Lent 4, Year C (2019)

Joshua 5: 9–12; Psalm 32; I Corinthians 5: 16–21; Luke 15: 1–3, 11b-32

This is the homily given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania by Fr. Gene Tucker on Sunday, March 31, 2019.

 “BEYOND HELP?”

(Homily text: Luke 15: 1–3, 11b-32)

Let’s ask ourselves a question this morning: “Is anyone beyond help, beyond God’s ability to forgive, God’s ability to open a new and better way of living?” Or – put another way – is anyone an unforgiven sinner, for ever and ever, forever shut out of a relationship with God? Or – to state this truth in yet another way – is anyone “stuck” in their current situation?

This question is a good one to ask as we listen to the very familiar Parable of the Prodigal Son, set before us this morning. (It’s worth noting that this parable is one that Luke, alone among the Gospel writers, imparts to us. We are indebted to him for giving us so much of the Lord’s teachings that no one else does.)

I’ve said before that our Lord is a master story-teller. His parables are chock full of detail, inviting us deeper and deeper into the truths He sets before us. That’s surely the case with this parable: The more we look at it, the more there is to notice.  Wow!

Since there are three persons in this parable, the younger son, the older son and the loving father, it’s possible to consider three different angles to this parable. At the heart of every parable, however, there lies one, main point or purpose.

In the case of the Parable of the Prodigal Son, that central theme, central truth, has to do with God’s loving and forgiving nature. (In fact, the structure of the parable places the father’s expectant and loving welcome of his younger son at the center of the text.)

That said, let’s look at the parable from the perspective of the older, hard-hearted son.  Unfortunately, because of the title by which this parable is usually known, our attention might be directed to the younger son. In order to see what the Lord has to tell us about the attitudes of the other two persons in the parable, we have to be intentional in shifting our focus.

The older son, who discovers that a party has been going on, to which he had not been invited, confronts his father, and on the basis of his faithfulness in doing everything the father had ever told him to do (his works, in other words), claims a rightful place in the father’s life and legacy. (I will confess to you that I’ve wondered for a long time now why the Lord told this parable in this way, telling us that the father threw a party for the younger son without calling out to the older son, who was in the field, to come and join in. I think there’s a reason, which I’ll comment about in a moment.)

Remembering that a parable – or any passage of Scripture, for that matter – can be examined from three perspectives: 1. What did the parable or passage of Scripture mean to its original hearers or readers; 2. What did it mean to the early Church; and 3. What does it tell us today?

Viewed in this way, the Parable of the Prodigal Son could be examined from the point-of-view of what was going on in the Jewish culture of the day. For in the day and time that our Lord Jesus Christ came among us, the prevailing attitudes of many had to do with who was clean and acceptable to God, and who was not. Consider, for example, how often Jesus gets into trouble with the Pharisees because He hung around with “tax collectors and sinners”. To the Pharisees, one didn’t do such things, for “those people” were unclean, unable to enter the Temple and offer sacrifice. If one were to associate with such persons, they, themselves, would also be unclean and unable to enter the Temple’s precincts.

Moreover, we get the impression that the Pharisees and those who shared their views considered “tax collectors and sinners” to be so unclean that no amount of repentance, no amount of Temple sacrifice, could ever clean them up. They were permanently locked into their sinful state, a state that excluded them not only from a relationship with God, but from a relationship with most anyone else, except Jesus, apparently.

It’s possible to make a connection, then, between the older son’s hard-hearted response to his father and the attitudes of the Pharisees and of many in Judaism in that day. Perhaps that’s what Jesus wanted His original audience to see, and to see clearly. Reliance was placed, in those days, on what one did to maintain a relationship with God. We could summarize this attitude by saying that the reliance was on one’s faithful adherence to the precepts of the Law of Moses. Consider how often Jesus got into trouble with the Pharisees for doing something that was forbidden on the Sabbath. I think that’s a good example of what was, apparently, a very common attitude.

