Where's the glory?
Commentary
(Myrna and Robert Kysar are the co-authors of "Charting The Course." Myrna is pastor of Christ Lutheran Church (ELCA), Oakwood, Georgia. She holds a Master of Divinity degree from Yale Divinity School and a Doctor of Ministry from Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia. She is the co-author with her husband of three books.
Robert, also an ELCA pastor, is Bandy Professor of Preaching and New Testament Emeritus at Candler School of Theology and the Graduate Division of Religion of Emory University. He earned his Bachelor of Divinity from Garrett Evangelical Theological Seminary and a Ph.D. in New Testament Interpretation from Northwestern University. He has written fifteen books and over fifty articles.)
For lots of us today, the story of Jesus' transfiguration reads like some sort of fantasy or dream. It's like something out of a movie that imagines the invasion of our world by creatures from outer space. Coupling it with the tale of Elijah's ascent in a whirlwind doesn't help much. The question is where's the truth in this grandiose story of Jesus' glorification? How shall we interpret it?
Part of our problem, of course, is that few of us experience (or only rarely experience) anything like what the disciples saw and heard on that mountain. Instead, Christ seems hidden in our world and seldom glorified. So we are prone to ask, where's the glory today? Perhaps the issue is where exactly are we to look today for Christ's transfiguration? Or, how is Christ transfigured today? These questions provide us a way to read these three lessons and interpret the first two lessons in the light of Mark's story of Christ's transfiguration.
2 Kings 2:1-12
This is the grand climax to the stories of Elijah, which begin in 1 Kings 17. The ancient Hebraic tradition elevated Elijah to a rare status. In the Old Testament and Jewish tradition, only he, Enoch, and Moses are spared death and taken directly into heaven. (For the basis of the Enoch tradition, see Genesis 5:24; for Moses, see below.) This tale of Elijah's journey into the heavens later fascinated the religious imaginations of both Jews and Christians. By the end of the Old Testament period, some believed that Elijah would play a role in God's final act to bring the divine rule to the world (Malachi 4:5). Before long his reappearance from his heavenly home was connected with the coming of the messiah, and this belief is implied at several places in the New Testament (for example, Matthew 11:14 and John 1:21). Of course, today we are equally enthralled by someone who is said to avoid death. The association of Elijah's continued heavenly life with Transfiguration Sunday is naturally triggered by his appearance on the mount of Transfiguration along with Moses.
The story of this wondrous heavenly ascent is told in great detail and deep emotion. In 1 Kings 19:16, God orders Elijah to anoint Elisha as his successor. Ironically in the story of Elijah's calling him, Elisha is none too eager to leave his ordinary life but eventually does (1 Kings 19:19-21). In our passage, Elisha's persistence in being at Elijah's side is what seems to make him worthy of taking on his master's role. Three times in the story, Elijah asks Elisha to remain where he is while his master travels on; and three times Elisha refuses to do so: "I will not leave you" (vv. 2, 4, and 6). The pathos of the story is found in Elisha's commitment to be with his master and his eventual grief at being separated from him. However, the prophets in the story, including both Elisha and "the company of the prophets," know what is about to occur -- an indication of their sensitivities to the future (v. 5).
The story depicts Elijah's close association with Moses. The story of Elijah's journey to Mount Horeb is told in a way to suggest that same association. As Moses parted the Sea of Reeds with his rod (Exodus 14:21-22), Elijah now parts the Jordan with his mantle (a symbol of prophetic authority). However, this wonder also welds Elijah with the rest of Israel's story through his replication of the parting of the Jordan as the people entered Canaan (Joshua 4:1-13).
Elijah's offer to do whatever Elisha asks (v. 9) is a tender indication of the master's commitment to his disciple. Elisha really asks to be treated as Elijah's firstborn son. (Notice that later in verse 12 he calls Elijah "father.") The firstborn son was entitled to two-thirds of the inheritance (Deuteronomy 21:17), so a "double portion" means twice the spirit that Elijah leaves for the other prophets. It does not mean that Elisha asks to be twice the prophet Elijah has been. The request is granted provided Elisha continues with his master to the very end of his earthly journey. His experience of his master's departure is the requirement for Elisha's receiving Elijah's spirit.
Elijah's departure is a dramatic one! It occurs suddenly, right in the middle of a conversation the two prophets are having. Then: a chariot and horses of fire. A whirlwind! This is a stupendous event with all the marvels imaginable. The whirlwind is a common representation for God's appearance in the human realm (for example, Jeremiah 23:19 and Job 38:1). The chariot and horses, however, are ambiguous symbols. They may simply be another representation of the awesome presence of God. Yet, they may also imply something about Israel's military might. The prophetic presence represented in Elijah is more important than all the chariots and horses there are.
Elijah's exit evokes Elisha's grief (v. 12). Like a child torn from its parents' arms, he cries out to the one who has adopted him as a son. Then he tears his clothing in two, a traditional sign of mourning (for example, Job 1:20). This one who wanted so very much to remain at Elijah's side is now deprived of his master. What he most wanted (Elijah's spirit) comes at the expense of his loss of his leader's presence.
