The Transfiguration 1998 | Crossing Over | Luke 9:28-36

I have always counted myself to be a person of faith. Though the quality and nature of that faith have changed, the fervor, or the magnitude of religious feeling going on in me has not. I counted myself a Southern Baptist until I was twenty-four years old. At that time, however, something mystical, something inexplicable intervened.

That something, or rather, someone, was Charles Williams. At the time, I was a student at California Baptist College, which you have heard many stories about. I was wrestling mightily with the Monster God of my childhood faith at that time, waking screaming with visions of hellfire at night. It was a very distressing time: I felt confused by the questions my childhood faith would not, or could not answer. And from the depths of my despair I cried out to God for help.

Into that chaos came a little book titled All Hallow's Eve by Charles Williams. This book was to be my salvation. All Hallow's Eve is a supernatural thriller, taking place in the late 1930s, featuring evil magicians and imperfect, selfish, ordinary people who are unwittingly thrown into the maelstrom of a cosmic spiritual struggle. Almost in spite of themselves, the very ordinary characters respond in unexpected ways, by either retreating and becoming more selfish and isolated, or by finding within themselves the strength to act for God, even at the cost of great personal sacrifice.

Williams' vision cracked my spiritual world open with power. Here is this mystical Anglo-Catholic who paints a portrait with his poetic fiction of a world into which the spiritual dimension frequently intrudes. In fact, Williams' universe is one in which the spiritual and temporal worlds are ultimately inseparable, with the one constantly impinging on the other, feeding the other, liberating the other.

I instantly became a sacramentalist, and counted Williams my own personal patron saint, even going so far as to post a sign in my study near my altar which read "The Charles Williams Memorial Chapel."

Williams, however, only took me halfway. He showed me the immediacy of the spiritual world, and the great cosmic import of seemingly mundane events. But it was a book by Alan Watts called Behold the Spirit: A Study in the Necessity of Mystical Religion that gave me the beginnings of a systematic theology which would make sense of my experience and my newfound perspective.

Now, Watts wrote this book when he served as an Episcopal priest, and it is a masterpiece of mystical theology. In this book I found a framework in which I could understand the incarnation, including, and especially the troublesome crucifixion of Christ.

These two writers did their work on me, and I became a changed person. I no longer cowered before an angry, monstrous deity, I no longer counted myself as depraved and sinful. This transfiguration from one kind of creature to another finally became complete when I completed my exodus from Baptist bondage to the relative freedom of the Episcopal Church.

I call this an exodus, because that is how it felt. I was leaving a life bondage behind. Call it Egypt or the Southern Baptist Convention, I was out of there. And just across the red sea of confirmation was a land of milk and honey where my soul found healing, solace, and new life.

I am grateful that I had the courage to make this exodus, but I would be kidding myself if I thought that I had done it alone. If it hadn't been for Charles Williams and Alan Watts, my spiritual mentors, I may never have left the land of leeks and onions.

As Fr. Richard has mentioned many times, the story of Israel is an archetypal one: these are things that are not just facts of history, but of the present as well. In the story of the Exodus, the Jews celebrate their journey from slavery to freedom, and celebrate special holidays to keep this history alive and active in their contemporary spiritual lives.

An exodus is a great spiritual event that we can all relate to. A person may go through several such experiences in the course of their journeys. The great saints of scripture and legend were certainly no different.

Moses, of course, led that archetypal exodus out of Egypt. Elijah's exodus was a swift and fiery one, spiriting him out of this world and into the next. Scripture tells us in today's reading that Jesus understood his journey as an exodus of sorts as well.

Here he was, relatively safe in his personal "Egypt." He could have skipped going to Jerusalem for the Passover. His disciples begged him to, in fact. He could stay in the land of leeks and onions and have a nice little peripatetic preaching ministry until he finally married and settled down.

But Jesus knew he was being called to something greater. Like all exodus', this one involved great risk, and great trust. It is the kind of situation no one should go into alone. Fortunately, Jesus was not alone. For even while the disciples dropped off and slept, Jesus was able to consult with his mentors.

