Mountain Light
Sermon from Feb. 14, 2010I slept one night up on a mountain. No tent. No tarp. Just a sleeping bag. Living in B.C. at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do.
That night was amazing because of the light show God put on in the sky. As I lay curled in my sleeping bag, under a black velvet sky, on a cushiony, mountain meadow 6800 feet above sea level, above the trees, above anything man-made, I saw northern lights silently dancing in green, red and yellow swirls. It was the mid-August night of shooting stars. And I saw them one after another, silently shooting out of nowhere fast, and then gone! To the southeast, above the Rocky Mountains, I saw sheet lightning, too distant to hear, but boy could I see it flash brilliantly. Almost straight up, I saw an amazing display of stars and planets and then, satellites tracing a path. There was no moon that night. But there sure was light.
I drifted off to sleep feeling my soul had somehow breathed in a measure of the majesty of God’s creation and glory, that I was somehow at one, and at peace with the universe, the dark, the light, the movement, the artistry of God’s incredible light display. Till the wind picked up and it started to spit rain on my face. I had no tent and in the now dark, cloudy night, I got out of my sleeping bag and had to stumble around in the dark to find whatever shelter I could on the bald mountain, which turned out to be a very low juniper bush. Under a scratchy branch, I shivered till morning, catching little sleep, hiking home down the mountain soon after dawn, feeling damp and humbled. Though my bedraggled hair and unshaven face didn’t reveal it, I had been blessed with an awesome and unforgettable night on the mountain.
Contrast this with Moses glowing face. Up on the mountain, in the presence of God, receiving the 2 tablets of the 10 commandments, Moses’ face shone. It shone so much, his people were too pained to look upon it and so Moses covered his face in their presence, but he lifted the veil in God’s presence, wanting to see and be seen by the living Lord.
Maybe when we come to worship we’ve got it backwards. We are afraid to truly be open and vulnerable with God, so we veil our selves from God and from each other. Too safe in our human creation of liturgy, we stumble with forms and words, seeking inspiration, sincere yet veiled from God. Maybe we have experienced too much pain or disappointments and so we steal ourselves with diminished expectations.
The rain that woke me up that night on the mountain, is reminder of our baptism. We don’t just live for the mountain top times as Peter, James and John experienced as Jesus was transfigured with Moses and Elijah. The faith we receive is for Valentines Days and dull days, a water and a spirit baptism that cleanses us and reminds whose we are. Mountain people. Valley people. Commuters and congregants. Getting it the right way around may be painful, to look upon the face of Jesus, in his brokenness, in our brokenness, with hearts glowing in the spirit, without fear or embarrassment. No veil. No tent. Humbled yet hungry for more of the Living God. Caught up in the majesty of God. Amen.
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