Sermon Text: Matthew 17.1ff Title: "Been to the Mountaintop"

Preached: February 14, 1999 (Transfiguration Sunday)

It was only a problem because I didn't listen. In the Caribbean Moravian tradition, many congregations, as poor cousin, mission field churches, only had cast-off British Moravian hymnals, most of which did not have the music, just the words. Since many hymns are rhythmic equivalents of one another, the musicians, organists, pianists or whatever, were free to select tunes which were familiar or liked more than the ones shown by those the hymnals with tunes. In some cases each congregation had a favorite tune for singing with a particular text, and people from the different villages would say, oh, yes, at Green Bay they sing that to Melita but we sing it to Sagina... An example is "There is a Green Hill Far Away" which has at least three tunes, all different from the one to which you and I would sing it.

But not every hymn can be sung to a different tune. And when they told me, I thought they were reflecting their village's preference, so I didn't listen.

Listen: on my first year there, I was new, so no one said anything. AFTER my second year, they said something. There was a problem with the tune I was using for "Ride On, Ride On in Majesty." I was using the one in the hymnal, understand, the American Moravian tune written by J. Fred Wolle, once the organist at Central Moravian Church, my home church. They wanted St. Drostane -- which is the Episcopalian tune that you know. They told me everyone only knew St. Drostane; nobody knew the tune from the Red Moravian Hymnal, even though it was a century old, even though it had been in the red Hymnal since 1969. They told me, but I didn't listen.

On my third Palm Sunday, we were doing confirmations -- that would be equivalent to when a Baptism class is all baptized together. Six youths were professing their faith and becoming part of the Church on Palm Sunday morning. We crammed 190 people into a sanctuary which comfortably seats about 185. The service was big, exciting. The Caribbean-voiced singing of the opening hymn was big, loud and enthusiastic. And then the second hymn of the day, with 190 voices, "Ride On, Ride On in Majesty." I know that more than Lynnette and I were singing. But not many more. Nobody knew the tune from the red hymnal. I had been told, but I hadn't listened.

On my fourth year, we sang St. Drostane and the smaller crowd, maybe 170, rang the rafters and raised the roof.

This morning I attempted a similar feat; and as I wrote the sermon I still did not know how it would turn out. Phil Eaton [our organist] told me know one would know the Diadem setting of "All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name." I told Phil that aside from it being the unofficial theme song of Colgate-Rochester Divinity School, I wanted to hear it played on our big organ -- that if I were the only one singing it then I would sing LOUD. In other words, again I did not listen. I guess it is simply the human condition to get wrapped up in wanting to sing our loud praises in our own way that we sometimes forget to listen. [As it turns out many in the congregation HAD sung the hymn to Diadem before; but far from a majority. Neither Phil, nor I, were completely right.]

What is the point of religious experience? I don't mean the meaning of overall, gestalt, sum total, grand picture religious experience, but rather the once in a while, special, specific religious experience. What is the point in having one of those religious experiences? We're here, in this place, most of us, because we've had one, or two, or a few, or even several. Someone designed this building to facilitate them. The grand organ, the beautiful stained glass, the polished wood, the table with candles burning, the sound system and choir are all here to facilitate a religious experience of some sort for some one. And occasionally, to facilitate the overpowering, life-changing, paradigm-revisiting religious experience which makes religion religion. But what is the point?

In our worship, we certainly wish to convey a feeling of God's transcendence; we wish to help people feel that there is a God who is God. We wish to provide some sense of awe, and allow a loud response of praise. We wish to find mystery greater than our understanding, and find understanding beyond our experience of everyday life. We wish to express belief that there is a powerful God who listens and cares. But what is the point?

Or is there a point? Lately a movement has developed in some areas of the church where the worship service is seen largely as a place where praise happens. The songs are familiar to the worshippers, oft repeated and simple, and the music leads to a feverish pitch of excitement. Instead of intellectual content, there is an emphasis on emotional impact. And then, from the mountaintop of great feelings and high praisings, the congregation goes home, and lives life as before. They've had a religious experience, a sometimes emotional, powerful religious experience. But what was the point?

Even when we do well what we do well. When our choir is on and the prayers touch chords of emotion AND intellect. When the scripture readings are appropriate and the preacher is thought-provoking. When the hymns give insight and the tunes warm our hearts. Then still: what has been the point?

In the gospels, we are told a story of a religious experience on a mountaintop. Three disciples go up the hill with Jesus. On the summit, they see an apparition: Moses and Elijah, the representatives of the Law and the Prophets, appear next to Jesus, and he begins to shine unnaturally, shine like the sun, tough to look at. And then, in Matthew, while they're staring at the unnatural sun in their midst, the booming, thundering voice of God overshadows them; "This is my Beloved Child, listen to Him." Their hearts are filled with awe -- they are incapacitated by their awe. They are having the religious experience of their lives. And they fall to their knees quivering, seeking perhaps a way to worthily praise the powerful transcendent God they are experiencing. What's the point?

One reason I believe this story became part of the gospel tradition, one reason it was told often enough for Mark to write it down, for Matthew to copy it, is the way it handles religious experience. The early church had it's share of groups who were interested in experiential religion. As they built a wider base, however, the leaders of the church found a wider need for action and meaning in the life of the Christian followers. The disciples in the story, like many early Christians, have a religious experience of earth-shattering proportions, but the story has a wider framework of meaning, and a hint toward individual action. In other words, the story has a point.

Jesus shines between Moses and Elijah. In a time when the individual purity and righteousness of the Law and the social justice of the Prophets were at odds, he is the natural extension of each, and the meeting point. Jesus defines the common ground with the equation of two levitical laws: love God with your heart, mind, soul, and strength; and love your neighbor as yourself. And Jesus shines forth in teaching how to live by both law and prophecy. On the mountaintop, Jesus is endorsed by the entire Old Testament tradition, and blessed as the revelatory agent of God. Strong meaning for a strange story.

More than the meaning, however, is the subtle call to action. It would have been very easy for God to say something different in the configuration of the story teller. God could have said, for instance, "This is my Beloved Child, Praise Him!" And then, on their knees with hymns of thankfulness and awe, the disciples could have obeyed. A simple change to the story -- but still, a change. For God, in the story says: "This is my Beloved Child; listen to him." Listen to him.

We don't like to listen, not to each other, not to advice, not much. Yet we come to this place, in hope of having a religious experience where God will speak to us. We want to hear that booming thunderous voice. Or we want to hear that still small voice. Or we want to hear the voice within the song, or the word within the scripture, or the direction within the sermon, or the answer within the prayer. We come to hear, but will we listen?

There are many meanings within Christian faith. And they speak to us of eternal substance. When we come to the mountaintop, then, let us do our part, sing our songs, pray our prayers, praise with all our souls; but let us also listen for the leading of Christ, here, and beyond here. For we have been to the mountaintop, and it was very good; but the child of God lives in our very lives, and speaks to us still... if we listen.