Sermon by the rev'd. Pamela Snare

Sermon
February 26, 2006
The Reverend Pamela Snare

“There came a voice to him that said, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’” (I Kings 19:13b)

“Peter said to Jesus, ‘Rabbi it is good for us to be here…’” (Mark 9:5a)

Theophanies come in various shapes, circumstances and places. They are not a “one size fits all” phenomenon. Sometimes they occur out of the blue, unexpectedly as when Moses is tending his flocks, and is suddenly confronted with a burning bush. Sometimes there is preparation for them, as when Moses is told to go up on Mt. Sinai and wait for the Lord to appear and give him instruction. In the Old Testament, there are some common elements to theophanies. They often take place on mountains. They are frequently accompanied by thunder, lightening, fire, clouds, wind or earthquake. Signs that rattle the senses and get one’s attention. Signs that defy being ignored or unnoticed. If you can call theophanies “typical” or “normal”, that is your typical or normal theophany. A sort of “in your face” manifestation of God. Which is why theophanies are often accompanied by fear, awe, trembling, reverence, and falling on one’s knees in worship.

This is also why Elijah’s experience which we heard today is enigmatic, mysterious and not the usual. All of the traditional elements are present: wind, earthquake, and fire. But the Lord is not in any of them. Then Elijah hears “a sound of sheer silence.” One commentary translates this phrase, “a sound of fine silence.” It is this silence that captures Elijah’s attention, that draws him out of his hiding place in the cave. In this fine silence, Elijah hears a voice: “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

Elijah is ready to hang it up. He’s had it. That is why he has come to this cave. He’s not so much fed up with God; indeed, he has worked zealously for God. God has been his only concern, his only love, his life, his mission. No, it’s not God Elijah is fed up with; it’s people. Faithless people, violent people, his own people, the people of God. Elijah thinks he’s the only one left with any integrity, the only one left who hasn’t sold out on God. And he has reason to be discouraged. The powers that be have sent out a hit team to track him down and kill him. That’s why he’s run to the cave – to hide, to isolate himself, to throw in the towel on this maddening vocation of serving God and God’s people and everybody else. You could say that Elijah is world weary and people weary.

Now, let us fast forward a few thousand years. It’s six days after Peter has confessed Jesus as the Messiah. That is the point at which Jesus begins to tell the disciples that he is going to meet his death in Jerusalem. Suffering, rejection, betrayal, abandonment are all a part of it. But, if they can wait long enough, he will be vindicated. He will be resurrected. It is not welcome news to say the least, and the disciples are pretty much baffled by it. Jesus knows they need a shot in the arm—not just for the present, but for the future, if they are to endure.

So, six days later he takes three of them with him up on a mountain. And there, they have a vision. There is a dazzling light around Jesus, or better perhaps, he is suffused with light. What a scene of beauty! What a glimpse of the eternal! “Rabbi,” Peter says, “it is good for us to be here…” Peter wants this moment to last forever. No more talk about suffering and dying. No, let us stay here where all is happiness and light. And then comes the voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly the moment is gone and all is back to the ordinary.

Theophanies are privileged moments, gifts of grace, sometimes calming and reassuring, as in Elijah’s sound of fine silence, sometimes evoking fear and awe in the face of exquisite beauty and power, as in the vision of the Transfiguration. But theophanies are not meant to last forever. Theophanies are meant to strengthen and prepare and empower us to return to the ordinary and to look for God, to seek his face in the ordinary, the mundane, the every day.

When I returned from my sabbatical of the fall of 2004, which was a series of theophanies for my husband Jerry and for me, I preached a sermon on searching for God. That is to say, on us searching for God together as a community of faith. A week or so later, one of you asked me, “What exactly did you mean by that sermon?” Well, this is what I meant.

I had been given an incredible gift of enormous theophanies. I, like Elijah, had heard God and experienced him in a sound of fine silence. I, like Peter, had seen human faces suffused with the fine light of God’s presence. I saw God’s face in the faces of Benedictine sisters; in the faces of our butcher and grocer; in the face of my friend Mary Ann; in the face of Anne-Marie, from whom Jerry and I rented our rural house; in the face of the doctor who treated Jerry for his back. Even the horses which surrounded our house were a mirror of God in their playfulness and affection.

I had begun searching for God in the ordinary. My “to do” list was no longer the focus of my life. Rather, who I was to be – the silence God would give me that day and his word to me in the psalms and the scriptures – and who I was to be with – the people God would send me that day – became the focus of my life every day.

Can you sense the difference? What I needed to do got done, but it got done in a different way and from a different perspective. Prayer, whether personal or corporate, was not a task, a duty, added to my day to be checked off my “to do” list. It was a time of nourishment and pleasure to prepare and empower me throughout the day. Without prayer, I couldn’t be the person God wanted me to be. Without prayer, I couldn’t do what God wanted me to do. Encountering people was not a necessary addendum to my mission for the day, or an interruption of my mission. It was my mission. Paying attention first of all, not to my “to do” list, but to people, being fully present first of all, not to my “to do” list, but to people--being the Christ with others and looking for the Christ in others was the most important thing. “Insomuch as you do it to one of the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you do it to me.” I actually took that to heart, trying to live that truth consciously all the day through.

Theophanies are wonderful, glorious, privileged moments of experiencing the presence of God – of knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that He is, and that He is good, and merciful, and loving, and yes, beautiful. But we are given these kinds of extraordinary moments in order to trust him, and seek him, and serve him in the ordinary.

“You speak in my heart and say, ‘Seek my face.’ Your face, O Lord, will I seek” (Psalm 27:11), in my prayers, in this Eucharist, [in these baptisms,] in my spouse, in my children, in my friends, in my co-workers, in my class-mates, in the frustrated grocery clerk, in the person next to me on the plane, in the FEMA rep, in the contractor, in the construction worker – wherever you send me, Lord, and whomever you send me, I will seek your face in them.

That is what I meant, my friends, when I said, “Let us search for the Lord, together.” We cannot create or force these extraordinary, privileged moments. We can discover God, Christ, in each other, and in the others we encounter – if we are willing to set our hearts on it, if everyday, we are willing to seek his face.

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