8th Sunday after Pentecost / Martyr Eusignius of Antioch / 1 Cor. 1.10-18; Matthew 14.14-22
F/S/HS. Brothers and sisters, I want to begin with the first-half of a story. The second-half will come at the end of my homily. As with last week, the story comes from the recently reposed Fr. Moses Berry.
Fr. Moses shares about a late night encounter between a priest and his fourteen year old daughter. Let’s name her Sophia and him Fr. Ignatius. Sophia gets up at 2 a.m. in the morning, to go to the bathroom. Seeing a light on downstairs in the kitchen, she descends the stairs to turn it off. Part way down the stairs she sees her father raising a bottle to his lips, a fifth of whisky, and taking multiple swigs. She pauses to say a prayer to God and our Panagia, and continues her descent.
Dad, she says softly. Startled, Fr. Ignatius wheels around, the look of busted and shame on his face. Dad, I love you. Remember your homily this morning on the Transfiguration, about our truest destiny and deepest identity, which is become the light. That’s not helping you become the light. It’s only leading you into darkness. Wow, what words from a fourteen year old.
The conclusion of this story in just a minute. This morning I want to reflect with you on the Transfiguration, a Feast of the church which we celebrate beginning this evening, and then throughout tomorrow; a Feast we honor annually, every August 19.
One of the reasons that I want to offer some thoughts on the Transfiguration relates to when I first came into the Orthodox Church twenty four years ago and, for the first time, heard an interpretation of the Transfiguration that I’d never before heard.
It is not hyperbole to say that this interpretation landed on me as rather shocking. Initially I wondered if it was heresy. I found it R&R: Radical and revolutionary. And this interpretation has stayed with me over all of these years. It resides deep in my bones and my spirit, and has inspired me as a stagger along my Orthodox journey.
A brief narrative of the Transfiguration. Three of Jesus’ Disciples—Peter, James, and John—accompany Him up Mount Tabor. Mount Tabor is mentioned throughout the Scriptures as a place where powerful things happen. In Joshua and Judges, Mount Tabor is the site of the Battle of Mount Tabor, where the Israelite army led by Barak fought against the Canaanite army led by Jabin.
Having now ascended Mount Tabor, Jesus’ face suddenly transfigures—it becomes as like the sun, and His clothes became as white as the light (Mt. 17.2). Moses and Elijah then appear and are seen talking to Jesus; Moses, who represents the law, and Elijah, who represents the prophets.
Seconds later a bright cloud overshadows the top of Mount Tabor. A voice is heard coming out of the cloud: This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. Hear him (v. 5). Peter, James, and John fall down on their faces. Dear ones, why do we Orthodox Christians, at the appropriate times during worship, and during our home prayers, fall down on our faces in prostration? Because we are in the presence of the Holy, and falling down on our faces is the only appropriate thing to do when in God’s presence.
Eventually Jesus tells Peter, James, and John to Arise, and do not be afraid (v. 7). They then descend back down the mountain. That, sisters and brothers, is the brief narrative of our Lord’s Transfiguration.
As a Protestant Christian, the most common interpretation I heard of the Transfiguration is that it is a story which reveals the truest identity of Jesus as God. Jesus is both man and God! We Orthodox Christians have no problem with this interpretation. We affirm it. We teach it ourselves.
But the greater mystery of the Transfiguration, our church fathers and mothers teach, is what the narrative reveals to us about our deepest human nature and our truest destiny in life: Namely, that Jesus is inviting us to become light as He is light. Jesus is inviting us to transfiguration and deification, just as He is transfigured and deified.
When I first heard this interpretation of the Transfiguration, O my dear ones, goose bumps popped on my skin. Suddenly I could see so many sayings of the church fathers, and in our scriptures, in a new light. St. Ignatius said God became man in order that man might become gods. Remember that St. Ignatius was a disciple of John—one of those up on Mount Tabor with Jesus. Perhaps Ignatius speaks of our capacity to become gods having heard John’s interpretation of his Mount Tabor experience with Jesus! Similarly, the psalmist says You are gods, and all of you are children of the Most High (Ps. 82.6).
