguration brought ongoing change. And that left the disciples ecstatic – in a new place altogether.

Did they know what was coming when they started up the mountain? Surely not. Does this kind of thing happen anywhere and any time? Not to my knowledge.  Can it be choreographed or planned in advance? Unh-uh. Genuine worship is always a gift … a precious and precarious gift, from God, not a spectacle we create for ourselves.

Often, in fact, worship goes beyond words. Ever attend a concert or watch a play, then try to tell someone about it? It falls flat. You play the recording or print 8 X 10 glossy photos. But it’s not the same. You can’t convey what took place. Candlelight Christmases and Easter resurrections are like that. You end up saying, “You just had to be there.”

The Transfiguration, too, I suspect. Even those who were there it couldn’t describe it.

The one time Peter opened his mouth, “he didn’t know what he was saying.” Later, as they came down the mountain, Jesus ordered them not to tell anyone what had occurred. At least, that’s how Matthew and Mark report it. But in Luke, the disciples are too shell-shocked, too overwhelmed, too deep in awe, to breathe a word. Jesus doesn’t have to tell them not to.

I should remember that when I’m preaching, shouldn’t I? The fewer the words, the better. And as listeners, you shouldn’t expect me to explain all the mystery away.  Good worship leaves room for some things to go unspoken.

Yet, at the risk of tangling my tongue, I will say this – once – so listen carefully: On Mt. Tabor, majesty and mystery mingled momentarily in a multi-sensory milieu. (I nearly broke the “M” key on my computer typing that.)

* *

To put it in plain words: it must have been some kind of fine worship the disciples encountered on Mt. Tabor! Their senses were touched, in a way that revealed far more than senses can know.

There was, for instance, that vision of Jesus and the voice from the heavens – sight and sound, real and present … and yet … from beyond.

When a bush was on fire without being consumed, God spoke. When Moses climbed Mt. Sinai, God spoke again.  Now, today, at the height of Mt. Tabor, God repeats the message first uttered deep down in the Jordan River valley, saying, “This is my Son!”

Worship always improves when we know God is speaking.

But as you recall from the reading about Elijah: at Mt. Carmel, the other gods were silent. They were unable to speak. From them, there came “no voice, no answer, no response.”

That leads me to an old preacher story, from back in the day when sermons consisted of three points and a poem.

A young seminarian approached the professor and inquired, “Does a sermon have to have three points?”

“Not necessarily,” the old veteran of the pulpit responded.

“So how many points do you recommend I start with?” asked the student.

The professor thought a moment then said, “I recommend you have at least one.”

God took that advice. On Mt. Sinai, with Moses, God had ten “points” or commandments. But on Mt. Tabor, God gave the disciples of Jesus just one. “Listen to him.”

That’s all. Just “Listen.” So you see, it’s not just the planner or leader who makes or breaks worship. Listeners play a crucial role too.

* *

Another aspect of really good worship is that time seems to stand still. 

I imagine that’s what enabled Moses and Elijah to be there with Jesus. For God, past, present and future are interwoven, overlapping. Historical events and all options for the future are alive in the present moment. “Then” and “now” are equal.

Whenever we enter worship, we take a chance that time will stand still again, that clocks and calendars won’t matter – at least for a while. Worship may or may not be done in 60 minutes. (Black churches especially know that.)

And there’s a hint of it too in the Transfiguration story. Peter notices the timelessness of the moment and tries to preserve it … tries to extend it by building three booths – one for Jesus, one for Moses, and one for Elijah. He doesn’t want it to end. He wants it to go on as long as it can. Don’t stop it!

But that’s when Luke interrupts on behalf of punctual one-hour churchgoers worldwide, telling us, “he didn’t know what he was saying!”

Time won’t stand still forever. Even God’s time eventually marches on. Should we ever attain perfect, transcendent worship – that too would pass. The mountaintop experience ends, glory fades, the bloom on the rose withers, and time comes to go back to the valley.

* *

Perfect worship draws us closer to God and calls us to love God more completely, as Peter, James and John discovered.

But perfect worship also compels us to love our neighbors, requires us to face the forces of evil, reconcile conflict, and attend to the needy with resources of hope. Worship is never complete until it returns to the valley.  That’s why our beloved Rev. Carl S. is fond of saying at the benediction, “Worship is over. Now the service begins.”

 Worship is not a retreat from the world. It’s our preparation to re-engage. It’s our pronouncement to the world that the body of Christ is being transfigured … the whole Body of Christ … not just one man, but all of us together (that “Body”!)… made to look different, as only God can do it.

So Jesus and the disciples go down the mountain. They leave the timeless, multi-sensory wonders behind.

But no sooner do they arrive than the disciples discover there are things we humans can’t fix, even after the most perfect worship. There are things we cannot accomplish. But that doesn’t mean – as some folks imagine – that our worship is hollow and our prayers are in vain.

No. Rather, the valley becomes the place where people with eyes to see discover Christ at work. What the disciples could not achieve in terms of healing a child, Jesus undertakes for himself.

The healing, caring, and restoring lead to ecstatic rejoicing that God is still with us.

By the way, that miracle in the valley is significant. It involves a son, about whom the father says something we’ve heard in another context: “this is my only son.”

The words spoken by God at the Jordan and up on the mountain about the relation between Jesus and God now echo in the valley and in the hearts and lives of ordinary people.

That is good news for us as we prepare for the season of Lent. It’s a reminder that even when we walk through the valley, God is near by. When the way before us is rocky and our footing unsteady, we are not forgotten.

Whether or not we’ve been to the mountain, God is with us in the valleys of trouble, bringing mercy and love and a way forward. So we worship the best that we can … even in moments when there are no words to describe it … except, perhaps, the words we first heard in the dazzling light of Jesus Christ. “Listen!”                                              To the glory of God.