A Practical Glory—February 20, 2023

A Practical Glory—February 20, 2023

“Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them.” [Mark 9:2-3]

Okay, everybody, just so we’re clear, nobody secretly took Jesus’ clothes and bleached them while everybody else was looking the other way.

This is one of the things I love about the earthiness of the gospels--and in particular the way Mark writes. Jesus’ appearance is suddenly and supernaturally transformed so that his clothes are dazzlingly white, and Mark just wants to rule out our possible objection that we think someone might have just bleached Jesus’ clothes. Or maybe Mark doesn’t want us to think this is a small-potatoes moment. What happened up there on the mountain was more than just laundry day. What happened was more than a quick change of outfits. It was the very unveiling of Jesus’ glory—like staring at the sun. And Mark wants to make sure we know we aren’t just talking about Jesus taking off a dirty gray robe and putting on a clean linen one. We are talking about something more like taking off a gray robe and putting on a bolt of lightning.

It’s just that Mark picks an awfully workmanlike way to make that point: Jesus’ clothes become so white (you can hear the set-up like it’s a joke, can’t you? “How white were they?”)… that they were whiter and shinier than any detergent could bleach them. It’s a strangely common way to describe something so extraordinary, isn’t it? It’s an awfully practically-minded image for a moment so full of holy awe, to describe the transfigured Jesus’ glory by comparing it to household chores like laundry.

But then again, the God we meet in the Bible has always had a strange and practical-minded kind of glory. There’s God’s “glory” showing up in the fiery cloud for the freed Israelites in the wilderness—not just shining idly, but leading the people on their way out of Egypt (see Exodus 14 and 24, among other places).  God's glory isn't there merely to dazzle, but to liberate and break chains.

Or there’s this wonderfully practical, concrete picture from Isaiah 58:7-8 about the kind of life filled with God’s glory: “…to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.”

Funny, isn’t it, that so often, when we hear the word “glory” we picture angels hovering on clouds, churchgoers lifting up their hands while their favorite praise chorus plays, or medals being pinned on well-dressed, smiling people, and yet the Bible is full of these very practical, even earthy pictures of what “glory” is really like--it looks like justice for the oppressed and food for the hungry. Ask the Torah about where to see glory, and they point you to God like a tour guide blazing a trail in the dusty wilderness. Ask the prophets about where you can see glimpses of God’s “glory” around you, and they will tell you to welcome the homeless into your house and to share your lunch with someone who is hungry. Ask Mark to tell us what the “glory” of Jesus looked like up on the mountain, and even then when the man is shining like lightning, Mark can only think of a practical, earthy, work-related image to compare him to—“his clothes were whiter than anybody could have bleached them!”

That may be a strange way to describe Jesus in all his glory, but maybe it is exactly right for learning how to recognize that glory still when Jesus heads down the mountain and his clothes have gotten back their usual dusty tinge. We know, of course, that Jesus will not let his disciples stay up on the mountain with the bright light forever—they get this glimpse so that they can recognize the same glory in the same Jesus when he is back down at sea level, doing things that do not seem particularly glorious, like washing feet or weeping at Lazarus’ tomb.  It is a reminder that there is no separating the "glory" of God from the actual work of God to heal, to mend, to set free, and to love.  As the old church father Irenaeus put it, after all, "the glory of God is a human being fully alive."  When we help one another to come fully alive--healing their hurts, sharing our bread, welcoming neighbors, righting the places people have been wronged--we get a glimpse of the unapologetically pragmatic glory of God.

Chances are, you and I will not get one of those moments when the heavens literally part or we see a blinding light or some heavenly vision. But that does not mean we will not see the glory of God. We need this story to help us to see the strangely practical glory of God, a glory that rolls up its sleeves and shows up in the midst of real life and need.

Lord Jesus, help us to glimpse your glory as you are doing your great saving work among us. Help us to see your glory with its workboots on.