However, by experiencing Elijah's glorious ascent, Elisha receives Elijah's spirt. Glory always tells us something about God, but does it also communicate something of God's own spirit to us? We seek experiences of divine glory, such as that described in Elijah's translation into heaven, not only because they confirm something we believe but because we gain something unspeakable from the experience. Still, let us remember that Elisha's experience entailed suffering, grief, loss. That proves important in our search for Christ's glory.
2 Corinthians 4:3-6
Why do you suppose Paul suddenly bursts into these words about the veiling of the gospel message? Clearly he is picking up and continuing the argument in 3:12-18. However, the first several verses of chapter 4 seem concentrated on Paul's defense of his ministry among the Corinthians. Therefore, we naturally wonder if he has been charged with veiling instead of revealing the Christian message. Is it his manner that was being attacked? Or, could it be that his suffering along with that of his colleagues makes the Corinthians wonder about the validity of the gospel? Like many today, the Corinthians might have supposed that if the Christian message is true, then its proclaimers would surely live a life free of suffering and hardship.
Whatever the reasons for Paul's shift in topics to the veiling of the gospel message, he immediately turns the topic into a discussion of those who fail to believe. Whether or not you think "our gospel is veiled," it most certainly is covered over for the unbeliever. The word "perishing" is probably not a reference to some eternal destiny in hell. Unbelievers are perishing in Paul's view because they are not participants in the new age that has dawned in the world. Paul seems to think that such people are victims of another power of some sort. We cannot determine with certainty whether Paul is speaking generally of those who fail to accept the Christian message or whether he is speaking specifically of his opponents in Corinth.
In any case, exactly what might he mean by "the god of this world"? If it means Satan, then it constitutes the only use of this particular expression for the evil one (but see John 12:31). Paul seems to find it incomprehensible that someone would deliberately and consciously choose not to believe in God's revelation in Christ! His own strong commitment makes the truth of the gospel so evident that surely no one could not believe it, unless she or he were blinded by some evil power. The idea that unbelief results from some transcendent force of some sort is not uncommon in the New Testament, although there is no systematic reflection on such an idea. If this remark is a counterattack against his Corinthian antagonists, it is a bitter and drastic one. They have become Satan's agents.
Beholding the gospel is seeing the glory of Christ. The Greek word translated glory has a broad range of meanings. In a simple sense, it means only honor and dignity, such as a royal official might have. In the context of religious language, however, the word most often hints at God's presence, much as the Hebrew word, kabod, did. (See the phrase "the glory of the Lord," for example, in Exodus 16:7 and 10.) Here Paul is claiming that when people see Christ's glory, they are naturally brought to faith. Christ's glory is none other than the "image" of God in Christ. This expression is only one of a vast number of words and metaphors Paul uses for the relationship between God and Christ. (See Colossians 1:15 where the term appears in what may be an early Christian hymn or creed.)
Verse 5 certainly sounds defensive, doesn't it? The statement in the previous verse, concerning the appearance of glory in Christ, seems to arouse Paul's determination to straighten the Corinthians out. It is Christ and his glory that he and his associates preach and not themselves. If that is their message, then it means that they have become "slaves" of the Corinthians for the sake of the proclamation of the gospel. We doubt that there are many pastors who would care to use this metaphor for their relationship with their parishioners! As a matter of fact, nowhere else does Paul speak of himself as "slave" of anyone other than Christ, so this statement is shocking. Just read Paul's admonition in 1 Corinthians 7:23: "do not become slaves of human masters." The metaphor of slavery here is used in the sense of commitment to the service of others.
In verse 4 Paul refers to the "light of the gospel," and he now returns to that imagery. He first cites an Old Testament passage (Genesis 1:3 and/or Isaiah 9:2). God is a light-giver and one who enlightens humans. In Christ God has done it again, shedding light in the darkness of the world. But the phrase, "who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ," is one of those thick Pauline expressions that is not easily unpacked. Several things, however, are helpful for our purposes. First, God is the one who enlightens us and so is always the one responsible for belief. Second, light is knowledge. But what kind of knowledge? Knowledge of glory, Paul responds. Verse 6 may draw a parallel between Moses and Christ. As Moses came down from Mount Sinai with his face aglow (Exodus 34:29-30), so the presence of God is discernible "in the face of Jesus Christ." The point is that God's glory is not hidden in Christ, as it was veiled by Moses (see 2 Corinthians 3:12-18).
What is "the knowledge of the glory of God" that we can see in Christ? Is it knowledge about God -- who God is and what God values? Or, is it knowing the glory itself -- that is, having experienced that glory for ourselves? Either way, something is gained by experience of the glory of God in Christ. Whether it be a portion of God's own spirit or understanding the divine, there are positive consequences to witnessing that glory. Moreover, there is another point at which this passage touches the first reading. Elisha suffered grief as a result of the experience of Elijah's ascension. Paul knows the glory of God in the face of Christ, but as a result he submits himself to a ministry that entails suffering, even enslaving himself to others.
