Text:  Luke 9.28-36
Last Sunday after the Epiphany

"Mama, Tell me a Story"

            “Mama, tell me a story.”
            For about a year now, this has been my 4 year old’s constant refrain.  Whenever there is a break in the activity, and Jasper has time to consider what he wants to do next, he utters to this hopeful plea.  “Tell me a story.”  Those of you who have spent time with him have probably been on the receiving end, and several of you have spent time weaving colorful tales to his considerable delight. 
            Jasper doesn’t know anything about theories of child development.  He has no interest in exploring why storytelling is so important to him.  But if he did, I imagine he would say something like this:
            “Mama, tell me a story.  Invent a world.  Introduce me to people I’ve never met.  Make up a plot that takes wild turns.  I am trying to figure out this world, and I need to develop my imagination.  When I don’t understand what is going on around me, imagination is what I use to fill in the gaps, to make sense of life.  So stretch my mind.  Tell me a story.” 
            There are storytellers who can make up entire worlds out of wholecloth.  They create fantastic situations that play out in alternative universes.  Just last night, while babysitting Jasper, Cait Ruegger concocted a winding tale about dinosaur pirates in outer space. 
            I don’t possess a gift for whole cloth.  The stories I tell Jasper are almost always rooted in something that actually happened to him, or to me.  Sometimes the stories are more realistic, sometimes less so.  Jasper doesn’t mind real-life stories, even ones that he has lived through, as long as he has room to interrupt and throw the occasional curveball into the story.  His only big demand is that the story always start with those magic words, “Once upon a time.”
            Most of the Bible started out as oral tradition, as stories passed from generation to generation.  Stories told to enraptured crowds.  Stories that stretched people’s imaginations.  Stories that helped people bridge the gaps between what they knew and didn’t know about the world around them.  Stories that helped them make sense of their lives. 
            Some of these stories may have been made up from whole cloth – myths, legends, metaphors that worked to capture in human language truths surpassing human experience of reality, of God.  This kind of storytelling has given us lyrical and deeply meaningful texts such as the creation account in Genesis, the story of Job, and the first chapter of John’s gospel:  “In the beginning was the Word…”
            But many of the stories – perhaps most – were based on something that really happened.  In the early church, the stories were crafted, shaped to address the needs of particular communities.  The stories were intentionally designed to help these young Christians make sense of the world they were living in, to discern the truths revealed to them in the story of Jesus’ life and death, his resurrection and ascension. 
            The story of the Transfiguration is probably a based on something that really happened, embellished with fantastic, other-worldly detail.  When you first hear it, it sounds a lot like dinosaur pirates in outer space.  But the story has its roots in that real moment when the disciples had to use their imaginations to bridge the gap between what they had always known and believed, and the new reality of their lives with Jesus.
            Sit back, and let me tell you a story.
            Once upon a time, Jesus needed to get away from the noise of his daily life.  He needed time to center, to get in touch with God.  So he asked three of his best guys, Peter and James and John to climb a mountain with him. 
            Peter and James and John were good friends, since before they knew Jesus.  They used to fish together.  One day, utterly captivated by this guy and his power and what he taught them, they knew they couldn’t let him out of their sight.  They left their boats and fish and everything in order to go wherever he was going.
            They thought Jesus was the coolest.  In fact, they were pretty sure he was the Messiah.  The thing is, Jesus kept saying confusing things about himself that they didn’t understand.  Weird stuff like, “If you want to save your life, you have to lose it.”  Peter and James and John didn’t always get Jesus.  They didn’t get what kind of Messiah Jesus was.  They wondered, “Is he like Moses, the guy who is going to set us free from Rome?  Or is he like Elijah, a mighty hero who proves that Yahweh is more powerful than any stupid pagan god?”  Sometimes they thought, “Maybe he is Moses, or Elijah, come back to save us!” 
            So up the mountain they went with Jesus.  When they found a good spot, they stopped.  Peter and James and John were exhausted, but of course, Jesus started right in praying.  He was like that.  Prayed all the time.  What happened next is hard to describe.  As he prayed, Jesus changed.  He looked different.  Way different.  He got all glowy and radiant, and they barely recognized his face.  Peter and James and John knocked their heads in disbelief.  “Is this, like, altitude sickness?” they wondered.  “Was it something we ate?  Are we dreaming?” 
Suddenly Moses and Elijah were there, also all glowy and radiant.  “Wow,” Peter whispered to John, “We were just talking about them!”  And what do you know, Moses and Elijah and Jesus were talking about the very stuff that was most confusing to Peter and James and John.  They used this word, exodos, to describe something that was about to happen to Jesus.  Peter’s ears really picked up at that.  “Exodos?”  So maybe Jesus is going to be just like Moses, leading the people to a promised land!  But the more Peter listened, the more he was convinced that that wasn’t what they were talking about.  Moses and Elijah were clear that Jesus is going to be killed in Jerusalem, just like he told the disciples.  He’s going to be killed; he’s going to be raised from the dead; and then he is heading home to God.  That entire cycle would be his exodos.  It didn’t make sense to Peter, but there was no denying the power of this word for him.  If Jesus was about to have an exodus experience, somewhere in that story there would be a promise of deliverance to Peter and his people.
            When they had first gotten to this spot on the mountain, Peter and James and John were falling over themselves, they were so sleepy.  At this point in the story they are awake.  Really awake.  This is not a weird dream or figs gone bad.  But just at this moment, when Peter realizes that something really important is happening, Moses and Elijah start to fade.  They are leaving.  Disappearing, actually.  And Peter wigs out.  “Our families have been waiting to see you guys for YEARS.  You can’t leave now!  Quick, build a house, pitch a tent, get a freakin’ peanut butter jar with a secure lid – Don’t let these guys get away!” 
            He’s desperate, and who can blame him?  Moses and Elijah, he understands.  They offered to Israel a kind of leadership that made total sense to him.  Plus, he’s been hearing the stories about them since he was a little kid.  Jesus, he does not get.  Jesus tells stories that confuse him.  That scare the living daylights out of him.  Maybe if he can hang on to Moses and Elijah for a little longer, Jesus will want to be more like them. 
            One thing is certain.  Jesus is not them.  Peter and James and John have to come to grips with who he is.  They have to start figuring out his story.  And just in case they aren’t feeling their predicament acutely enough, God shows up to drum it into their little pea brains.  “This is my Son, my Chosen.  Listen to him.”  Stop hanging on to Moses and Elijah.  Get ready for something new and different.  Get ready for what is going to happen next. 

Today is the last Sunday of Epiphany.  On Wednesday we enter the season of Lent, the time when we prepare for Easter.  It is a time to let go of what is comfortable, to stretch our minds and our hearts to hear a new story, to get ready for what is going to happen next. 
            And of course, what happens next is a great story.   It’s got passion, high drama, violence, betrayal, and a jaw-dropping climax.  Most importantly, the moral of the story makes intuitive sense:  Your lives have meaning.  Be good to each other.  Tell the truth, even if it gets you in trouble.  When it gets bad, Jesus will stand with you.  When it gets really bad, to the point of death, death will not be the last word. 
            Every year, the church invites us to hear this tale.  The time has come again.  So settle in.  Make room in your life to listen.  God is about to tell us a story. 

                                                                        Amen. 
                         
                                                            The Rev. Elizabeth M. Stedman
                                                            Canterbury Northwestern
                                                            Evanston, Illinois
                                                            February 18, 2007