Montclair, NJ and leaving the mountaintop

It is a silly thing, practically a cliché really but it is a memory I return to over and over.

We were at my grandparents’ house in Upper Montclair, New Jersey.

Theirs was a house of refuge, a place to rest on our Friday through Sunday sojourns.

We would make the hour and a half drive on Friday evenings after my father returned home from work and would be greeted at the door with lipsticked kisses from my grandmother and a hearty handshake from my rather taciturn grandfather.

My brother and I would spread out our Star Wars action figures on the floor while my parents and grandparents settled into the den to watch Dallas.

Left to our own devices, we would play act various scenarios in a Death Star constructed of throw pillows and sofa cushions.

The glow of the television lightened the faces of family following the exploits of the Ewings and who did shoot J.R. anyway?

Saturdays was our rest day.

We would laze around the house after a breakfast far more fancier than I was used to, eggs and bacon and toast and all of it.

Yes, fancier than the Fruity Pebbles I’d serve myself on those Saturdays spent at home watching the Hanna-Barbera Olympics.

After breakfast, my brother and I would usually head to Brookdale Park; there was a well worn path, a cut through that led us to the swing sets, slides and sunny days spent lazing under the blue sky.

This one time though, this returning reminiscence was time spent with my father.

We had walked that path together and ended up watching a softball game on one of the ball fields.

We then wandered the park, there was a jogging path that we walked along.

I remember no part of our conversation but do know one was had until we stopped to rest or just soak in the beauty of an afternoon.

We sat back on a rise overlooking a clearing, a soccer field maybe.

We laid on our backs looking toward the sky.

I talked about the shapes I saw in the clouds, dancing bears danced across the blue.

And my father listened and he said what he saw too.

I cannot remember what he said, but I do remember finding it quite silly.

Yes, the details have faded but that feeling of being loved, that feeling of being cared for and completely content within that moment have stuck with me for however many years it’s been since then.

I return to that memory often, a father and son imaging things into the New Jersey sky.

Peter, John, and James saw something pretty spectacular.

They walked to a mountaintop and witness Jesus speaking with Moses and Elijah.

They saw his face transfigured and his clothes were a brilliant white.

They saw their saviour speaking with the greatest of prophets and he who brought the law to all of Israel.

They heard Jesus talking about his departure, his Exodus from man to death through great suffering and pain.

They heard all these things and Peter asked if maybe they could build a dwelling place or three, rather, one for Jesus, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.

Maybe Peter was so taken with the moment he wanted it to last forever; maybe he heard about Jesus’ coming death and thought they would be protected up there.

But that was not to be, just as Moses descended Mt. Sinai with God’s law and just as Elijah descended Mt. Horeb with God’s word, Jesus would descend his own mountain having had it confirmed that he was God’s son and he should be listened to for God appeared on that mountain and told the three disciples it was so.

This was life changing.

This must have been a memory the three would return to over and over, seeing their Christ transformed, his robes were glowing light.

And how it must have played over again and again.

If only they could stay on that mountain Jesus’ exodus to death would not have to happen, his tears in the garden would not have to be shed, his torturers ruthlessness would not be fulfilled; his cross between two thieves would be empty.

At each phase and at every painful interlude following his arrest, did Peter wonder, what if we stayed on that mountain?

What if I built those shelters?

What if we stayed in the presence of God?

What if I stayed on that hillside with my father?

What if we stayed in that hillside figuring out the clouds?

I would not have to face the bullies at school any longer.

I wouldn’t have to feel less than.

What if we set up a tent and escaped a sometimes angry, sometimes defiant world?

And yet, Jesus did descend from that mountain.

And my father and I did return home.

We are not called to be separate.

We are not called to stay in permanent shelters on the mountain top.

The evidence of this fact is what Jesus did directly after leaving the mountain.

On that very same day, Jesus made his descent and was greeted by a large crowd.

And a man came up to him and asked that his son be healed.

The son was possessed by demons and though the disciples had tried they were unable to relieve the boy of his torment.

So Jesus performed that miracle, he healed the boy.

Had Jesus stayed on that mountain, that boy would continue to suffer.

Knowing full well the details of how he was supposed to die, Jesus left that mountain and he worked to heal the world.

I wonder if any of us has a similar experience, a similar memory that we to which we return over and over and wonder those “what-ifs”.

What if we stayed that way on that perfect day?

What if we didn’t have to face the routine of getting stuck in traffic on our way into work?

What if we didn’t have to say goodbye to our loved one that one last time?

What if we built a little shelter, a place to remain separate from the realities and vagaries of less than perfect day to day?

And yet we cannot stay separate in our shelters for there is a world to be confronted, to be made better, and in which we are to share the Word.

The temptation to stay on our various mountain tops, our places of safety and refuge is real and must be overcome.

The temptation to stay in this place, this room, this church, where we can be constantly refreshed, forgiven and be in companionship with each other, with people we love is real and must be overcome.

For we are to descend those stairs or that ramp outside these doors just as Moses descended his mountain to share God’s law and just as Elijah descended his mountain to share God’s word and just as Jesus descended his mountain to walk this earth as the Son of Man.

Friends we are called to our mountain tops and we are called from our mountain tops.

We are called to make those memories to which we can return.

We are called to identify shapes in the sky.

We are called to rest and to worship.

And we are called to learn the truth and then share that truth.

Those memories will never be far; those memories will serve as fuel as we confront an imperfect world through God’s word and through works inspired by faith.

Ultimately, it is because we are guided by love, because we are loved, that we must share that word and work those works.

Inspired by the ideal, recalling the ideal, we can preach the ideal, sharing the sunshine with a clouded world.

This is the last Sunday in the season of Epiphany.

My first day worshipping with all of you was the first Sunday after the Epiphany.

And I will remember these first fifty days, I promise you.

They will reside in my memory as if I am on a hillside with my father, a series of days defined by sunshine even though the snow did fall and the clouds did come.

I will remember the kindness with which I was greeted; I will remember the optimism and hope so inherent in this church.

And yet I will have to move on from this beginning into the transformation that God is calling us to see through.

We will have the season of Lent to share and an Easter to celebrate.

And from this place of welcome, this house built on memories and inspiration and our faith in God, we can and must share our experiences of God in our lives for there is a world starving for the joy, for the peace that Christ brings to us.

A portion of the poem Memory, by Christina Rossetti:

I have a room whereinto no one enters

Save I myself alone:

There sits a blessed memory on a throne,

There my life centres.

While winter comes and goes?oh tedious comer!?

And while its nip-wind blows;

While bloom the bloodless lily and warm rose

Of lavish summer.

If any should force entrance he might see there

One buried yet not dead,

Before whose face I no more bow my head

Or bend my knee there;

But often in my worn life's autumn weather

I watch there with clear eyes,

And think how it will be in Paradise

When we're together.

Friends, hold close your memories; keep them close.

And then let us descend from our mountain tops; exit our rooms wherein only our own selves dwell.

For a paradise awaits.

Amen.