But Jesus’ consistent approach is an entirely different matter. He makes it clear that it isn’t what one dues that will make them acceptable to God. Instead, it’s the attitude of the heart that matters, and specifically, an attitude of the heart that acknowledges our sinful state and which relies on God’s loving and forgiving nature. So, Jesus seems to be telling us, those who rely on their own deeds won’t be invited into the welcoming-back party.

Let’s fast-forward now into the time in which Luke was composing his Gospel account. Some scholars think he was writing in the late first century, perhaps around the years 85 – 90 AD.

By then, the Church had gone out into the Gentile world, into the Greco-Roman culture of the Roman Empire. People were coming into the Church with questionable backgrounds. We can get a glimpse of the sorts of background that some who’d become Christians had by reading St. Paul’s lists of the things that they did before coming to Christ. Often, he will add that, now that they are Christians, they can’t be doing those sorts of things anymore.

Now we are able to see the applicability of the younger son’s situation: Not only had the “tax collectors and sinners” responded to Jesus’ great, good news that no one was outside of God’s ability to love and to forgive, but that divine love extended now to Gentiles, as well, even Gentiles whose past was quite sinful. Perhaps that’s Luke’s intent in sharing this parable with us.

In our time and place, living in the twenty-first century, we can see that some attitudes that were common to the Pharisees 2,000 years ago are alive and well today. Our culture can be quite unforgiving, permanently excluding some who’d wandered off into crime and wrongdoing from a new and promising life.

But let’s focus squarely on our own, personal outlooks. Do we think that, because some are poor, they deserve their lot in life for some reason or another? The Pharisees believed that, apparently. Do we think that, because some have checkered pasts, even God couldn’t clean them up? The Pharisees believed that, too, apparently.

If we take to heart Jesus’ teaching, set before us this morning in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, we must acknowledge that no one is outside of God’s ability to forgive. No one is outside of God’s ability to welcome (or to welcome back) into a loving, personal and intense relationship. No one is beyond having a new and better life. No one.

It is good for us to remember that God has already loved us and has welcomed us into a relationship with Him. He’s done that in Baptism, which marks the beginning of God’s loving welcome to us. As we make our way through life, the blunt truth is that the stain of sin hasn’t been completely removed from us. We are, all of us, “fully trained sinners”, capable of wandering away from God’s holy and righteous ways. It doesn’t matter, in truth, whether our transgressions are – from a human point-of-view – minor or major ones. To God, they’re all the same.

Potentially, then, we could find ourselves outside of God’s love, unable to ever return to an intimate and loving relationship with Him.

But the loving father in today’s parable informs us of God’s true nature. For God waits, looking for our return, waiting for us to say, with the younger son, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you”. By claiming those words, we turn away from any reliance on the “good things” we may think we have done. God’s mercy alone is the basis for renewing our relationship with Him.

AMEN.

Lent 3, Year C (2019)

Exodus 3: 1–15; Psalm 63: 1–8; I Corinthians 10: 1–13; Luke 13: 1–9

This is the homily prepared for Sunday, March 24, 2019, given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania, by Fr. Gene Tucker.

 “BRIDGES”

(Homily texts:  Exodus 3: 1-15 & Luke 13: 1-9)

Let’s talk about bridges this morning.

As I consider our Old Testament reading, the account of God’s appearing to Moses in the form of the burning bush, and our Gospel text, conveying to us Jesus’ Parable of the Fig Tree, bridges come to mind.

Bridges are wonderful things. Consider, for example, the world’s oldest masonry railroad bridge, known as the Thomas Viaduct. It was built by the Baltimore and Ohio RR, and sits a little southwest of Baltimore, spanning the Patapsco River. It is 612 feet long, 59 feet high, 26 feet wide, and has eight spans of granite stone, the largest span of which is 58 feet. It was constructed between 1833 and 1835. It is still in use today, carrying trains that weigh more than ten times what those early trains in the 1830s did. It is a marvelous piece of engineering, because the bridge itself is built on a curve.

As wonderful an example of engineering and hard work the Thomas Viaduct is, its worth isn’t to be found in its engineering or in its workmanship. Its worth is to be found in the fact that it spans a barrier (the Patapsco River), making possible forward movement, and connecting one side of the valley to the other.