But back to our initial question: Where do we find that glory? Pertinent to Paul's argument, is Christ's glory veiled for us today, hidden in the world around us? Where is Christ transfigured today?
Mark 9:2-9
Mark presents the simplest and least complicated of the three accounts of Christ's transfiguration. Yet that in no way compromises the richness of the story in Mark. It moves through four parts. The first is the brief statement of the setting for the event (v. 2a). That is followed by the transfiguration itself (vv. 2b-3) and the appearance of Moses and Elijah (v. 4). Peter then responds to this glorious experience, and the narrator comments on his response in verses 5 and 6. Immediately another glorious event occurs: the cloud appears and the voice speaks (v. 7). The whole thing ends as abruptly as it began (v. 8), and Jesus commands the disciples to silence (v. 9).
An antiphony between the human-earthly and the divine-heavenly realms is at the heart of this story. The narrative begins in this world, but immediately the transcendent invades this realm. Peter's response is the human answer to the divine action. The divine-heavenly world answers Peter with the cloud and the voice. The final stage brings us back to earth again in the last verses. It is a story of the dialogue of the human and the divine, an exchange between the two realms, and has us commuting from the one to the other dimensions of reality. As such then the story has one climax in the transfiguration and then another in the cloud and voice. The preacher might ask how a sermon can come to one peak only to be eclipsed by another.
The six day interval is puzzling. Mark seldom mentions such periods, and the meaning of this one is obscure. It may, of course, suggest the number of incompleteness just short of seven. This event was not yet the final point of the Gospel but anticipates and comes close to it. One of Mark's unique touches is the reference to "fuller" (translated simply "one") in verse 3. Jesus' clothing was whiter than even an expert in whitening wool could get them. A homey-like description, but an effective one.
The appearance of Elijah and Moses is richly ambiguous. Why these two? Do they represent the Law and the Prophets? The two great figures of Israel history? Both were thought to have been translated directly to heaven and may appear here because they share that status. (For the basis of the tradition of Moses' ascension see 2 Esdras 6:26.) Certainly the conversation among these three puts Jesus in the ancient Hebraic tradition, suggesting that his mission is in some way a continuation of the mission of these two luminaries.
Poor Peter. He is trying to make some intelligent response, but all he accomplishes is to demonstrate how petrified he and the others are. The tents ("dwellings") Peter proposes might house the divine figures in the story, as well as establish some permanent monument for this passing bolt of glory. The narrator tells us Peter "did not know what to say," but who among us would, given the wondrous occurrence before him?
Peter's suggestion seems in some way to evoke the climax of the theophany, which is comprised of the traditional features of Yahweh's confrontations with Israel -- the cloud (see, for example, Ezekiel 1:4) and the voice (see Jeremiah 11:4). The cloud is especially connected with Moses (Exodus 13:21) and the voice with Elijah (1 Kings 19:12-13). The content of the heavenly words confirm Jesus' identity, just as did the voice at his baptism (Mark 1:11). The voice at his baptism was directed exclusively to Jesus, however, and these heavenly words are intended for the disciples. So, Mark moves from God's confirmation of Jesus' sense of his identity to convince the disciples to believe. Verse 8 seems to hint that from this time forward the disciples will have no other focus for their lives than Jesus.
The reading concludes with the strange admonition to silence. In this case, Mark may be suggesting that the disciples have no way of understanding the transfiguration until they have experienced Christ's resurrection. The transfiguration anticipates Christ's resurrection, but the resurrection clarifies the meaning of the transfiguration. However, what is most important is that this command to silence until the resurrection implies Jesus' suffering and death. Jesus will again speak of his passion in verses 30-31 of this chapter. Try coupling this pronouncement of Jesus' death and resurrection at the conclusion of the transfiguration with what immediately precedes the marvelous event on the mount. A framework leaps out at us. In 8:31 Jesus speak of his death and resurrection and goes on to teach how suffering is a part of discipleship (8:34 --9:1). Jesus' predictions of his death and resurrection enclose the transfiguration story like the walls of a house.
Where's the glory? Mark wants us to understand that the transfiguration story can be read only in the context of Jesus' self-giving passion. Glory is hidden in the cross, in suffering and death and the resurrection God brings. Elisha knows no glorious experience of Elijah's ascension without the painful grief that accompanies separation from his master. Paul speaks of the glory of the gospel in the context of the suffering inflicted on him and his companions. It is a suffering that seems to veil the gospel, even though in Christ's suffering the veil is lifted.
Where's the glory for us, then? Perhaps not in the triumphant church, the grandiose acclamation of the Christian faith, or the conversion of the multitudes. Perhaps, rather, Christ's glory is witnessed in the silent sufferings of Christians for their faith. In the selfish acts of love that may often go unnoticed. In the countless Christians who daily are willing to suffer subtle discrimination because of their faith. Christ's transfiguration is there in the inconspicuous service of our neighbor because of the gospel.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
[Dr. Elizabeth Achtemeier, an ordained Presbyterian minister and Adjunct Professor of Bible and Homiletics at Union Theological Seminary, is known throughout the United States and Canada as a preacher, lecturer, and writer. She is the author of twenty books and frequently contributes to church publications.]
