Transfigured
Stories
Object:
Contents
Sharing Visions: "Transfigured" by Theonia Amenda
Good Stories: "A Shining Moment" by Steve Taylor
John's Scrap Pile: "Transfiguring Moments"
Have you ever looked on the shining face of a couple as they say their vows in a wedding ceremony, or witnessed the glow that surrounds a young woman after she has given birth to a child? These are transfiguring moments when God's glory is visible to the human eye. Both the witnesses and the bearer of the holy light are transformed. In this week's StoryShare, Theonia Amenda and Steve Taylor tell of such holy moments in a farm field and a refugee camp. As Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote:
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who seeks takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
Sharing Visions
Transfigured
by Theonia Amenda
And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them.
Mark 9:2b-3
We were standing in a circle in an open, mowed field on a mini-farm outside Nashville one summer day, worshiping God and saying good-bye to our retreat leader, who had just been elected by our General Conference to be a bishop. As we held hands while someone prayed for him, I found I could not keep my eyes closed. I wanted to gaze at this gentle, deeply spiritual man, for whom I had great admiration and respect. He was standing across the circle from me in his blue jeans and red checked shirt. My heart was sending him a great deal of love and God's energy as I listened to the words of the prayer.
All of a sudden, a strong golden-white light appeared at his feet, on his right side, and traveled up his body to his head, where it swirled around and around, then traveled down his left side. He was aglow with light, which was reflected off the persons on either side of him. I kept blinking my eyes, trying to clear them, to see if this light was being caused by something in my eyes, but it was not.
I felt as if time was standing still as I listened to the drone of a voice continuing to pray, heard a horse neighing down in the barn, and saw a dog walking around in the middle of the circle. I continued to watch the illumination of a man as about fifty of us sent out our love and support, asking for God's blessings and power to be poured out upon him.
After the prayer had been lifted up, a deep, deep silence fell over us. It was a silence that was almost audible. I wonder if it was like what the scriptures said Elijah experienced outside the cave as he was listening for God. One version of that scripture said that Elijah heard God "in the sound of sheer silence."
That describes the deep silence at that moment in our circle of love. Eventually that silence was broken as our song leader lifted her voice, inviting us to join her in a closing hymn. I heard others say later that they wished the silence had not been broken so soon, but no one spoke of what I saw.
I kept that experience within me until the next time I saw Bishop Reuben Job, which was months later. I dared to share with him what I had seen that day in that mowed field outside Nashville as we said good-bye to him. His response was acceptance, wondering if that accounted for his high level of energy as he began his new task, which he had not sought, but had answered as a call from God.
Theonia Amenda is a retired Diaconal Minister in The United Methodist Church. She continues in ministry in the area of Spiritual Formation as the leader of a Three-Year Covenant Community and as a spiritual director. You may write to her at 3612 Birnamwood Drive, Slinger, Wisconsin 53086.
Good Stories
A Shining Moment
by Steve Taylor
For it is the God who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.
2 Corinthians 4:6
Her name was Lorina. She was only 22 years old, yet somehow she seemed to be carrying far too much sorrow for someone who had seen so few years. I met her at a Bible study for young adults held at the home of one of our pastors. And in our military community, on another continent far from home, there were certainly hundreds of young, single adults.
This particular Bible study was not much different than many Bible studies I have attended. The leader did a good job, and it was interesting and enlightening, but the real reason for being there was not evident until after the evening study was complete. At that time, we joined together in a circle and we began to pray, each person as they felt led. As these young people prayed, I began to understand why many of them were here. Their prayers were filled with cries to God to enter into their lives and take away their pain: emotional and spiritual pain that had cut deep into their beings. The pain of being alone and afraid. The pain of being disconnected from family and community and home.
After we closed the prayer, I noticed that many of the younger folks gravitated toward some of us older folks. They began to talk. They spoke of their joys and their pain. They spoke of the loneliness of being away from home, and they talked about their hopes for the future. Lorina was sitting next to me and we entered into small talk - the kind you make when you are not quite sure what to say - until I asked her about her dreams for the future. Then, ever so softly, she began to cry. Through the tears and the silent sobs, she told me she had no dreams. She spoke of a tragic past that had swept away her dreams. She spoke about the death of her mother and the sexual abuse from her father. She talked about how she was often afraid, and that she had considered suicide - for certainly, death could not be any worse than the emotional hell in which she lived.