A bridge is meant to do just that, allow for things to move from one place to another. Bridges don’t exist for their own value alone, no matter how magnificent they might be.

With this thought in mind, then, let’s turn our attention to our Old Testament reading, where we find Moses at the burning bush.

What God is doing in appearing to Moses in the way He chose to is to span a gulf with Moses. God has a mission in mind for Moses, and, of course, that mission is to lead God’s people out of bondage in Egypt. It is God who has taken the initiative, God who has laid the foundations for this bridge to His servant Moses, God who has begun construction of the bridge, and God who has shown Moses the blueprint for His plan.

In a similar way, Jesus’ Parable of the Fig Tree describes a bridge. Jesus tells His original audience (and us), that if we are going to be a part of God’s plan, God’s mission, then we’d better allow God to use us as building blocks to build a bridge so that God’s work can move forward, across the gulf of sin that permeates the world.

Like the massive stone blocks of the Thomas Viaduct, we must allow God to fashion us into useable material for the building of His bridge into the world. Unlike a block of granite, which has no ability to change its makeup and nature, we have the ability – with God’s help – to allow God to fit us as useable parts of a bridge for His purposes in the world. We can cooperate with God and be fruitful parts of God’s overall plan, or we can choose to be useless material which God must reject for His purposes.

God begins the construction process, reaching out to us to construct an arch to bridge the gap between His holiness and our condition, in Baptism. As we go through life, learning just what it means to live into our new relationship with God, begun in baptism, the construction process continues, arch by arch, so that God’s purposes for us and for others can move forward.

Moses was faithful in carrying out God’s purposes. God had to work to chisel out the useless parts of Moses’ character in order to be able to fit him into the bridge that God had designed.

The choice before us is quite similar to the one Moses was confronted with: We can say “yes” to God’s plan and God’s design for our lives and for the part that we will play in the building of a bridge into the world around us, or we can choose not to cooperate.

May we, with the assistance of the Holy Spirit, allow God to form and fashion us into worthwhile building blocks for His purposes, spanning the gulf which separates the people in the world from the God who created them.

AMEN.

Lent 2, Year C (2019)

Genesis 15: 1–12, 17–18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3: 17 – 4: 1; Luke 13: 31–35

The is the homily prepared for presentation at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Episcopal Diocese of Central Pennsylvania, on Sunday, March 17, 2019 by Fr. Gene Tucker.

“INHERITANCE AND LEGACY”

(Homily texts:  Genesis 15: 1–12, 17-18 & Luke 13: 31–35)

At first reading, our Old Testament lesson and our Gospel reading don’t have much – if anything – in common with one another.

So this preacher has taken upon himself the task of trying to link the two (for I think they do share something in common with one another).

Here’s the link:  Inheritance and legacy.

Let’s explore the possibilities together.

In our Genesis reading, we observe Abram’s conversation with God. Abram is engaging in a lament before the Lord, saying, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my household is Eliezer of Damascus.” He continues saying, “Behold, you have given me no offspring, and a member of my household will be my heir.” (Genesis 15: 2–3, English Standard Version)

Abram’s concern is for the future, for those who will inherit what he owns, and about living into the future. (It’s worth noting, at this point in human history and development, that the understanding of living eternally was understood to be in terms of having children, grandchildren and so forth, those who would carry forth one’s name and history. One continued to live on into the future by virtue of having heirs who were related by blood. The understanding that we Christians understand in terms of our own spirits living eternally with God hadn’t come upon the scene yet.)

And, of course, we know the rest of the story: God assures Abram that he will indeed have children, grandchildren, and so forth. In fact, God tells Abram that his descendants will be “as numerous as the stars in the heavens.” (Genesis 15: 5b) In due time, all of what God assured Abram would come to be, indeed came to be.

