Jack Hardaway
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Light makes no sound.
Glory is silent.
Clouds are quiet.
The breath of the wind, that still small voice, the sheer silence of God’s presence before Elijah on Mt. Horeb.
Before Moses as he comes down Mt. Sinai, his face changed with unheard blazing .
Jesus at the Mount of Transfiguration. Before Peter, James and John as they almost sleep through the splendor of radiance.
They almost missed the whole thing, the hush of the holy.
Mountain tops, prayer, meeting God.
And then silence.
I love that.
Out of the raging war and storm of life, we are brought up short, and are suddenly still. That sudden sense of deep perspective on what really matters, and words failing.
We finish a season of Epiphanies this week and begin a season of penitence. Lent follows the silence before the holy.
I love that.
The disciples come down the mountain in silence and into ministry.
They don’t establish a self-help dynasty, reciting their special encounter with God. No “how to be transfigured in three easy steps”, no seminar, no social media influencing. No Gurus. No buy one get one discounts, with t shirts, no invite a friend get half off. No marketing and sales strategies.
Just showing up and loving.
Just Ministry. With people. Touching the pain in the world, driven by that silence before the holy.
Revealing God, the good news of God, that God is all involved in humanity and creation.
The world always seems to be falling apart, and life is full of pain, disappointment, passion and hope, and in the middle of all of that God is present, God is revealed, and God is known.
The Gospel is that God is embracing the world in Jesus Christ. Not kind of sort of, or sometimes, or for a select few, but an overwhelming embrace.
And here at Grace our vision of God is that embrace known in the ministry of Word and Sacrament.
We proclaim that embrace.
We celebrate that embrace.
The epiphany that calls us up short, words failing, tumbling down the mountain into a world cram packed with God.
Light makes no sound.
Glory is silent.
Clouds are quiet.
The breath of the wind, that still small voice, the sheer silence of God.