Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
March 2, 2025
What does it take to change?
Luke 9
I started going to a functional fitness gym in Hampden almost three years ago, and I can remember feeling so anxious before I first walked in the door. Would it be too hard? Would I be able to keep up? I’ve learned a lot since then, about Olympic weightlifting, and metabolic conditioning, and building my engine with low-intensity work – also known as zone two… I’ve learned about myself, my strengths and weaknesses, and my capacity to grow and change. One important lesson is that consistency is key – I’ll have good days, and meh days, but ¾ of the challenge is just showing up. It’s become clear that over time, if I continue to show up, if I put in the time and effort, I will get stronger. One of my coaches told me the story of Milo – a legendary Greek athlete, who competed in six different Olympic games. The story goes that Milo started training by picking up his neighbor’s calf and carrying it around for a bit. Surprised that he could do it, he started a daily practice of picking it up and hauling it around on his back. Each day, the calf would get a bit bigger, until finally, Milo was carrying not a calf, but a full-grown bull on his shoulders. Incrementally, day by day, over time, he got stronger. It’s the concept of progressive overloading… Change often happens slowly – so gradually it can be hard to believe it’s happening at all. Then all of a sudden: the baby walks; the child is reading; the teen is taller than his dad; the bull is hefted up and on your shoulder.
But, change can also happen quickly, in the blink of an eye. An acceptance letter can change a person’s trajectory in the time it takes to read “Congratulations!” A car accident can bring tragedy. We’re just six weeks into a new administration and so much has changed – lauded public servants are now vilified, allies seem to have become enemies, while aggressors have inexplicably become friends. Our European partners in NATO are reeling – it’s hard to comprehend. Change can happen so very quickly.
The Transfiguration story is a turning point in the gospel of Luke – all the action has been leading up to this point, and from here, Jesus turns his face to go to Jerusalem. When Jesus and the disciples head back down the mountain, they begin the descent into his final conflict with Rome and the religious leaders. Here at the edge of Lent, we, too, are turning toward Jerusalem, to make our own journey to face the pain of Good Friday, the grief of Holy Saturday, and the mystery of Easter morning.
From high on the mountain, Jesus can see the challenge and life altering change that awaits him off in the distance, in Jerusalem. Maybe that’s why he offers his closest disciples a glimpse of who he really is: a shining, radiant diety, the one to whom the law and the prophets (Moses and Elijah) were pointing. A quick change, to sustain them through the hard change to come. That’s what all the commentaries say, at least. But the truth is, we don’t really know. This is a perplexing story. There’s no explaining it. It’s confusing, just as the tale of Moses returning from Sinai is confusing – the text says he had to veil his face, so close was he to God; when Moses came down the mountain, he was shining.
The truth is that God is a mystery. We can draw near to the holy… we know when we see it, when the light shines through the leaves just so, and our breath catches with awe; we know when we feel our spirits soar, when we get a lump in our throat and tears fill our eyes because of the beauty, or the kindness, or the sense of being part of something greater than ourselves. Yes, we can get close to the holy, but the heart of who God is? It’s too much to comprehend. Too much to behold. Too bright, too radiant – we have to shield our eyes, or look away.
It’s hard, maybe impossible to understand what happens up on the mountaintop What I can relate to is the story that comes after. As soon as Jesus and the others come down, they meet a man in search of healing – a parent, searching for a cure for their child. That I can understand: a parent begging Christ to come cast out the evil afflicting their child so that the child has a fighting chance for survival. Who among us hasn’t faced illness or injury we are desperate to heal? Most parents would climb a mountain to find a cure if that’s what it took. Spending the past several days with a child in pain – I can promise that’s true.
And who among us hasn’t come back from retreat and immediately found work that demands our attention? I think Luke wants us to notice the contrast between the ethereal, mystical revelation on the mountain and the ministry that continues in the valley – The vision of Christ transfigured changes our understanding about who Jesus is; but the work of healing, of love, of justice – the work doesn’t change. Down here in the valley, it’s clear: our hands and hearts are needed more than ever.
The truth of this story is that the life of faith moves between the mountaintop and the valley. We are always moving between encounters with the radiance and transcendence of God and the hard work to which God calls us, between the broad perspective we get from being high up and the day-to-day work down in the weeds. Between the certainty of faith and the reality of doubt. It’s a cycle – up, then down, again and again.
I’ve shared with you before, I believe our weekly worship reflects this cycle – we come, seeking God’s presence. Some weeks, in prayer and silence and scripture and song, we find it. Then, we step outside, back to the street… hopefully fortified, refreshed, and ready for the week ahead, confident of who and whose we are, clear about what God is calling us to do. We come back again, to be reminded.
And I’ve come to believe, in this life of faith, consistency is key. It is how our hearts and minds and lives are changed – slowly, over time, incrementally. Through prayer, and silence, and sacrament, and song, held by community, our neural pathways are re-wired, and we become capable of more love than we thought possible; we get stronger – our faith becomes stronger than it was when we first walked through the doors. We are able to withstand the chaos and tumult, because we know that God is still at work – in us, in the world. We are able to hold on to hope because we have glimpsed what is possible when grace guides us to share what we have in beloved community. We just might be strong enough to heft a bull, which is good, because the way things are going lately, we might have to!