The point of it all?

As a priest, there is usually a love hate relationship with performing funerals.

Most of the reasons for disliking funerals are obvious.

They are rather sad occasions, families and friends are in mourning, they just lost their loved one and there is real anguish in that.

And there are ranges of emotions that we encounter from real grief to relief the deceased is no longer in any pain, to an expectant joy that the person they mourn is now with God and family after a long struggle with an illness.

We also face anger, old wounds sometimes surface and guilt that a person was not with the deceased when they transitioned to the eternal.

And, as a priest’s tenure becomes longer in a parish, they begin to bury people who inevitably became their friend.

Funerals can be hard, and yet I do love funerals, mostly because they are a celebration of life.

They also offer a glimpse into the eternal, a promise of hopeful reunion, a reminder that though Christ died, he was also resurrected from the dead and thus conquered death.

It is through our loss, though clouded in mourning that we are able to catch a glimpse of the kingdom.

And such glimpses are special, they sometimes even confirm our faith in God, our faith in Jesus, our faith in the eventual reunion with those we love most of all.

Almost two thousand years ago, Peter and James and John witnessed such a glimpse.

Jesus took them up a mountain and atop that mountain they witnessed Jesus transformed.

Perhaps they were so high up on that mountain that Jesus crossed some spectral plain, as if they were in upper atmosphere just bordering outer space, they crossed into the heavens.

And there atop that mountain they witnessed Jesus transfigured.

His clothes became whiter than white; no bleach could make them brighter.

And there atop that mountain too was reunion, Jesus, he of the eternal, he of the trinity, he eternally begotten and begotten not made, was speaking with Moses and Elijiah.

Moses who came down from the mountaintop to deliver the law and Elijiah who was swept up into the heavens via a whirlwind at the end of his life, were talking with Jesus.

What they said is not known, why they spoke is still unknown.

And yet there they were, the three together, communing in this in between world, this layover between heaven and earth and Peter and James and John witnessed the promise of reunion, the confirmation that death is not final, the guarantee that the kingdom would arrive.

And immediately, immediately, Peter knows what to do.

He will build three shelters, one for Jesus, one for James and one for John.

The translation here is not directly one to one here though.

The word translated as shelter here is actually closer to the Hebrew word for booths.

And the Festival of Booths or also known as Sukkot is a Jewish celebration giving thanks to God after the harvest for God’s continued blessing on Israel.

Peter, in all his beautiful naiveite, wishes to build permanent structures of thanksgiving so that they might stay on this mountain forever.

Imagine our reaction if we might hold on to a moment forever, a beautiful moment, one where you did not need to ask if you were happy, you just were.

Imagine then wanting to build something permanent to keep that moment alive, to experience that sense of elation or calm well-being.

I understand Peter.

There are moments filled with newness and hope that if I could return to them and keep them forever, I imagine I would be tempted to want to do so.

I wonder why he was terrified, but I understand his urging to keep this moment close.

And then God speaks.

 And we hear a confirmation that Jesus is God’s son.

And we remember similar words spoken upon the occasion of Jesus’ baptism, “You are my Son, beloved.”

Even at his crucifixion, it was said, “Truly this man was Son of God.”

So the apostles, the ones with him on the mountain, are getting all sorts of confirmation from God that Jesus is the Son of God and right before their eyes, experienced a more celestial Jesus in all his brilliance.

In this instance, God adds the instruction, “Listen to him.”

Listen to him.

There would be no permanent place to stay.

The clouds which descended as God spoke behind them would recede.

Moses and Elijiah vanished.

Jesus, his clothes no longer brilliant, began to descend down the mountain with Peter.

And with James.

And with John.

I wonder more about the silence on the way down that mountain than I do the words spoken by Jesus.

Yes, Jesus says to the disciples that they should not tell anyone what they saw, but I wonder about what was not said, what was left unsaid.

I wonder if there was an almost letdown after all that had happened.

A climb down as they climbed down.

They saw this fantastic representation of Jesus in his truest form, as he might appear after the resurrection and yet they knew what was to come, that his Passion was inevitable.

Because in order for them to be able to tell the world what had happened on that mountain top, Jesus would have had to have risen from the dead which meant he would have died.

And the disciples were not ready for Jesus to die.

They did not want to witness his arrest, his persecution before the courts, his march through Jerusalem, and ultimately, his death on the cross.

They wanted things as they were right then, with Jesus leading and teaching them.

If only they could have stayed on that mountain.

If only they could have built shelters for everyone up there and stayed there forever.

Yet they had to leave, they had to keep this secret, they had to descend the mountain.

And when they finally did come down, they were met by crowds looking to be freed of demons and healed of disease.

Though the three apostles had a glimpse of Jesus in his truest form, it was only a glimpse and now there was work to be done, more to be fed and more to experience the miracles performed by their messiah.

And now in this day and age, there is work for us to do as well.

Because though we too have glimpses of the divine, our place is here and our place will be here until the kingdom arrives.

Our place being in the community, feeding those who hunger, healing those who hunger.

Our place being with each other, supporting those who mourn, loving those who hurt.

Our place being the sharing of Christ’s love to the world.

For there is still work to be done.

Just as in our funeral liturgy, our work is found in the celebration of life for all peoples; projecting from here to forever, Christ’s radical message of loving the Lord our God with all our heart, and with all our soul, and with all our mind, and with all our strength and loving our neighbors as ourselves.

None of this is ever easy, to love each other truly we must love those who are difficult to love.

To love God fully we must love a being we don’t even truly understand always.

Yet, from doing those two things, loving God and loving our neighbor, we are building the foundation that ultimately the kingdom shall upon and with the kingdom come reunion.

Until that kingdom arrives though, climb your mountaintops to seek out glimpses of Christ in his truest form.

By doing so you will see that when you love your neighbor, you are seeing Christ in that person.

When you love God, you will be sharing God’s word with all peoples, through thought, word and deed.

And isn’t that what this is all about?

Amen.