I must admit, I felt almost overwhelmed by the horror and intensity of her story. Yet as she talked, the Holy Spirit began to work and a very strange idea began to grow. I thought, "I know, I will ask her to come visit a refugee camp." And after I verbalized this idea, she sat and stared deeply into my eyes for a long time. I almost felt as if I could reach right down into her and touch her soul. It was a very real moment, one of those times when you know that something profound is happening. Slowly she nodded her head "yes."
The next Saturday, she was there at our appointed meeting place. I was a bit surprised that she had joined us. I honestly had not expected her to show. During the ride to the camp, another friend and I talked about how we would often see God at work in the camps, even in the midst of so much suffering. We admitted that, though it might seem strange, the light of God would shine there in ways that it would never shine back in the relative comfort and safety of our daily lives.
Lorina listened, but didn't respond much. We entered the camp and went about our various tasks of delivering food, medicine, and school supplies. I was very busy and soon lost track of Lorina. After a while, I saw her again.
There she was, sitting on a log bench, surrounded by maybe a dozen children. She was touching their faces, caressing their hair, and talking to them, giving herself to each one around her. And as I looked into her face, it was absolutely radiant. I was so shocked that I almost staggered. There, in the person of this tortured young girl, was the person of Jesus, surrounded by lonely and damaged children, sharing their pain and showing his love.
During the day I saw her several more times, moving through the camp, always surrounded by dozens of children, sometimes with as many as eight or nine holding her hands. We left the camp that day more reflective than usual. Normally, everyone would be talkative and expressive, but this day there was an uncharacteristic silence. After a while, I looked at Lorina and asked her, "Well, what do you think?"
Often, when asked of folks experiencing the camp for the first time, this question would elicit a whole host of comments, from discussing the camp conditions to discussing the theological implications for the church. Answers would almost always be punctuated with an excited mannerism. Yet, when Lorina answered, it was with three simple words. Three simple words expressed out of heartfelt conviction and from a deeply scarred soul: three simple words on which her hope now hung, and which her life, on this day, had expressed. She quietly said, "God is good...."
God is good....
Steve Taylor is Director of Missions Development for the North Carolina Conference of the United Methodist Church. Steve has worked in refugee relief in Slovenia and Croatia. He has served with Habitat for Humanity International, leading work teams in Vaz, Adony, and Budapest, Hungary. A twenty-year U.S. Air Force veteran, Steve is now an advocate for peace-making and non-violence.
John's Scrap Pile
Transfiguring Moments
And he was transfigured before them...
Mark 9:2b
There is a verse in "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" which comes to mind when I hear this story.
In the beauty of the lilies
Christ was born across the sea
With a glory in his bosom
That transfigures you and me.
There is something about Jesus of Nazareth that transfigures you and me. Jesus took Peter and James and John up a high mountain, and as they looked on his clothes became dazzling white. He was transfigured. They saw him in a way that they had never seen him before, in a way that they had never seen anyone before. And they would never be the same again. Witnesses to a transfiguration can't help being transfigured themselves.
Did you ever see someone transfigured? Have you ever been transfigured?
Sara Jan Garza tells of a powerful transfiguring moment in her life:
"In January 1978, my first-born child, a son named Robin, died of crib death (SIDS) at the age of 13 months. I was devastated and suicidal. I felt like my son was all alone and needed me. I went to the grave every day so that he wouldn't feel so alone. A few months later, while trying to decide whether or not to use an overdose of pills to 'follow' my son to the grave, I went to the Maundy Thursday service at my church. As I knelt at the altar rail to pray, I felt the urge to open my eyes and look up.
"There I saw my little boy, smiling, holding someone's hand. I was amazed to see him, and then more amazed when I heard someone's voice. I looked up and saw that it was none other than Jesus who was holding Robin's hand. He said to me, 'Why are you so worried about your son? He is My son too, and I am with him. I will take care of him for you.'
"I have never stopped missing him, but I have the peace of knowing that Robin no longer needs me; he is well taken care of."
Sara Jan Garza is a lifelong member of First United Methodist Church in Fort Madison, Iowa. She graduated in 1999 from the School of Lay Ministry, and has done pulpit supply in a number of churches since 1995.
