February 11, 2024, Remember, Remember, Remember, Mark 9:2-9 – Mtr. Kathryn Boswell

saintphilipsnorwood ♦ February 11, 2024 ♦ Leave a comment

To listen to the sermon, click the link above. The text is below.

If you have read the Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis, you might remember that one of the books is called The Silver Chair, and it’s about two children, Jill and Eustace. The Silver Chair begins with Jill and Eustace being magically transported to Narnia from their boarding school, just when some very nasty bullies are about to catch up with them and do what very nasty bullies do. Jill finds herself on the top of an unimaginably high mountain. And on this mountain she meets a Lion, Aslan, who is the Lord of Narnia, and who sends her on a quest to find the rightful prince of Narnia, who is being held captive by an evil witch.

In order to carry out her quest, the Lion gives Jill a set of signs that will guide her. He makes her recite them back to him, over and over, until she has learned them absolutely by heart, because the signs are everything she will need to carry out her quest successfully. And before he sends her off on her journey, the Lion says two things to Jill: “First: remember, remember, remember the signs. Say them to yourself when you wake in the morning, and when you lie down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night. And whatever strange things may happen to you, let nothing turn your mind from following the signs. And secondly, I give you a warning. Here on the mountain I have spoken to you clearly: I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind. And the signs which you have learned here will not look at all as you expect them to look, when you meet them there. That is why it is so important to know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the signs and believe the signs. Nothing else matters.”

I always think of that scene in The Silver Chair when I read the story we read just now, about Jesus being transfigured on the mountaintop. Peter and James and John found themselves in a situation utterly outside of their normal human experience. Suddenly Jesus, the man they thought they knew, is revealed to them in all his divine glory – or, probably, it was just the merest taste of all his divine glory, but it was all these men could bear to see. Jesus’s robes glowed, an impossibly bright white – whiter than anyone could possibly bleach them, Peter said, when he told the story to Mark.

And then, Jesus wasn’t alone anymore. He was talking to Moses – the Moses, no less – and the great prophet Elijah. It couldn’t be happening. But it was; there they were. They had no idea what to do or to say. Peter, who always felt like he ought to say or do something no matter the situation, started babbling about building shrines or some foolishness. But even Peter was struck dumb when the voice of God thundered out of the heavens. And God said, “This is my Son, the Beloved.” And God said, “Listen to him!”

Why did Jesus bring Peter and James and John up onto that mountain? Why did he want them to see him in his divine glory? I’m pretty sure Jesus wasn’t trying to terrify them, and I don’t think he was trying to impress them. They had seen Jesus cast out demons and heal dozens of illnesses; they had seen him restore sight to blind people and let lame people toss away their crutches and leap for joy. I’m pretty sure he didn’t need to glow to impress them.

But here’s where I believe C.S. Lewis gives us a clue about why they were there. “Here on the mountaintop,” the great Lion, Aslan, tells Jill, “the air is clear and your mind is clear. As you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken.” Up on the mountaintop with Jesus, there were no crowds of desperate people, poor and sick and lame, tormented by troubles they could only understand as demonic. Up on the mountaintop, they weren’t trudging from village to village. They were still. It was just the four of them, just the three men and Jesus, no arguing, no jostling for position, no itinerary. Just for that moment. Into the dazzling clarity and stillness of that moment, God spoke. And what he told them was this, “Listen to my Son.”

As Aslan said to Jill, God said to Peter and James and John, “Remember, remember, remember to listen.” Because when they went back down the mountain, when they were surrounded by those hungry multitudes again, when they had to deal with personality clashes and with petty jealousies again, when they had to figure out what they were going to have for dinner and where they were going to sleep tonight, again, listening was going to be so much harder than it was up on the mountain. Jesus wasn’t going to appear in his glory when they went back down. Things were going to get complicated, as they always do. But they had to listen to Jesus, and they had to keep listening to him, and they had to take great care that all of those complications and distractions didn’t confuse their minds.

And we know how that works. How many times have you heard a really moving sermon or read something that touched you deeply, and you are just all inspired and fired up and everything suddenly looks clear and bright and hopeful – and then you go home, or you close the book, and the phone rings, and it’s that person who always wants to talk for a long, long, long time about the same old things, and the house is a total mess, and there is nothing but chaos and suffering on the news again, and you have to get dinner on the table, and the puppy has an accident. “Remember, remember, remember to listen.” Because as wonderful as Jesus looked up on that mountaintop, it’s down in the thickened and confusing air of this world that we really need to hear him.

And we don’t always hear him where and how we expect to hear him. In fact, I have found, more and more, that I hear the voice of Jesus where I least expect. I hear Jesus when my child, my child who is an avowed atheist, speaks the love of Jesus into a situation. I hear Jesus when my good friend, who gave up on the church years ago, is outraged – and with good reason – when the behavior of the church is an offense to the heart of Christ. I hear the voice of Jesus in the kindness of my neighbor who hasn’t darkened the door of a church since he got married 37 years ago. I hear Jesus even in the most unexpected places – as long as I remember to listen.

And then there are those other times we might not be so sure we want to hear what he is saying. After that day on the mountain, Jesus began to teach his disciples things they didn’t understand and frankly, preferred not to hear – that things were going to get really rough, that people were going to turn against them, that he was going to die, that he was going to rise again. It was more than they could take in right there and then. Listening can be hard.

But the good news, the best news, is that Jesus wasn’t still up on that mountaintop. He wasn’t speaking from the unreachable distance of dazzling glory. He kept on speaking right in their messy midst. He’s speaking right here, right in our messy midst. He’s speaking from the place of our sadness, from the place of our anxiety, from the place of our frustration and powerlessness. Jesus chooses to bear the scars of his suffering even in his resurrected body. He still speaks the language of this thickened and confusing air we breathe. We just have to listen for him.

Following Jesus is our quest. We have all been commissioned by him; we have all been sent out by the Lord of this world. He has called us to be the bearers of his love and grace and light into the dark places. But we have his word to guide us every step of the way – like the old song, we say, “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” Remember, remember, remember. Listen for his voice when you wake in the morning, and when you lie down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night. Whatever strange things may happen to you, let nothing turn your mind from listening for the voice of the Son. Because truly, nothing else matters. +