2 Kings 2:1-12
Part of this Old Testament text, namely 2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14 was previously discussed in the reading for Transfiguration Sunday in Cycle C. The preacher may therefore want to refer back to that exposition for a full exegetical discussion of this passage. For this Cycle B, we will take a different tack.
I wonder if you remember one of the characters in the popular television series, M*A*S*H. He was a stuffy, rich, upper-class doctor from Boston, named Charles, who had been conscripted out of his elite medical practice at Massachusetts General Hospital and sent to join the mobile medical unit during the Korean war. The other doctors, he felt, were far beneath him in sophistication, breeding, and training. In short, he was a snob. But Charles was also intelligent, and one episode pictured Charles beginning to wonder just what happened in death. What was there on that other side of this world's barrier, in that dark unknown we call life after death? As a result, Charles was portrayed frantically questioning a dying lad, whose life was rapidly slipping away. "What's happening to you?" Charles shouted at the dying soldier. "What do you see?" The program imaginatively, and perhaps profoundly, had the dying youth reply, "I smell bread." And he was gone.
We all wonder what is there on the other side of this life's final barrier, on the other side of death. There is mystery there that defies our probing, and none of us arrives at a definitive answer. To be sure, we do have those people in this country who have had out-of-body experiences, who have been clinically dead, but who have come back to life and told us that they have seen a light, or been transported down a long tunnel, or have felt as if they were hovering above their own bodies, watching the doctors trying frantically to save them. But the truth is that those people have not finally died. They have not crossed life's final limit. They have come back to life, to die as we all die, at some future date. And so what is out there when we "cross the bar," as the old saying goes? What is in that mysterious realm called death?
Our text for the morning deals with that mystery. Indeed, it is so full of mystery that very few of us understand it totally. The prophet Elijah, in the tenth century B. C., goes on that strange journey from Gilgal to Bethel, to Jericho, to the banks of the Jordan. He is accompanied all of the way by his faithful disciple, Elisha, who refuses to leave him, even though Elijah tries hard to get rid of Elisha's company. And it is a senseless journey actually, for nothing important occurs at any of the places, except that Elisha is repeatedly told that his master is going to be taken from him. Further, Gilgal is very near Jericho. Why is there inserted the side trip to Bethel? It all seems very strange.
In a sense, however, it reminds me of relatives sitting beside the bed of a dying loved one in a hospital room. There sometimes comes a time when the dying person wants to be left alone to slip away, when he or she has withdrawn into the beginning of some other realm, when they would just as soon say to their watchers, "You can go now." They have started on a transition to a place where the living cannot go. But like Elisha, most of us don't leave, do we? "No," we assure the dying, "we're here. We're not going to leave you." And we stay until the last breath is drawn.
It is clear, however, in such experiences, that the dying are indeed entering some mysterious, other realm that we cannot see and that we do not know. A friend tells of a glorious smile lighting up the face of her dying mother. And my own grandmother breathed out, "I'm so happy." Why was she happy? What was she experiencing? Why the glory on the face of my friend's mother? We have to say that we do not know.
In this story that we call "the translation of Elijah," that barrier to knowledge is pierced just a little, however, and Elisha -- and we, through the means of the story -- are allowed to peer beyond the end, just as we are allowed to peer beyond it in our gospel's account of the transfiguration of Jesus.
The faithful prophet Elijah is taken up by a whirlwind into heaven. Some artists have portrayed him as being carried to heaven in a chariot, but that is not what the text says. No. Elijah is caught up in a whirlwind and disappears, with only his prophet's mantle left behind for Elisha to inherit, as the next prophet for Israel.
But what does Elisha see when Elijah is taken up? He sees a chariot of fire drawn by horses of fire. In other words, he sees the fiery symbols of the power of Almighty God. He sees the might of the Lord who will inspire his prophetic words and deeds. He sees the signs of the army of the Lord, who has once more conquered death and taken his faithful servant Elijah to be with him. And so, in our New Testament lesson, good Christians, there is our triumphant, transfigured Christ in all his glory, reigning over the earth at the end of history, speaking with Elijah and Moses, who dwell with him in eternity.
I think the story speaks to all of us who sit at the bedside of dying loved ones and who are so reluctant and grieved to lose them. Indeed, it speaks to us, too, who are faithful and who hold our trust in our Lord to the end. The story assures all of us that the graves of this earth are not the end, the everlasting dark, the door closed forever, but rather that there is an eternal realm beyond all we see and know -- a realm of God that will never pass away. More than that, the story tells us that when we die, and when our faithful loved ones die, we pass into the realm of the God who holds all power in his hands. Do you remember Jesus telling his disciples, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me" (Matthew 28:18)? The God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ has all authority. He has all power. The evil specter of death cannot defeat him. Indeed, he showed that plainly to us on the first Easter morn. And so for those who love him, there is no victory of the grave and no final end of life. There is only life, eternal life, in the company of the God who not only has all power, but who has all goodness and love.