Now we must move forward into history quite a few years, perhaps as much as 2,000 years or so. In today’s Gospel text, we encounter Jesus, lamenting over the conditions He will encounter as He comes to the Holy City of Jerusalem. “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, but you were not willing….” (Luke 13: 34)

Jesus is referring to His legacy, and it strikes me that His comment about the hen and her brood is a reference to legacy and inheritance. In much the same way as Abram lamented about those who would follow him, so, too, does Jesus lament over those who would follow Him.

If we back up a little in the Lukan text, we see something else at work: Jesus says, “Tell that fox (King Herod) Behold, I cast out demons and perform cures today and tomorrow, and the third day I finish my course. Nevertheless, I must go on my way today and tomorrow and the day following, for it cannot be that a prophet should perish away from Jerusalem.” (Luke 13: 32–33)

To those who heard Jesus’ remark, it must not have made much sense at the time.

Jesus’ remark makes sense in retrospect, however, for His references to the third day and to the death of a prophet[1] in Jerusalem fit the description of Jesus’ course as we see it in the events of Holy Week, Good Friday and Easter. The connection is further strengthened by His comment that Jerusalem will not see Him until they say, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” (Luke 31: 35, derived from Psalm 118: 26.)

The events of Palm Sunday, Good Friday and Easter, seen from a purely human point-of-view, don’t offer much hope for any legacy (other than being a martyr for a good cause), and virtually no hope of an inheritance in terms of those who will be children or followers who will perpetuate the martyr’s name.

But from a divine point-of-view, as God acts to bring Jesus up from the grave on Easter Sunday morning, legacy and inheritance come into full view.

Jesus’ rising to new life again points to God’s acting to perpetuate Jesus’ name, not only as a memory, but as an enduring and real presence among His family, His children, those who have come to faith in Christ.

You and I, dear friends, are Jesus’ legacy. We are Jesus’ children. We are those who now number a multitude so great that it is like the stars in the heavens.

Once we come to God in faith through Christ, we are infused with a new DNA, a godly identity that marks us as Christ’s own forever.

Thanks be to God!

AMEN.

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[1]  It’s worth noting that Luke portrays Jesus as being a prophet. For examples, see Luke 4: 24, 7: 16 and 24: 19.

Lent I, Year C (2019)

Deuteronomy 26: 1–11; Psalm 91: 1–2, 9–16; Romans 10: 8b–13; Luke 4: 1–13

This is the homily prepared for St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania by Fr. Gene Tucker to be delivered on Sunday, March 6, 2019.

 “THE SAVING SEASON BEGINS”

(Homily texts:  Deuteronomy 26: 1–11 & Luke 4: 1–13)

Since we stand at the leading edge of this holy season of Lent, let’s do some connecting-of-the-dots to understand more fully just what this season is all about.

It is, in truth, the beginning a “saving season”, in which our Lord goes about redeeming us from our wayward and sinful ways, just as God’s people in ancient times experienced God’s saving acts. (Our Old Testament reading appointed for this morning is nothing more than a recitation of God’s saving acts in bringing His people out of slavery in Egypt into the Promised Land.)

The process of dot-connecting has something to do with numbers. Or, more specifically, the number forty. It also has to do with the link between time in the wilderness, a time alone with God in an inhospitable place, a place where one becomes vulnerable to various kinds of dangers, including the danger of succumbing to suggestion.

At the beginning of each season of Lent, year-by-year, we encounter the scriptural text which lays before us Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness, a time which – the Gospel writers Matthew, Mark and Luke – tell us was forty days long.

It’s no accident then, that the Church designed this season of Lent to be forty days long. (This season is forty days long, minus the Sundays in this season, for each and every Sunday of the Church Year is a celebration of the Lord Jesus’ resurrection. So it is that we say we are, today, in the First Sunday in Lent, not the First Sunday of Lent. This means that our Sunday celebrations take on a somewhat “Lenten-flavored” hue, for Lent is suspended on these Sundays, even if we are surrounded in some ways by the differences that Lent brings with it.)

Important things happen during periods of time that are either forty days – or forty years – long.