StoryShare, March 2, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons and in worship and classroom settings only. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
Sharing Visions: "Transfigured" by Theonia Amenda
Good Stories: "A Shining Moment" by Steve Taylor
John's Scrap Pile: "Transfiguring Moments"
Have you ever looked on the shining face of a couple as they say their vows in a wedding ceremony, or witnessed the glow that surrounds a young woman after she has given birth to a child? These are transfiguring moments when God's glory is visible to the human eye. Both the witnesses and the bearer of the holy light are transformed. In this week's StoryShare, Theonia Amenda and Steve Taylor tell of such holy moments in a farm field and a refugee camp. As Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote:
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who seeks takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
Sharing Visions
Transfigured
by Theonia Amenda
And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them.
Mark 9:2b-3
We were standing in a circle in an open, mowed field on a mini-farm outside Nashville one summer day, worshiping God and saying good-bye to our retreat leader, who had just been elected by our General Conference to be a bishop. As we held hands while someone prayed for him, I found I could not keep my eyes closed. I wanted to gaze at this gentle, deeply spiritual man, for whom I had great admiration and respect. He was standing across the circle from me in his blue jeans and red checked shirt. My heart was sending him a great deal of love and God's energy as I listened to the words of the prayer.
All of a sudden, a strong golden-white light appeared at his feet, on his right side, and traveled up his body to his head, where it swirled around and around, then traveled down his left side. He was aglow with light, which was reflected off the persons on either side of him. I kept blinking my eyes, trying to clear them, to see if this light was being caused by something in my eyes, but it was not.
I felt as if time was standing still as I listened to the drone of a voice continuing to pray, heard a horse neighing down in the barn, and saw a dog walking around in the middle of the circle. I continued to watch the illumination of a man as about fifty of us sent out our love and support, asking for God's blessings and power to be poured out upon him.
After the prayer had been lifted up, a deep, deep silence fell over us. It was a silence that was almost audible. I wonder if it was like what the scriptures said Elijah experienced outside the cave as he was listening for God. One version of that scripture said that Elijah heard God "in the sound of sheer silence."
That describes the deep silence at that moment in our circle of love. Eventually that silence was broken as our song leader lifted her voice, inviting us to join her in a closing hymn. I heard others say later that they wished the silence had not been broken so soon, but no one spoke of what I saw.
I kept that experience within me until the next time I saw Bishop Reuben Job, which was months later. I dared to share with him what I had seen that day in that mowed field outside Nashville as we said good-bye to him. His response was acceptance, wondering if that accounted for his high level of energy as he began his new task, which he had not sought, but had answered as a call from God.
Theonia Amenda is a retired Diaconal Minister in The United Methodist Church. She continues in ministry in the area of Spiritual Formation as the leader of a Three-Year Covenant Community and as a spiritual director. You may write to her at 3612 Birnamwood Drive, Slinger, Wisconsin 53086.
Good Stories
A Shining Moment
by Steve Taylor
For it is the God who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.
2 Corinthians 4:6
Her name was Lorina. She was only 22 years old, yet somehow she seemed to be carrying far too much sorrow for someone who had seen so few years. I met her at a Bible study for young adults held at the home of one of our pastors. And in our military community, on another continent far from home, there were certainly hundreds of young, single adults.
This particular Bible study was not much different than many Bible studies I have attended. The leader did a good job, and it was interesting and enlightening, but the real reason for being there was not evident until after the evening study was complete. At that time, we joined together in a circle and we began to pray, each person as they felt led. As these young people prayed, I began to understand why many of them were here. Their prayers were filled with cries to God to enter into their lives and take away their pain: emotional and spiritual pain that had cut deep into their beings. The pain of being alone and afraid. The pain of being disconnected from family and community and home.
After we closed the prayer, I noticed that many of the younger folks gravitated toward some of us older folks. They began to talk. They spoke of their joys and their pain. They spoke of the loneliness of being away from home, and they talked about their hopes for the future. Lorina was sitting next to me and we entered into small talk - the kind you make when you are not quite sure what to say - until I asked her about her dreams for the future. Then, ever so softly, she began to cry. Through the tears and the silent sobs, she told me she had no dreams. She spoke of a tragic past that had swept away her dreams. She spoke about the death of her mother and the sexual abuse from her father. She talked about how she was often afraid, and that she had considered suicide - for certainly, death could not be any worse than the emotional hell in which she lived.
