Impassioned Worship
Impassioned Worship
Matthew 17:1-9
February 19th 2023
Rev. Rhonda Blevins, pastor
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became bright as light. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I[a] will set up three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they raised their eyes, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.
As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.
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It was the most interesting worship service I’ve ever attended.
The setting was the small country of Malta. You can picture Italy on the map in your mind, right? The boot that juts down into the Mediterranean Sea? Then you have the football it’s kicking—Sicily. And due south of Sicily, out in the middle of the Mediterranean, rests the tiny island nation of Malta.
Malta is one of the most Christian nations on earth. Maltese Christians trace their lineage back to the Apostle Paul, who was shipwrecked on the island on his way to Rome to be tried as a political rebel. Archaeology points to Malta being one of the first Roman colonies to convert to Christianity. Today Malta remains largely Roman Catholic.
The worship service I attended was at a Catholic church. But this wasn’t any ordinary Catholic church. This was a charismatic Catholic church. It had a rock band and a laser light show—the hundreds of young people there raised their hands as they sang. It was highly emotive with shouts and tears and whoops and cheers. And when the priest brought forth the host, the room erupted in screams and applause, as if a rock star just entered the stage.
It was impassioned, and it was memorable, to say the least. It was easy to get caught up in the moment.
But I’ve grown to realize since then . . . worship isn’t just about a moment, it’s about a movement.
Let me explain.
Today in our scripture text, we find Jesus on top of a high mountain with Peter, James and John. And there Jesus was transfigured before them. They saw his face shining like the sun; they observed his clothes radiating with light. They witnessed the appearance of Moses and Elijah. They heard a voice from heaven echoing the same words spoken at Jesus’ baptism: This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”
What a moment for those three disciples! It was amazing! It was exciting! Peter was so impassioned that he offered to set up three tents, one for Jesus, one for Moses, and one for Elijah, so that they could all stay in that moment a while longer.
Peter would soon learn—this “transfiguration” wasn’t just about a moment, it was about a movement.
Friends, I’ve read this story countless times. I’ve even preached from this story on a few occasions. And as is often the case with scripture, you can discover something new with each reading, depending on life circumstance, spiritual maturity, or the whispers of the Holy Spirit. And reading this text this week, I began to wonder something I had never considered with this story before. What if nothing changed in Jesus? What if everything changed in those three disciples?
Let me explain.
Thomas Merton was a Trappist monk in the mid-twentieth century, living and working at the Abbey of Gethsemni, just outside of Louisville, Kentucky. Merton was a prolific writer, a theologian, and a scholar of comparative religion. Merton hung out with people like the Dalai Lama and Thich Nhat Hanh.
One story Merton told has sparked my imagination and curiosity for years. I’ve told the story to you before, but it bears repeating, especially in light of today’s scripture text.
In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness. This sense of liberation from an illusory difference was such a relief and such a joy to me that I almost laughed out loud. I have the immense joy of being man, a member of a race in which God Himself became incarnate. As if the sorrows and stupidities of the human condition could overwhelm me, now I realize what we all are. And if only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.
Merton experienced seeing people “shining like the sun” and it changed him forever. It sounds a bit like transfiguration, doesn’t it? Except, it wasn’t the crowd of people that changed on the corner of Fourth and Walnut in Louisville, Kentucky, was it? Who was it that changed? Merton!
Back to Jesus and the three disciples.
Maybe it was Jesus that changed on that mountain. Maybe Jesus took on an acute, short-lived glow. Or maybe, just maybe (hear me out, now), the disciples woke from their “dream of separateness” for just a moment. They couldn’t stay in that moment. No. But that moment sparked a movement—a movement in each of them. Listen again:
When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they raised their eyes, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision . . .”
Jesus didn’t say, “tell no one about my transfiguration.” He said, “tell no one about the vision.”
The word in the Greek that we translate as “vision” is horama, which means to “see with the mind.” It’s an inward, spiritual seeing.
I’m not sure that Jesus changed at all. What changed, then? The disciples, and their ability to see. There on that mountain, the scales fell from the disciples’ eyes, and they could see deep, profound, spiritual truth.
And then.
And then they had to leave the mountain, they had to leave the moment, and return to the valley below . . .
. . . where their worship would inspire their work
. . . where their moment would fuel their movement
These three disciples—Peter, James, and John—would become the leaders of a movement that we now call “Christianity.” This movement began with 11 men in a Middle Eastern city over 2,000 years ago. Now there are over 2.2 billion people who claim Jesus as Lord and Savior.