For example, the waters of the Great Flood increased for forty days. (See Genesis 7: 17.) Moses was on the mountaintop with God, receiving the second set of the tables of stone upon which God’s law was written (see Exodus 34: 28.) It’s worth noting that Moses neither ate nor drank during those forty days.  God’s people wandered in the wilderness for forty years before entering the Promised Land.

In each of these situations that we have cited, the period of forty days or years marked a changing point in the turn of events.

Which brings us to Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness for a period of forty days, during which He did not eat, and during which He was tempted by the devil.

The temptation experience marks the preparation for the beginning of Jesus’ earthly ministry. In the same way that the Great Flood destroyed much of God’s creation, only to result in a rebirth of that same creation, so, too, does Jesus’ temptation result in a burst of new life. Just as Moses’ time with God on the mountaintop result in the giving of God’s law, so, too, does Jesus’ temptation result in a new understanding of God’s law. Ancient Israel’s wanderings in the desert turn out to be a time of preparation, a time when those who had disobeyed God in the wilderness by making and worshiping the golden calf were prevented by death from entering the Promised Land, so, too, does Jesus’ temptation destroy the old ways of relating to God, in order to bring each one who comes to God in faith through Jesus Christ to the new Promised Land.

Things that happen in the Bible with the number forty attached to them are events that mark a change, a turn in direction, leading to something new.

Another thread is present in Jesus’ temptation, which should capture our attention.

It is Jesus’ success in meeting the nefarious ways of the Evil One, besting him in a contest of wills.

Go back with me to the Garden of Eden, and recall the Evil One’s temptation of Eve and Adam. There we read (Genesis 3: 1 – 13) some commonalities with Jesus’ temptation:

• An appeal to food:  Eve is tempted to eat of the fruit of the tree in the midst of the garden (Genesis 3: 6). Jesus is tempted to turn stones into loaves of bread (Luke 4: 3).
• An appeal to power:  Satan tempts Eve by suggesting to her that she will be “like God, knowing good and evil” (Genesis 3: 5b). Jesus is tempted by the offer to control all the kingdoms of the world (Luke 4: 6).
• A misuse of Scripture:  The Evil One tempts Eve by twisting what God had said (Genesis 3: 5), The Evil One uses the words of Psalm 91: 11–12 to suggest that Jesus will not suffer harm.

Where Eve (and Adam) failed, Jesus succeeds.

In the process, Jesus’ victory over temptation and over the powers of the Evil One mark the beginning, the turning point, in victory over sin and death. One way to see all of Jesus’ ministry is to see each event and each encounter with the situations He faced as a string of victories over sin and death.

You and I, as we enter this holy season of Lent, may use this time as a turning point in our relationship with God. We can claim Jesus’ power to overturn the wiles of the devil and to claim our Lord’s victory over the things that would separate us from God (as Adam and Eve’s sinfulness did). By Jesus’ victory, we may also claim victory, and begin anew to live in a close and enduring love relationship with God the Father through God the Son.

AMEN.

           

Ash Wednesday, Year C (2019)

Joel 2: 1–2, 12–17; Psalm 103: 8–14; II Corinthians 5: 20b – 6:10; Matthew 6: 1–6, 16–21

This is the homily prepared to be preached at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania by Fr. Gene Tucker on Wednesday, March 6, 2019.

“A MAINTENANCE-FREE FAITH?”

Not long after I entered the Army, I bought an old car, a 1949 Buick Roadmaster. It was a big, black hunk of machinery, possessing an excellent straight eight engine (my dad admired those old engines, and used a number of them in various things that he built) that was so well constructed and designed that – at idle – it didn’t vibrate at all.

For all of its wonderful characteristics (and there were many), it was a high-maintenance vehicle by modern standards: For example, its oil required changing (as best as I can remember) every 2,000 or 3,000 miles. Its spark plugs required removal for cleaning every 6,000 miles, and then those plugs had to be replaced at 12,000 miles.

Fast forward to today, and by comparison, our cars require far fewer actions to maintain them. Oil changes are three or four times less frequent than they were for that old Buick. Spark plugs can now go, in some cases, 100,000 miles before they require replacement, and so forth.

