In the picture

In early 1996, very early, January to be exact, I took a trip with my grandmother to Marakesh Morocco and its surroundings.

Now, I’ve mentioned this trip in a sermon from a few months ago, but we’ll take a look at a different aspect of it this morning.

It was such a grand adventure, just a life changing 10 days that I was so blessed to have been a part of.

The first highlight was landing in  Paris where I got to try the French version of McDonald’s.

Eating a cheeseburger with mayonnaise on it and kept warm under a heat lamp for who knows how long was certainly a choice.

We then landed in Casablanca.

One thing to know about me, if I haven’t told you already, Casablanca is my favorite film of all time.

So, just being in that airport was so exciting to me.

I looked out the terminal windows and imagined it was the same tarmac on which Rick told Ilsa that they’ll always have Paris.

I would always have Paris too, because that mayo laden cheeseburger was still with me, but that’s beside the point.

From Casablanca we flew to Marrakesh.

I think it was still daytime and if I remember correctly, we went to a cafe overlooking Jemaa el-Fnaa, the main square in the city where various winding roads surrounded with stalls filled with sellers selling all types of things from spices to brass to tchotchkes would terminate.

We sat in the desert sun at that rooftop cafe shaded by an umbrella, I drank a Fanta.

The real Fanta with real sugar that tastes different than the orange soda found in the States.

We would spend ten days in Marrakesh and nearby cities and were headquartered in a hotel called the Chems which had a pool that was too cold to go into in the winter, even in a desert climate in which we were.

That pool was surrounded by orange trees from which I picked its fruit.

No harm, though.

This was not the Tree of Knowledge.

Throughout our stay, my grandmother was my roommate and each morning we would wake up and sit on the edge of full-size beds next to each other dropping Visine into our eyes.

My grandmother doing so because of the dry desert air; myself because I returned to the room around 1 am after having visited the nightclubs in the French section of the city with the younger members of the tour group the night before.

No longer bleary eyed on one particular morning, or, in my case, less bleary eyed, we all piled into a tour bus to visit Ouarzazate in the High Atlas Mountains.

We journeyed through the city and into suburbs and through small towns.

Houses became farther apart, the scrubland became more common and I sat in that van peering out the window.

Peering.

Staring.

Wondering.

In retrospect, I was going through a period of depression and though I was in this amazing place with this amazing woman who had traveled the world and was now sharing it with me, I carried too a certain sense of sadness.

A funk that I couldn’t shake as I was affected by the recent loss of my grandfather, the overwrought Romeo-esque feelings of going through a break up with a college girlfriend, the overall sense of disconnectedness I felt as a senior in college with not much of a clue about what I wanted to do in my life, and so on.

So, I stared out that bus window and stared.

And stared until in the distance I saw them.

The High Atlas Mountains towards the south of Morocco.

The dividing line between the desert sands of the Sahara and the desert scrubland north of them.

And it turned out it was easier to see them in the distance than to see the distance from them.

There were no great vistas as there are when you visit the Grand Canyon or look to the distance when standing towards the edge of a cliff.

But from the distance, you see this wall of vast mountains, mountains that cut the horizon and pierce the sky.

Now, take a look at the picture in front of you.

Share with a neighbor if there are not enough for everyone.

This is Raphael’s painting of the Transfiguration.

Take a moment to stare at it.

Perhaps the first thing you see is Jesus, rising in the air speaking with Moses and Elijiah.

Maybe you see Peter, James, and John laying prostate on the mountaintop.

Focus now on what is going on at the foot of that mountain.

We have two groups of nine lined up before each other, facing off as if two not quite football teams ready to scrimmage.

On the right side is a boy with no shirt.

His family surrounds him.

His townsfolk surround him.

And the crowd is frustrated.

They are raising their hands to the other nine across from them as if saying, why can’t you help this boy?

A spirit has seized him.

He convulses.

He foams at the mouth.

Help him.

And across from the crowd, stand the nine disciples not on the mountaintop.

On the lower left side of the painting, are the disciples.

They appear confused.

One disciple is referring to a book as if to look up instructions on how to exorcise demons.

It is thought the man in red towards the lower center left is Matthew and he is pointing towards Jesus, which is great because my name is Matthew and I’m trying to point you all toward Jesus as well!

But what we see here in parts, Jesus transfigured, the crowd desperate for this boy to be freed of demons, the disciples seemingly helpless, should also be seen as the whole.

Because, and I’ve said this before, too, Jesus is with us.

What looks like many parts is one greater picture.

Jesus is with us.

I couldn’t see it that day as we approached the mountains.

I couldn’t see the top from the bottom and the bottom from the top.

In fact, without analogy and at that time in my life, I rejected the fact that there was even a Jesus to be seen.

But.

Jesus is there regardless.

If we look at the crowd in this painting, they see only the desperation before them, this demon addled boy takes up their attention as does the inability of the disciples to help them.

And we see the disciples struggling and pointing, trying to act on their own and failing miserably at exorcising demons.

But this is not a picture in parts, it is a portrait of the totality of Jesus in our lives.

Because Jesus descended that mountain and Jesus healed that boy.

Ultimately, there is no separation between us and God.

Ultimately, though we sometimes struggle with understanding God is with us, God, indeed, remains with us.

This portrait is not a triptych, a painting painted upon three panels, it is one portrait.

Yes, there are two themes, two settings, one showing suffering and the other the ultimate answer to Christ’s question, “Who do they say I am?”

But, as Goethe wrote about the scenes included, “The two are one: below suffering, need, above, effective power, succor. Each bearing on the other, both interacting with one another."

There have been, will be, and are times when we feel separated from Jesus.

There will be times of sadness when we are unable to see God just there, just past the horizon on that mountaintop, but there is God nonetheless.

Our work lives might seem unbalanced, our stresses unsupported, the unbearable weight of our very being might seem to crush us, but still, God is there.

That is our faith.

That is the substance of things unseen.

That is the beauty of the Christ transformed and clothed in dazzling white.

And still, in the most physical or metaphysical sense, we meet Jesus.

Christ descends the mountain and enters into our lives through prayer or healing, the Eucharist or listening to the Word, we feel Christ within and among us.

This painting is symbolic of that presence just as the Transfiguration itself is evidence of the fact that Jesus is both a heavenly body and an earthly messiah.

We may find ourselves as the disciples did, unable to help where Jesus can.

And we may find ourselves as the boy and his family did, frustrated with those who would promise such help but cannot deliver.

But Jesus is never out of the picture.

We speak a lot about the Transfiguration.

Every last Sunday of the season after the Epiphany is Transfiguration Sunday in the Episcopal Church, so we talk about the Transfiguration every year.

And we celebrate it because this is the day we recognize Jesus for who he is, the son of God.

And we celebrate it because this is the first hint we hear of what is going to happen in Jerusalem.

And we celebrate it because we read of a boy freed of his demons.

Still, we can celebrate the Transfiguration for that other reason.

This is the day we celebrate the totality of who Jesus is.

He who is God’s son.

He who is the one we point to in times of need.

He who is the one who shall heal us of our demons.

In Jesus, the three are one just as he is of the three who are one, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

In all our hopes and dreams, there flies Jesus above the mountaintop.

In all our lowest lows, there descends Jesus to comfort us and succor us.

We are never without God.

We are never without Jesus.

In one picture, we see that to be true.

In one lifetime, we might even experience the same.