Like Williams and Watts, who spoke to me words of hope, and who gave me the courage to leave Egypt behind forever; so Jesus turned to the writers who gave him hope and sustenance. We do not know if Jesus' shining with glory was actual or whether it was part of the disciples' dreams; but we do know that in a time of great trial, Jesus turned to the authors who had mentored his spiritual life. And, refreshed and heartened, Jesus somehow found the resolve to set his face toward Jerusalem.

We don't hear much from the pulpit about Mentoring, but I think that we should. How many of us can think back and pinpoint one or two very special elders in our life who made a difference? Most of us, probably. Most of us have one or two people who were there in a time of spiritual crisis, who encouraged us and gave us hope. Perhaps you were lucky enough to have a long-term mentorship relationship with someone who modeled the kind of care and compassion that helped to form your essential self.

I know I have. Poet Robert Bly once said that "If a younger man is not being admired by an older man, he's being hurt." I think this is a profound quotation, and not limited only to men. Girls and young women need the mentorship of older women as well. A saying like this makes us aware that the blessing and nurturance of those who have gone before us is an essential part of our spiritual journeys in the here and now.

And it doesn't really matter whether the voices of those who have gone before speak to us in the flesh or from the printed page, or even from old newsreels. The saints who have made the exodus before us, who have been across the red sea and lived to tell about it are available to us today to encourage and support us in our own exodus'.

The caveat is that once on the other side, you become the mentor. Once you have made your exodus, you are empowered by your own spiritual experience to mentor someone else through the process.

People are discovering their own power; the power to leave Egypt and the power to help others leave. The great success of support groups like Alcoholics Anonymous are an obvious example. But this kind of support goes on in more subtle ways every day as well. Perhaps you are not even aware that you have been mentored, or that you are mentoring, but it is happening.

Becoming aware of it is a way of entering more deeply into the spiritual life. When we start to see even the most mundane of encounters as being sacred opportunities for the exchange of Grace, our attitude shifts considerably. Suddenly, there are no pariahs, there is no profane place or subject. All experiences, all people become opportunities to evidence Grace and to model graceful behavior to others, especially the young.

Now, you might say, "we don't have a lot of young people in our church." True, but the majority of our spiritual lives are not spent at church. We should of course sensitive to the spiritual needs of the few children and young people we do have, but it should also make us aware that we have opportunities to mentor in many different contexts.

And the great secret of ministry is that the more you nurture others, the more your own soul is nurtured. Friends, I do not call you all to the ordained ministry, but I do call you to ministry. Ministry to those you meet everyday, to those who perhaps you do not give a second thought. Ministry to those who you fear are better than or smarter than you. Ministry to those impressionable young folks who need the wisdom of their elders. Ministry to those longing to leave Egypt behind, but don't have the courage to make the journey alone.

Jesus didn't make his exodus alone. I didn't make mine alone. And, I'm willing to wager, if you can think of an exodus experience of your own, chances are you weren't flying solo, either. The truth is, we need each other. The spiritual life is not a solitary journey. Instead, it is more like a traveling party. We need others to share with us their own fears, and their own triumphs, and to impart their wisdom and extend their comfort to us. And, it is equally true, that when we have gone on the exodus, and have returned to tell about it, we really do need to tell about it.

So tell about it. Take the time to see that the attention and encouragement you give to others is a sacred ministry, and a responsibility given to you by those who were there for you in your times of exodus. In so doing, you will transfigure their lives, and enrich your own in the process.

Let us pray.

Jesus, you did not spring fully formed from the sky,
Knowing all that there was to be known;
Instead you sat diligently at your parents' feet
and learned from the words of scripture,
you listened to the rabbi's teachings and you grew.
And in your time, you taught what you had learned,
and showed us that in the great exodus
from safety to sacrifice
you emerged from the tomb to mentor us into resurrection.
Help us to assume your sacred mantle, of teacher and mentor
to those who come after us, that through the words of our mouth
or the words we set to paper,
others will find the courage to take the great leap of faith
to leave the land of leeks and onions far behind
in search of your promise of milk and honey. Amen.