What is being said here dear ones! Is this heresy? Or is this an authentic rich and deep teaching of our church fathers and mothers? It is clearly the latter! St. Ignatius and the psalmist are inviting us to return in Christ to our paradisiacal state, to such union and communion with God that we are nearly one with our Lord, not just after we repose but right now, during our earthly sojourn.
But didn’t we fall from paradise! Which is why the psalmist, in the very next verse after he says You are gods, then says But you shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes (v.7). And doesn’t the Apostle Paul say that For all have sinned, and fall short of the glory of God (Rm. 3.23).
This was the primary emphasis when I was a Protestant—That I am fallen and a sinner. Yes, Christ died that I might overcome my sin. But the emphasis always was freedom from something; namely, freedom from sin.
Whereas in our Orthodox faith the emphasis is more positive: It is freedom to something—freedom to become who I am meant to be; freedom to become my deepest destiny, which is to so commune with our transfigured Christ that we ourselves become light.
In other words dear ones, we, during our earthly life, live in a tension, a tension between the reality that we are broken and sinful and anything but gods; while, on the other hand, being invited by our Lord to our truest destiny, which is to strive evermore to return to our original paradisiacal state, to so live in Christ that we become little Christs, which is the literal meaning of the word “Christian”—a little Christ.
But how? How do we become little Christs? And our church father’s and mother’s answer, based on their interpretation of the Transfiguration: Come, come and participate in Christ’s energies, which are freely given to us, most especially in the Chalice, when we consume His Body and His Blood into our innermost being.
We cannot become God in His essence. That would indeed be heresy. But we can partake of God’s energies, energies that come to us in prayer, when we love others as Jesus loved others, when we abide by our Lord’s commandments, when we walk this earth prayerfully, with humility and contrition and repentance.
When we live in Christ this way, we become more and more deified, as exampled by the image of the sword and fire used by our church fathers and mothers. A steel sword is thrust into a hot fire until the sword takes on a red glow. The energy of the fire interpenetrates the sword. The sword never becomes fire. But it picks up the properties of the fire.
When I received this teaching, brothers and sisters, passages in the scriptures that hitherto befuddled me suddenly made so much more sense. Paul says to the church at Corinth that we are being transformed into the [image of Christ] from glory to glory (2 Cor. 3.18). Think of the earthly sojourn of our saints; think of St. John Maximovich, as he more and more deepened his life in Christ; in doing so, he more and more—from glory to glory—became light, became a little Christ.
Or 2 Peter 1:4, where Peter speaks of becoming partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust. Likewise, the more we abide in Christ and His church, the more we battle the lusts of this life, then do the divine energies of God interpenetrate our human nature, helping us to return to our truest destiny and identity.
In other words dear ones, this entire homily is an invitation to ponder your truest destiny and identity in God, and what that might look like. So please, think about it. Think about what it means to truly be a man in God; to truly be a woman in God. Think about what it means to become the light the Jesus invited His Disciples to become. Think about what your daily life can look like—how it should be lived—such that you are moving from glory to glory, such that you are a partaker in God’s divine nature.
Now back to our opening story. Fr. Ignatius, hearing his daughter’s words, looked at her lovingly. Tears began to stream down his face. You’re right Sophia. Thank you. I did speak about becoming the light that Jesus is inviting us to become. Since losing your mother three months ago, I’ve stopped pursuing that light, I’ve stopped living into that light. I’ve chosen despair and depression and darkness. Maybe tonight, maybe right now, I need to recommit to that light. Thank you for having the guts to call me out.
Fr. Ignatius reached out and embraced his beloved daughter. He walked over to the sink and poured the remaining whisky down the drain. And turned back to Sophia. Thank you again, he said. And his final words: I need to go and pray right now, before my altar. I need to find and be that light once again. F/S/HS
