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To ask for forgiveness for destroying the first draft of the stone tablets Moses first received. To beg for grace, for relationship, for hope. And Moses spends 40 days and 40 nights fasting at the top of that mountain with God. And God showed Moses God’s glory. God’s glory was considered to be God’s face, and since gazing upon God’s face brought certain death, instead God had Moses wait, and as God passed by Moses was able to see God’s glory from behind. And that presence was, well, glorious.
So much so that it transformed Moses, without Moses even realizing it. And so finally, Moses goes down the mountain to bring God’s commandments to the people, and they are afraid of him. Not because of the commandments he brings, but because Moses’s face is shining with God’s light. Once Moses realizes what is going on, he shows himself to the people, telling them the commandments God has given, the covenant, the promise God has made to them even after their shameful failures. “And after he finished speaking with them, he put a veil on his face.” After each time he visited with the Lord, he would take the veil off to show the people and share with them God’s words. Paul claims, in his letter to the church in Corinth, that the veil Moses uses is so that the people don’t see God’s glory fade from him. It’s a cover up. Covering up that in Moses’s human body, even in his transformation to a shining beacon of God’s promise, God’s glory isn’t something that Moses can keep glowing forever. At least not on his own. It takes God’s presence, God’s Word repeatedly shared with Moses for God’s light to shine. I think we find ourselves covering up too. We cover up our failures, our imperfections, our humanness. We want to put the best of ourselves forward. Maybe in happy family photos or inspiring quotes and prayers on social media. Maybe covering up or veiling our grief, heartache, depression, or anxiety when someone asks us how we’re doing and simply answering, “Oh, fine.” Not wanting to bother anyone with our personal junk. Not wanting to seem like we don’t have it all together. Maybe it’s the ways we cover up the ailing parts of ourselves. The chronic pain, the awkward illness, the health scares. Not wanting to seem like our vibrance is fading in some way. Maybe it’s in leaving unsaid the things about ourselves that we are afraid to share. Our experiences, our hopes, our fears, parts of our identities that we worry don’t fit. Parts of our lives that we worry won’t be welcomed or accepted. Not wanting to risk what we have. Maybe it’s as a church, blanketing over past hurts, worrying that we’re missing something, grieving over changes that have already occurred, shrouding our fears over the church’s future with focuses we think might fix the problems. Not wanting to lose heart. A veil is sometimes something we use to protect ourselves or others from disappointment, heartbreak, or worry. Paul continues in our reading, that a veil can even be placed over our minds when we are in God’s presence, when we do experience God’s Word. I’m sure you have experienced trying to share God’s love and grace and Word with someone only to have it seem to fall on deaf ears. I know I have. What surprises me, is that those deaf ears aren’t always people who disagree with me about believing in Jesus. I mean, I have had plenty of experiences wanting to share God’s love through Jesus with those of other faiths, or of no faith at all. And sometimes it is a wonderful and deep conversation planting seeds of hope. Sometimes it’s a wonderful and deep conversation that leads to us better understanding each other and our differences. Occasionally it ends with a plan to join in prayer or worship. Very occasionally. What surprises me, is when I find myself in conversations about God’s love and grace and Word with fellow Christians, and we just don’t seem to hear each other. Maybe you’ve had that experience with a sibling in Christ who disagreed with you about something on faith or scripture or doctrine. Maybe it was something that seemed small, like what to do with the leftover communion bread. Maybe it was something that mattered to you a lot, like who should be welcomed in church and be able to fully participate in all aspects of church life. Maybe it was where the candles should go in the sanctuary. Maybe it was about how to care for other people and who deserves your time and energy and resources. Maybe you’ve had the experience of trying to share God’s love and grace and Word, and no matter how much scripture or doctrine or tradition you bring to the conversation to back you up, this member of your Christian family just seemed unable to hear you. Like a veil covered over their minds. And then sometimes I wonder, am I the one with the veil over my mind? How can I know? Paul says that “when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed.” But even Peter and the disciples who witness Jesus dazzling white in a shining glory don’t seem to get it. Peter is babbling not knowing what he’s even saying, and they find themselves terrified by the cloud that covers them up. When God says, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” the disciples keep silent and don’t tell anyone any of the things they have seen. Have their minds been unveiled? They certainly turned towards Jesus, turned towards the Lord. Shortly before our reading from Luke, Peter proclaims that Jesus is the Messiah. And yet, they don’t know how to respond in seeing the glory of the Lord. They cover it up. At least for the time being. A veil is sometimes something we use to protect ourselves from our misunderstanding, our unreadiness, or our worry over being wrong. And Paul says that in Jesus, the veil is removed. And maybe we can’t know for sure if the veil over our minds is really gone, or if Jesus is going to tear them off of us as we cling to our protective coverings. In that removal, there is freedom. Freedom to see the glory of God in ourselves and in others. Jesus removes the veil and brings us freedom. A freedom that says you are not only a child of God, made in the image of God, but in your reflection, you are being transformed by the Spirit. All of our covering up to put our best faces forward, all of our own stubbornness to hear the love and grace and Word of God brought to us from someone else, all of our failures and all of our fear. Jesus removes the veils we use to cover it up and stands on a mountain, dazzling, shining in God’s glory. And in the veil of a cloud, God’s voice says, “This is my Son, my chosen, listen to him!” God’s one and only Son, who on this Transfiguration Sunday, in his own transformation, transforms us as well. This Sunday marks the last Sunday before Lent. A season in the church where we follow Jesus in his forty days towards another mountain. And on that mountain, Jesus brings transformation for the world on the cross. The cross where Jesus takes our failures, our imperfections, our worries, our pains, our sin, and our death upon himself. Jesus dies and rises from the dead to tear the veils away. So that, as Paul says, we have such a hope, we can act with great boldness. We can see the unveiled glory of God in our reflection as children of God and as the church together. So that we can see the glory of God in others. So, as we are engaged in this ministry together, as we try and fail to live into this freedom, into Jesus’s command to love God and to love our neighbor, we do not lose heart. But instead we can share the freedom Jesus brings us in God’s love, God’s grace, and God’s Word. Thanks be to God, amen.
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