Robert, also an ELCA pastor, is Bandy Professor of Preaching and New Testament Emeritus at Candler School of Theology and the Graduate Division of Religion of Emory University. He earned his Bachelor of Divinity from Garrett Evangelical Theological Seminary and a Ph.D. in New Testament Interpretation from Northwestern University. He has written fifteen books and over fifty articles.)
For lots of us today, the story of Jesus' transfiguration reads like some sort of fantasy or dream. It's like something out of a movie that imagines the invasion of our world by creatures from outer space. Coupling it with the tale of Elijah's ascent in a whirlwind doesn't help much. The question is where's the truth in this grandiose story of Jesus' glorification? How shall we interpret it?
Part of our problem, of course, is that few of us experience (or only rarely experience) anything like what the disciples saw and heard on that mountain. Instead, Christ seems hidden in our world and seldom glorified. So we are prone to ask, where's the glory today? Perhaps the issue is where exactly are we to look today for Christ's transfiguration? Or, how is Christ transfigured today? These questions provide us a way to read these three lessons and interpret the first two lessons in the light of Mark's story of Christ's transfiguration.
2 Kings 2:1-12
This is the grand climax to the stories of Elijah, which begin in 1 Kings 17. The ancient Hebraic tradition elevated Elijah to a rare status. In the Old Testament and Jewish tradition, only he, Enoch, and Moses are spared death and taken directly into heaven. (For the basis of the Enoch tradition, see Genesis 5:24; for Moses, see below.) This tale of Elijah's journey into the heavens later fascinated the religious imaginations of both Jews and Christians. By the end of the Old Testament period, some believed that Elijah would play a role in God's final act to bring the divine rule to the world (Malachi 4:5). Before long his reappearance from his heavenly home was connected with the coming of the messiah, and this belief is implied at several places in the New Testament (for example, Matthew 11:14 and John 1:21). Of course, today we are equally enthralled by someone who is said to avoid death. The association of Elijah's continued heavenly life with Transfiguration Sunday is naturally triggered by his appearance on the mount of Transfiguration along with Moses.
The story of this wondrous heavenly ascent is told in great detail and deep emotion. In 1 Kings 19:16, God orders Elijah to anoint Elisha as his successor. Ironically in the story of Elijah's calling him, Elisha is none too eager to leave his ordinary life but eventually does (1 Kings 19:19-21). In our passage, Elisha's persistence in being at Elijah's side is what seems to make him worthy of taking on his master's role. Three times in the story, Elijah asks Elisha to remain where he is while his master travels on; and three times Elisha refuses to do so: "I will not leave you" (vv. 2, 4, and 6). The pathos of the story is found in Elisha's commitment to be with his master and his eventual grief at being separated from him. However, the prophets in the story, including both Elisha and "the company of the prophets," know what is about to occur -- an indication of their sensitivities to the future (v. 5).
The story depicts Elijah's close association with Moses. The story of Elijah's journey to Mount Horeb is told in a way to suggest that same association. As Moses parted the Sea of Reeds with his rod (Exodus 14:21-22), Elijah now parts the Jordan with his mantle (a symbol of prophetic authority). However, this wonder also welds Elijah with the rest of Israel's story through his replication of the parting of the Jordan as the people entered Canaan (Joshua 4:1-13).
Elijah's offer to do whatever Elisha asks (v. 9) is a tender indication of the master's commitment to his disciple. Elisha really asks to be treated as Elijah's firstborn son. (Notice that later in verse 12 he calls Elijah "father.") The firstborn son was entitled to two-thirds of the inheritance (Deuteronomy 21:17), so a "double portion" means twice the spirit that Elijah leaves for the other prophets. It does not mean that Elisha asks to be twice the prophet Elijah has been. The request is granted provided Elisha continues with his master to the very end of his earthly journey. His experience of his master's departure is the requirement for Elisha's receiving Elijah's spirit.
Elijah's departure is a dramatic one! It occurs suddenly, right in the middle of a conversation the two prophets are having. Then: a chariot and horses of fire. A whirlwind! This is a stupendous event with all the marvels imaginable. The whirlwind is a common representation for God's appearance in the human realm (for example, Jeremiah 23:19 and Job 38:1). The chariot and horses, however, are ambiguous symbols. They may simply be another representation of the awesome presence of God. Yet, they may also imply something about Israel's military might. The prophetic presence represented in Elijah is more important than all the chariots and horses there are.
Elijah's exit evokes Elisha's grief (v. 12). Like a child torn from its parents' arms, he cries out to the one who has adopted him as a son. Then he tears his clothing in two, a traditional sign of mourning (for example, Job 1:20). This one who wanted so very much to remain at Elijah's side is now deprived of his master. What he most wanted (Elijah's spirit) comes at the expense of his loss of his leader's presence.