Given this reality, and aided by the all-present reality of advertising (which encourages us to think that the latest and greatest inventions or products are maintenance-free and will improve our lives) with which we live today, it’d be easy to think that cars (and most anything else, for that matter) are maintenance-free.

But I think today – as I reflect on it – what’s changed isn’t the net amount of maintaining that we have to do for specific things like cars, but the cumulative nature of what we’re maintaining. Allow me to clarify:  Yes, it’s true that our cars and other things don’t require as much maintenance as they used to, but now we’re trying to maintain – to keep up with – so many more things, things like the virus protection on our computers, which must be maintained in order to protect them. Or other things, like repairs around the house that, in previous times we might have hired someone to do, but which, nowadays, we have to tend to ourselves in many cases. Those are just two examples. (Feel free to fill in the blanks with your own life’s experience in this regard.)

It seems as though we’re just as busy trying to keep up with things as we were in those more simple times of the past. (Or perhaps it only seems like those times were more simple than today’s reality is.) We’re just doing about the same amount of work, spread across a number of concerns, not just a few.

All of which brings us to the matter of faith, or – more specifically – to the maintenance of our faith walk with God through Christ.

It’d be easy to think that our life in God is maintenance-free, something that will endure and will improve without effort. Of course, we know from our life’s experience that nothing ever stays the same. Every aspect of our lives is either growing or dying away. Change is constant. Life reminds us of that, day in and day out.

Our walk with God is no different.

Another aspect of our approach to the faith has to do with the busy-ness of life. Because we are so busy, we might be tempted to set aside the necessary maintenance that needs to be performed on our relationship with God. It’s easy to set aside God’s place in our lives when there are so many other demands on our time, our attention, and our energy.

This holy season of Lent gives us the gift of being able to consciously focus on our relationship to God and our walk with Him. It allows us to assess how much time, and what kind of quality of time, we are offering to God in order to stay close to Him. It allows us to assess our priorities, which may have gotten out-of-balance, in order to make God central to who we are.

I’d be negligent in my duty as your priest if I didn’t offer a few suggestions to help improve the maintenance of our walk with God. So here are some ideas:  Resolve to be faithful in attendance at church; decide to get up earlier and come to our lively Bible Study (Sunday mornings, 9:00 a.m.), read the Bible regularly, pray the Daily Offices (Morning Prayer, Evening Prayer) in the Prayer Book; attend our Lenten Supper Series (begins March 14^th and runs for four Thursday evenings), come to our Friday evening Stations-of-the-Cross services (which we are co-sponsoring with Most Holy Trinity Catholic Church), or decide to use our parish prayer list to pray for those named on it individually and by name.

So, in all sincerity, I wish each and every one of you a “Happy Lent”.

AMEN.

The Last Sunday after the Epiphany, Year C (2019)

Exodus 34: 29–35; Psalm 99; II Corinthians 3: 12 – 4: 2; Luke 9: 28–36

This is the homily prepared for St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania, to be given by Fr. Gene Tucker on Sunday, March 3, 2019.

“FORGING AND TEMPERING”

(Homily text: Luke 9: 28–36)

When I was a young boy, my dad operated a blacksmith shop in the small town we lived in in Nebraska. When I say “blacksmith”, I don’t mean that he worked on shoeing horses. No, he was engaged in repairing farm machinery, mostly.

I spent a lot of time in that shop, so many of the memories I have of it are quite clear.

He had a forge, fired with coal, and with a hand-cranked blower to heat the coal into a very hot fire. He also had a large anvil upon which he would beat pieces of metal into shape. Nearby to the anvil was a large tub of water, into which pieces of metal would be thrust to cool and quench them.

Dad would heat a piece of steel until it glowed. Then, he’d take that piece of steel and beat it with a hammer while it was still hot, shaping it into the desired shape. While it was still hot, he’d put it into that vat of water, when it would sizzle and create some steam until it cooled.

In the process of all this, sparks would fly, as the metal was being shaped and then hardened in order to make it useful.