I must admit, I felt almost overwhelmed by the horror and intensity of her story. Yet as she talked, the Holy Spirit began to work and a very strange idea began to grow. I thought, "I know, I will ask her to come visit a refugee camp." And after I verbalized this idea, she sat and stared deeply into my eyes for a long time. I almost felt as if I could reach right down into her and touch her soul. It was a very real moment, one of those times when you know that something profound is happening. Slowly she nodded her head "yes."
The next Saturday, she was there at our appointed meeting place. I was a bit surprised that she had joined us. I honestly had not expected her to show. During the ride to the camp, another friend and I talked about how we would often see God at work in the camps, even in the midst of so much suffering. We admitted that, though it might seem strange, the light of God would shine there in ways that it would never shine back in the relative comfort and safety of our daily lives.
Lorina listened, but didn't respond much. We entered the camp and went about our various tasks of delivering food, medicine, and school supplies. I was very busy and soon lost track of Lorina. After a while, I saw her again.
There she was, sitting on a log bench, surrounded by maybe a dozen children. She was touching their faces, caressing their hair, and talking to them, giving herself to each one around her. And as I looked into her face, it was absolutely radiant. I was so shocked that I almost staggered. There, in the person of this tortured young girl, was the person of Jesus, surrounded by lonely and damaged children, sharing their pain and showing his love.
During the day I saw her several more times, moving through the camp, always surrounded by dozens of children, sometimes with as many as eight or nine holding her hands. We left the camp that day more reflective than usual. Normally, everyone would be talkative and expressive, but this day there was an uncharacteristic silence. After a while, I looked at Lorina and asked her, "Well, what do you think?"
Often, when asked of folks experiencing the camp for the first time, this question would elicit a whole host of comments, from discussing the camp conditions to discussing the theological implications for the church. Answers would almost always be punctuated with an excited mannerism. Yet, when Lorina answered, it was with three simple words. Three simple words expressed out of heartfelt conviction and from a deeply scarred soul: three simple words on which her hope now hung, and which her life, on this day, had expressed. She quietly said, "God is good...."
God is good....
Steve Taylor is Director of Missions Development for the North Carolina Conference of the United Methodist Church. Steve has worked in refugee relief in Slovenia and Croatia. He has served with Habitat for Humanity International, leading work teams in Vaz, Adony, and Budapest, Hungary. A twenty-year U.S. Air Force veteran, Steve is now an advocate for peace-making and non-violence.
John's Scrap Pile
Transfiguring Moments
And he was transfigured before them...
Mark 9:2b
There is a verse in "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" which comes to mind when I hear this story.
In the beauty of the lilies
Christ was born across the sea
With a glory in his bosom
That transfigures you and me.
There is something about Jesus of Nazareth that transfigures you and me. Jesus took Peter and James and John up a high mountain, and as they looked on his clothes became dazzling white. He was transfigured. They saw him in a way that they had never seen him before, in a way that they had never seen anyone before. And they would never be the same again. Witnesses to a transfiguration can't help being transfigured themselves.
Did you ever see someone transfigured? Have you ever been transfigured?
Sara Jan Garza tells of a powerful transfiguring moment in her life:
"In January 1978, my first-born child, a son named Robin, died of crib death (SIDS) at the age of 13 months. I was devastated and suicidal. I felt like my son was all alone and needed me. I went to the grave every day so that he wouldn't feel so alone. A few months later, while trying to decide whether or not to use an overdose of pills to 'follow' my son to the grave, I went to the Maundy Thursday service at my church. As I knelt at the altar rail to pray, I felt the urge to open my eyes and look up.
"There I saw my little boy, smiling, holding someone's hand. I was amazed to see him, and then more amazed when I heard someone's voice. I looked up and saw that it was none other than Jesus who was holding Robin's hand. He said to me, 'Why are you so worried about your son? He is My son too, and I am with him. I will take care of him for you.'
"I have never stopped missing him, but I have the peace of knowing that Robin no longer needs me; he is well taken care of."
Sara Jan Garza is a lifelong member of First United Methodist Church in Fort Madison, Iowa. She graduated in 1999 from the School of Lay Ministry, and has done pulpit supply in a number of churches since 1995.
StoryShare, March 2, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons and in worship and classroom settings only. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