However, by experiencing Elijah's glorious ascent, Elisha receives Elijah's spirt. Glory always tells us something about God, but does it also communicate something of God's own spirit to us? We seek experiences of divine glory, such as that described in Elijah's translation into heaven, not only because they confirm something we believe but because we gain something unspeakable from the experience. Still, let us remember that Elisha's experience entailed suffering, grief, loss. That proves important in our search for Christ's glory.
2 Corinthians 4:3-6
Why do you suppose Paul suddenly bursts into these words about the veiling of the gospel message? Clearly he is picking up and continuing the argument in 3:12-18. However, the first several verses of chapter 4 seem concentrated on Paul's defense of his ministry among the Corinthians. Therefore, we naturally wonder if he has been charged with veiling instead of revealing the Christian message. Is it his manner that was being attacked? Or, could it be that his suffering along with that of his colleagues makes the Corinthians wonder about the validity of the gospel? Like many today, the Corinthians might have supposed that if the Christian message is true, then its proclaimers would surely live a life free of suffering and hardship.
Whatever the reasons for Paul's shift in topics to the veiling of the gospel message, he immediately turns the topic into a discussion of those who fail to believe. Whether or not you think "our gospel is veiled," it most certainly is covered over for the unbeliever. The word "perishing" is probably not a reference to some eternal destiny in hell. Unbelievers are perishing in Paul's view because they are not participants in the new age that has dawned in the world. Paul seems to think that such people are victims of another power of some sort. We cannot determine with certainty whether Paul is speaking generally of those who fail to accept the Christian message or whether he is speaking specifically of his opponents in Corinth.
In any case, exactly what might he mean by "the god of this world"? If it means Satan, then it constitutes the only use of this particular expression for the evil one (but see John 12:31). Paul seems to find it incomprehensible that someone would deliberately and consciously choose not to believe in God's revelation in Christ! His own strong commitment makes the truth of the gospel so evident that surely no one could not believe it, unless she or he were blinded by some evil power. The idea that unbelief results from some transcendent force of some sort is not uncommon in the New Testament, although there is no systematic reflection on such an idea. If this remark is a counterattack against his Corinthian antagonists, it is a bitter and drastic one. They have become Satan's agents.
Beholding the gospel is seeing the glory of Christ. The Greek word translated glory has a broad range of meanings. In a simple sense, it means only honor and dignity, such as a royal official might have. In the context of religious language, however, the word most often hints at God's presence, much as the Hebrew word, kabod, did. (See the phrase "the glory of the Lord," for example, in Exodus 16:7 and 10.) Here Paul is claiming that when people see Christ's glory, they are naturally brought to faith. Christ's glory is none other than the "image" of God in Christ. This expression is only one of a vast number of words and metaphors Paul uses for the relationship between God and Christ. (See Colossians 1:15 where the term appears in what may be an early Christian hymn or creed.)
Verse 5 certainly sounds defensive, doesn't it? The statement in the previous verse, concerning the appearance of glory in Christ, seems to arouse Paul's determination to straighten the Corinthians out. It is Christ and his glory that he and his associates preach and not themselves. If that is their message, then it means that they have become "slaves" of the Corinthians for the sake of the proclamation of the gospel. We doubt that there are many pastors who would care to use this metaphor for their relationship with their parishioners! As a matter of fact, nowhere else does Paul speak of himself as "slave" of anyone other than Christ, so this statement is shocking. Just read Paul's admonition in 1 Corinthians 7:23: "do not become slaves of human masters." The metaphor of slavery here is used in the sense of commitment to the service of others.
In verse 4 Paul refers to the "light of the gospel," and he now returns to that imagery. He first cites an Old Testament passage (Genesis 1:3 and/or Isaiah 9:2). God is a light-giver and one who enlightens humans. In Christ God has done it again, shedding light in the darkness of the world. But the phrase, "who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ," is one of those thick Pauline expressions that is not easily unpacked. Several things, however, are helpful for our purposes. First, God is the one who enlightens us and so is always the one responsible for belief. Second, light is knowledge. But what kind of knowledge? Knowledge of glory, Paul responds. Verse 6 may draw a parallel between Moses and Christ. As Moses came down from Mount Sinai with his face aglow (Exodus 34:29-30), so the presence of God is discernible "in the face of Jesus Christ." The point is that God's glory is not hidden in Christ, as it was veiled by Moses (see 2 Corinthians 3:12-18).
What is "the knowledge of the glory of God" that we can see in Christ? Is it knowledge about God -- who God is and what God values? Or, is it knowing the glory itself -- that is, having experienced that glory for ourselves? Either way, something is gained by experience of the glory of God in Christ. Whether it be a portion of God's own spirit or understanding the divine, there are positive consequences to witnessing that glory. Moreover, there is another point at which this passage touches the first reading. Elisha suffered grief as a result of the experience of Elijah's ascension. Paul knows the glory of God in the face of Christ, but as a result he submits himself to a ministry that entails suffering, even enslaving himself to others.
But back to our initial question: Where do we find that glory? Pertinent to Paul's argument, is Christ's glory veiled for us today, hidden in the world around us? Where is Christ transfigured today?