In much the same way, Jesus is forging and tempering His disciples, shaping them and toughening them for the work He will have for them to do once He has finished His course on earth, and has ascended into heaven. Unlike a piece of steel which has no nerves, these original twelve disciples (minus Judas, eventually, but then plus Mathias and then Paul) were flesh-and-blood human beings, and their forging and tempering process involved a lot of painful growth as the Lord shaped them and fitted them out in order to make them useful.

We would do well to retrace some of the steps in this process.

A good place to begin would be with Peter’s confession, found in Luke’s Gospel account at 9: 18–20. Recall that Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter responds by saying that He is “the Christ[1] of God.”

Perhaps it’s possible that Jesus then decided, based on Peter’s correct assessment of His identity, that Peter and the other disciples were ready for the next lesson, the next trip into the hot fire of the forge, for He tells them that He is going to go to Jerusalem, where He will be killed, and will rise on the third day. (See Luke 9: 21–22.)

Luke doesn’t record what Peter said in response this first (of three) predictions that Jesus makes about his destiny in Jerusalem. But Matthew does. He tells us that Peter took the Lord aside and began to rebuke Him, saying, “Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you.” Then Jesus makes His famous response, “Get behind me, Satan![2]. You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”[3]

The white-hot heat of the forge is visible to us in this interchange. Peter’s shaping will require many more trips into the fire in the coming days in order to make him a useful object in the Lord’s service.

Now, we come to the Transfiguration. Matthew, Mark and Luke record the event. In our liturgical calendar, it is an event we consider on the Last Sunday after the Epiphany each year. It’s appropriate that we close the Epiphany season with this text, for the revelation of Jesus’ true nature as God’s Son is the fullest revelation of His identity to the world, a theme we’ve been considering all throughout the Epiphany season.

Back into the forge go Peter, James and John, as the bright light of Jesus’ glory is revealed to them on that mountain. No doubt Peter isn’t comfortable with the sight or the experience, so – in typical Peter fashion – he blurts out a suggestion that three tents should be erected, one for Jesus, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.

The tempering of these three disciples will ensue as they remember this revelation of Jesus’ identity, as God’s Son. Peter, writing many years later, will recall it as he writes his second letter. (See II Peter 1: 18.)

The journey will continue from the mount of Transfiguration down into the Jordan valley, and then up into Jerusalem and into the final week of Jesus’ earthly ministry. The forging and tempering of His followers will continue as they are thrust into the fire of Jesus’ betrayal, arrest, beating, crucifixion, burial, and rising again.

All along the way, through this painful process, these disciples are being shaped and hardened into useful tools for the Lord’s work.

These original twelve disciples had begun their tempering and shaping process as unformed pieces. They’d watched the Lord perform miracles. They’d watch Him teach to larger and larger crowds of people, speaking with an air of authority that neither the scribes nor the priests had. But oftentimes, they were unaware that their character was changing as a result of their contact with the Lord’s forging and tempering process. Time after time, these disciples don’t seem to “get it”. They misunderstand, they are slow to believe, they are unfaithful at critical times. But each time, the Lord picks them up and thrusts them into the fire once more. The Lord’s hammer blows shape them into useful tools for His service.

The process by which Jesus’ original disciples-become-Apostles is the same process by which the Lord shapes you and me into useful tools, in order that we might become enduring agents of His purposes.

That process won’t be easy. It probably won’t be a quick and miraculous reshaping, Oftentimes, we aren’t hardened and shaped enough to be conformed to Christ’s image in the world. So God will need to do some more work with us, heating us up, shaping us with the hammer blows of life, tempering us. That’s the essential meaning of Lent, a season which is upon us this week.

We can be assured that God, working through Christ, has our best interest at heart as we enter this reshaping and tempering process. For, as the Letter to the Hebrews (12: 6) states, the Lord “disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives.”[4]

AMEN.

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[1]   “Christ” is a title which comes to us from the Greek, where it means “anointed”. “Messiah” has the same meaning, coming to us from the Hebrew.

[2]   Satan means “enemy”.

[3]   Matthew 16: 22–23, English Standard Version

[4]   English Standard Version