Aug 8 2019 Mark 9:2-13

Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah

Here we have Mark’s telling of the Transfiguration, where Jesus goes up the mountain and is alit by the presence of God. This is just the chronological reading of Mark, where earlier this month it was the feast of the Transfiguration. When praying Morning Prayer, we repeat portions of scripture to commemorate specific days and again in the routine reading through of the books of the Bible. Right now, I’m only practicing Morning Prayer; if I added Evening Prayer to my daily practice, there’d be even more Scripture read, and more opportunities to reflect on the same words.

But when the same Scripture is paired with differing readings, or commemorating different events or people in the church, you see something different each time. I’m coming to enjoy these repeat performances, because they’re so rich there’s always something else to think about.

Today, I’m struck by the response to Jesus’ transfiguration by his companions, Peter, James and John. Jesus is not only lit up whiter than anything, but along with him, the companions see Elijah and Moses. At this time, Peter, James and John were devout Jews, with a long tradition and much honor due Elijah and Moses. While Jesus was rising in prominence as far as they were concerned, I’m not sure whether Jesus or these other characters were the main attraction to Peter, James and John.

In any case, they respond with this oafish response that they’ll build three houses, one for Moses, one for Elijah and one for Jesus. In hindsight, knowing the rest of Jesus’ story it’s absurd to think that Jesus, Moses and Elijah would need houses, there on top of the mountain.

And yet, these guys did what they knew how to do. They knew how to build a house.

Maybe they were trying to be hospitable. No fault in that.

Maybe they were trying to hold on to these three sights, by giving them a permanent home. Maybe Moses & Elijah and Jesus would just stay put in the little enclave they’d built. No fault in that.

Maybe they were just awestruck and didn’t know what else to do, so they did what they know. No fault in that.

I haven’t done the biblical studies to understand why Elijah and Moses were there, but I can imagine they were connections with their faith tradition that tied Jesus to their world. I don’t know why Jesus was lit up. I don’t know why, in response to the house-building comments, God boomed from the cloud that Jesus was God’s son, God’s beloved. Listen to him.

But I do know that as mere mortals, I do not fault Peter, James and John. I know that I would likely do something as absurd. Maybe offer them coffee. We do what we know, whether it’s from a place of terror, uncertainty or awe. We only can rely on the skills and tools we possess.

In my current world, I’m dealing with a whole new set of prompts, comments and circumstances, due to the actions of my sick loved one. I respond with what I know, in ways I’ve responded, and with rationale that has served me in the past. It’s a new world, though. And those ways aren’t working. As it turns out, the apparition of Moses doesn’t need a house. But my offer is made from a place of solid, well intentioned, history.

This morning, I’m thinking about how hard it is for us to respond to challenging, unexpected or frightening experiences in any way other than our practiced responses. I’m wondering how to reach beyond the offer for coffee, to the intent behind the action; my intent may be hospitality, just as Peter’s, but coffee? 

Today, I want to keep questioning the thinking behind my reactions, and make sure their intent speaks louder than the Pavlovian response. Build a house. Make dinner. I want to focus on the best way in the current situation to act on those deeper sentiments – love, care, hospitality, security. Or maybe not act on them but somehow assure that others know my intent.