Mark 9:2-9
Mark presents the simplest and least complicated of the three accounts of Christ's transfiguration. Yet that in no way compromises the richness of the story in Mark. It moves through four parts. The first is the brief statement of the setting for the event (v. 2a). That is followed by the transfiguration itself (vv. 2b-3) and the appearance of Moses and Elijah (v. 4). Peter then responds to this glorious experience, and the narrator comments on his response in verses 5 and 6. Immediately another glorious event occurs: the cloud appears and the voice speaks (v. 7). The whole thing ends as abruptly as it began (v. 8), and Jesus commands the disciples to silence (v. 9).
An antiphony between the human-earthly and the divine-heavenly realms is at the heart of this story. The narrative begins in this world, but immediately the transcendent invades this realm. Peter's response is the human answer to the divine action. The divine-heavenly world answers Peter with the cloud and the voice. The final stage brings us back to earth again in the last verses. It is a story of the dialogue of the human and the divine, an exchange between the two realms, and has us commuting from the one to the other dimensions of reality. As such then the story has one climax in the transfiguration and then another in the cloud and voice. The preacher might ask how a sermon can come to one peak only to be eclipsed by another.
The six day interval is puzzling. Mark seldom mentions such periods, and the meaning of this one is obscure. It may, of course, suggest the number of incompleteness just short of seven. This event was not yet the final point of the Gospel but anticipates and comes close to it. One of Mark's unique touches is the reference to "fuller" (translated simply "one") in verse 3. Jesus' clothing was whiter than even an expert in whitening wool could get them. A homey-like description, but an effective one.
The appearance of Elijah and Moses is richly ambiguous. Why these two? Do they represent the Law and the Prophets? The two great figures of Israel history? Both were thought to have been translated directly to heaven and may appear here because they share that status. (For the basis of the tradition of Moses' ascension see 2 Esdras 6:26.) Certainly the conversation among these three puts Jesus in the ancient Hebraic tradition, suggesting that his mission is in some way a continuation of the mission of these two luminaries.
Poor Peter. He is trying to make some intelligent response, but all he accomplishes is to demonstrate how petrified he and the others are. The tents ("dwellings") Peter proposes might house the divine figures in the story, as well as establish some permanent monument for this passing bolt of glory. The narrator tells us Peter "did not know what to say," but who among us would, given the wondrous occurrence before him?
Peter's suggestion seems in some way to evoke the climax of the theophany, which is comprised of the traditional features of Yahweh's confrontations with Israel -- the cloud (see, for example, Ezekiel 1:4) and the voice (see Jeremiah 11:4). The cloud is especially connected with Moses (Exodus 13:21) and the voice with Elijah (1 Kings 19:12-13). The content of the heavenly words confirm Jesus' identity, just as did the voice at his baptism (Mark 1:11). The voice at his baptism was directed exclusively to Jesus, however, and these heavenly words are intended for the disciples. So, Mark moves from God's confirmation of Jesus' sense of his identity to convince the disciples to believe. Verse 8 seems to hint that from this time forward the disciples will have no other focus for their lives than Jesus.
The reading concludes with the strange admonition to silence. In this case, Mark may be suggesting that the disciples have no way of understanding the transfiguration until they have experienced Christ's resurrection. The transfiguration anticipates Christ's resurrection, but the resurrection clarifies the meaning of the transfiguration. However, what is most important is that this command to silence until the resurrection implies Jesus' suffering and death. Jesus will again speak of his passion in verses 30-31 of this chapter. Try coupling this pronouncement of Jesus' death and resurrection at the conclusion of the transfiguration with what immediately precedes the marvelous event on the mount. A framework leaps out at us. In 8:31 Jesus speak of his death and resurrection and goes on to teach how suffering is a part of discipleship (8:34 --9:1). Jesus' predictions of his death and resurrection enclose the transfiguration story like the walls of a house.
Where's the glory? Mark wants us to understand that the transfiguration story can be read only in the context of Jesus' self-giving passion. Glory is hidden in the cross, in suffering and death and the resurrection God brings. Elisha knows no glorious experience of Elijah's ascension without the painful grief that accompanies separation from his master. Paul speaks of the glory of the gospel in the context of the suffering inflicted on him and his companions. It is a suffering that seems to veil the gospel, even though in Christ's suffering the veil is lifted.
Where's the glory for us, then? Perhaps not in the triumphant church, the grandiose acclamation of the Christian faith, or the conversion of the multitudes. Perhaps, rather, Christ's glory is witnessed in the silent sufferings of Christians for their faith. In the selfish acts of love that may often go unnoticed. In the countless Christians who daily are willing to suffer subtle discrimination because of their faith. Christ's transfiguration is there in the inconspicuous service of our neighbor because of the gospel.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
[Dr. Elizabeth Achtemeier, an ordained Presbyterian minister and Adjunct Professor of Bible and Homiletics at Union Theological Seminary, is known throughout the United States and Canada as a preacher, lecturer, and writer. She is the author of twenty books and frequently contributes to church publications.]