What if those disciples stayed on that mountain? What if they pitched those tents and hung out there in that rapturous moment for the rest of their lives? What then? They would have faded into obscurity. We would never have heard about Jesus from Nazareth.
· Worship wasn’t just what happened on that mountain.
· Worship was also what happened in the valley.
Translated for our context today:
· Worship isn’t just what happens on Sunday mornings.
· Worship is also what happens Monday through Saturday.
· Worship isn’t just what happens in here.
· Worship is also what happens out there.
Our worship is “impassioned” not through raised hands or shouts of “Alleluia,” though that’s all fine and dandy. Our worship is truly “impassioned” when we live our lives in service of the One worthy of our praise.
How do we do this? Three ways, each integral to a life of “impassioned” worship:
Heads. We think about God. We ponder God. We sometimes wrestle with God. And we grow in our ability to yield our thoughts to God. We worship God with our heads.
Hearts. We engage our emotions. We allow ourselves to feel something—joy and sorrow, anger and compassion. We love God and we love neighbor, and we begin to discover that they’re one in the same. We worship God with our hearts.
Hands. We serve God with our lives. Through what we do and what we say. Through serving something other than self and ego. We serve God through our hands.
Brother Lawrence was a 17th Century monk who wrote a very famous little book called The Practice of the Presence of God. In it, Lawrence talked about his life in the monastery, where he was assigned menial labor working in the kitchen as a cook for most of his monastic life. In the book, he writes about his work in the kitchen as an act of worship:
It is not necessary to have great things to do.
I turn my little omelet in the pan for the love of God.
That’s impassioned worship. Living our daily lives—turning our little omelets—in a spirit of love and devotion to the Eternal.
What’s the “little omelet” in your life? The mundane tasks to which you have been called? The routine chores? The tedious trappings of your everyday life? The disciples had to come down from the mountain to the valley where life was lived. We live in the valley too. We appreciate the mountaintop moments we have along the way, but those moments must lead to a movement—a movement in our hearts—the way we approach mendacity.
Can we, like Brother Lawrence, turn our little omelets in the pan for the love of God? Can we practice the presence of God in the car, at the store, in the office, in the kitchen? Can we find a way to worship with our very lives? That’s impassioned worship.
A few weeks ago I offered four practices, that I believe if we do these things well, a couple of things will happen:
1. We’ll be faithful to the call of God in our lives, and
2. Chapel by the Sea will thrive into the years, even decades ahead.
Do you remember these four practices?
Here’s the thing—we don’t have to make any extreme changes. Because this is an awesome church and that’s only true because you are exceptional individuals. No extreme changes required.
The invitation is to make little shifts—small adjustments—subtle movements that our faith might be deeper and wider—that we might all make strides toward practicing the presence of God in our daily lives. If we can each do that as individuals, then when we come together as a local church:
· Our community will be deepened,
· Our worship will be impassioned,
· Our hospitality will be radical,
· Our missions will be transformational.
On Wednesday, we begin the liturgical season of Lent—a season for reflecting on our faith and for deepening our spiritual lives. Some traditions encourage the faithful to “give something up for Lent.” Giving up chocolate is a common trope.
Here’s what I invite you to do. Look at those four practices on the front of your bulletin again. Is there one of them that resonates with you more than the others? One of these practices that sparks your imagination or that touches your heart or puts some fire in your belly? Now keep looking at it . . . is there some tangible way to engage this practice with intention during the season of Lent?
If “deep community” speaks to you, is there some way God is calling you to embody this? Some way you can deepen your community through engagement or vulnerability or bringing people together or caring for others in some meaningful way? Might that be your Lenten practice?
If “impassioned worship” speaks to you, is there some spiritual practice to which God is calling you? Prayer or meditation or spiritual reading? Or maybe being more intentional about practicing the presence of God in some daily task. Might that be your Lenten practice?
If “radical hospitality” resonates with you, is there some way you’re being called to fling open the doors of grace? Is there a person who needs your welcome? Or group of people? For whom does your heart ache? It might be as simple as braving to introduce yourself to someone you haven’t met before. Might that be your Lenten practice?
If “transformational mission” speaks to you, is there some outreach effort you need to engage in? Some “least of these” ministry to which you feel called? Some way to use your unique skills and passions and talents in service of God’s creation? Might that be your Lenten practice?
What are you going to give up for Lent? Or better yet, what are you going to take up?
The church where Terry and I attended when we first got married wasn’t too far from the corner of Fourth and Walnut in Louisville, Kentucky. The pastor closed every worship service with this benediction: “now go and resume the worship that is your very lives.”
May that be true for us this and every day.