Historically, Lent has been my favorite season of the Church year.  I know to many people they enter Lent with a feeling a dread:  everything feels more somber, the music seems, to quote an unnamed choir member, dour, and the defeat of the cross looms large, literally shrouded in black the whole season.  But for me, those are the very things that make Lent so rich.  I love an intentional time of reflection, I enjoy music that speaks to the mourning of our souls, and I appreciate how the starkness of Lent feels like an honest mirror, reflecting the starkness of our humanity.  There is a physicality to Lent that feels authentic and important to a sincere spiritual journey.

Despite how that has been historically true for my own journey, this year, I find myself grudgingly walking toward Lent instead of purposefully and gratefully entering Lent.  Perhaps after many years of pandemic living I have had my fill reflecting on sinfulness and suffering.  Or maybe my excitement about our mutual sabbatical has me itching to get started on the joy instead of journeying through the work.  Or maybe there is self-work I have been avoiding, and I am not thrilled the Church year is taking me to task.  Whatever is happening, I find myself wanting to linger in Epiphany, to team up with Peter and make some dwellings for all the goodness that has been revealed to us since Christmas.  I find Peter’s words, “Lord, it is good for us to be here…” echoing in my ears as a plea for basking in the warmth of the transfigured Jesus for just a while longer.

In the Gospel lesson from Matthew today, when Jesus appears before the disciples with Moses and Elijah, in clothing dazzling white, Peter’s impulse in many ways indicates how Peter “…’gets it.’  He discerns the presence of God is there and seems to be making an attempt to rise to the occasion.”[i]  And as scholar Debie Thomas concludes, “Peter is absolutely right.  It is good to set aside times and places for contemplation.  It is good to gaze upon Jesus, whenever and however he reveals himself to us.  It is good to move out of our comfort zones and confront the Otherness of the divine.”[ii]  Who among us has not been an amazing retreat, had a powerful moment through music, or literally been on a mountaintop and felt a holy connection to God like nothing else?  We too have wanted to not just to linger a little longer, but maybe build some dwelling places to stay for a long while.

But as Debie Thomas also reminds us, “….it’s not good to fixate on the sublime so much that we desecrate the mundane.”[iii]  I remember many years ago reading The Quotidian Mysteries by Kathleen Norris.  In her book, she describes her journey to find the sacred in the mundane:  in folding laundry, washing dishes, even cleaning up the altar after church.  For the longest, she resented that work, especially knowing how often women are regulated to this mundane work.  And yet, slowly, she began to discover what Peter discovers today:  that no matter how glorious those mountaintop experiences are, they are not the fullness of experiences with the sacred.  As one scholar explains, “In this story the ascent to the heights of the mountain and ‘peak’ experiences of encounter with God is followed by descent into suffering and service in the valley of need where God’s calling beckons.  Ascent and descent are inextricably bound for the followers of Jesus, just as they were for him.”[iv]

If you are feeling a bit of dread about Lent this year too, there is hope in the text for all of us.  As the disciples are cowering in fear, Jesus does something incredibly mundane.  Jesus touches the disciples, whispering words about not being afraid.  Stanley Hauerwas tells us, “Jesus’ touch is significant.  By touching them Jesus reminds them that the very one who is declared by a voice from heaven to be the Son is flesh and blood.  In this man heaven and earth are joined”[v]  But also in that touch, we are reminded that although mountaintop experiences hold a significance in our hearts, our work is really about “…finding Jesus in the rhythms and routines of the everyday.  In the loving touch of a friend.  In the human voices that say, ‘Don’t be afraid.’  In the unspectacular business of discipleship, prayer, service, and solitude.  In the unending challenge to love my neighbor as myself.”[vi] 

By all means, take this last Sunday in Epiphany to enjoy the spectacular:  the music with drama and flare, the stories of otherworldliness, the excitement of intimacy with glory.  Celebrate and enjoy the spectacular today.  And, know that your invitation today is also to relish the unspectacular.  Our lives are spent in the valley between the mount of transfiguration and the mount of Calvary:  the valley where Jesus walks with us, helping us see the spectacular in the mundane.  If you are feeling unsteady, remember Jesus’ hand is on your shoulder – either metaphorically or through the touch of someone else with you in the valley.  This week, Hickory Neck joins together down this mountain and into the valley of Lent.  Maybe the valley won’t be so mundane if we walk together.  Amen.

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[i] Anna Case-Winters, Matthew.  Belief:  A Theological Commentary on the Bible (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2015), 213.

[ii] Debie Thomas, Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections on the Life of Christ (Eugene, Oregon:  Cascade Books, 2022), 111.

[iii] Thomas, 112.

[iv] Case-Winters, 215.

[v] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew:  Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 155.

[vi] Thomas, 112.