2 Kings 2:1-12
Part of this Old Testament text, namely 2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14 was previously discussed in the reading for Transfiguration Sunday in Cycle C. The preacher may therefore want to refer back to that exposition for a full exegetical discussion of this passage. For this Cycle B, we will take a different tack.
I wonder if you remember one of the characters in the popular television series, M*A*S*H. He was a stuffy, rich, upper-class doctor from Boston, named Charles, who had been conscripted out of his elite medical practice at Massachusetts General Hospital and sent to join the mobile medical unit during the Korean war. The other doctors, he felt, were far beneath him in sophistication, breeding, and training. In short, he was a snob. But Charles was also intelligent, and one episode pictured Charles beginning to wonder just what happened in death. What was there on that other side of this world's barrier, in that dark unknown we call life after death? As a result, Charles was portrayed frantically questioning a dying lad, whose life was rapidly slipping away. "What's happening to you?" Charles shouted at the dying soldier. "What do you see?" The program imaginatively, and perhaps profoundly, had the dying youth reply, "I smell bread." And he was gone.
We all wonder what is there on the other side of this life's final barrier, on the other side of death. There is mystery there that defies our probing, and none of us arrives at a definitive answer. To be sure, we do have those people in this country who have had out-of-body experiences, who have been clinically dead, but who have come back to life and told us that they have seen a light, or been transported down a long tunnel, or have felt as if they were hovering above their own bodies, watching the doctors trying frantically to save them. But the truth is that those people have not finally died. They have not crossed life's final limit. They have come back to life, to die as we all die, at some future date. And so what is out there when we "cross the bar," as the old saying goes? What is in that mysterious realm called death?
Our text for the morning deals with that mystery. Indeed, it is so full of mystery that very few of us understand it totally. The prophet Elijah, in the tenth century B. C., goes on that strange journey from Gilgal to Bethel, to Jericho, to the banks of the Jordan. He is accompanied all of the way by his faithful disciple, Elisha, who refuses to leave him, even though Elijah tries hard to get rid of Elisha's company. And it is a senseless journey actually, for nothing important occurs at any of the places, except that Elisha is repeatedly told that his master is going to be taken from him. Further, Gilgal is very near Jericho. Why is there inserted the side trip to Bethel? It all seems very strange.
In a sense, however, it reminds me of relatives sitting beside the bed of a dying loved one in a hospital room. There sometimes comes a time when the dying person wants to be left alone to slip away, when he or she has withdrawn into the beginning of some other realm, when they would just as soon say to their watchers, "You can go now." They have started on a transition to a place where the living cannot go. But like Elisha, most of us don't leave, do we? "No," we assure the dying, "we're here. We're not going to leave you." And we stay until the last breath is drawn.
It is clear, however, in such experiences, that the dying are indeed entering some mysterious, other realm that we cannot see and that we do not know. A friend tells of a glorious smile lighting up the face of her dying mother. And my own grandmother breathed out, "I'm so happy." Why was she happy? What was she experiencing? Why the glory on the face of my friend's mother? We have to say that we do not know.
In this story that we call "the translation of Elijah," that barrier to knowledge is pierced just a little, however, and Elisha -- and we, through the means of the story -- are allowed to peer beyond the end, just as we are allowed to peer beyond it in our gospel's account of the transfiguration of Jesus.
The faithful prophet Elijah is taken up by a whirlwind into heaven. Some artists have portrayed him as being carried to heaven in a chariot, but that is not what the text says. No. Elijah is caught up in a whirlwind and disappears, with only his prophet's mantle left behind for Elisha to inherit, as the next prophet for Israel.
But what does Elisha see when Elijah is taken up? He sees a chariot of fire drawn by horses of fire. In other words, he sees the fiery symbols of the power of Almighty God. He sees the might of the Lord who will inspire his prophetic words and deeds. He sees the signs of the army of the Lord, who has once more conquered death and taken his faithful servant Elijah to be with him. And so, in our New Testament lesson, good Christians, there is our triumphant, transfigured Christ in all his glory, reigning over the earth at the end of history, speaking with Elijah and Moses, who dwell with him in eternity.
I think the story speaks to all of us who sit at the bedside of dying loved ones and who are so reluctant and grieved to lose them. Indeed, it speaks to us, too, who are faithful and who hold our trust in our Lord to the end. The story assures all of us that the graves of this earth are not the end, the everlasting dark, the door closed forever, but rather that there is an eternal realm beyond all we see and know -- a realm of God that will never pass away. More than that, the story tells us that when we die, and when our faithful loved ones die, we pass into the realm of the God who holds all power in his hands. Do you remember Jesus telling his disciples, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me" (Matthew 28:18)? The God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ has all authority. He has all power. The evil specter of death cannot defeat him. Indeed, he showed that plainly to us on the first Easter morn. And so for those who love him, there is no victory of the grave and no final end of life. There is only life, eternal life, in the company of the God who not only has all power, but who has all goodness and love.
