So on a Sunday afternoon after church we took off for the mountains northeast of Eureka. We finally stopped on a Forest Road, and I got out of the truck only to see the huge mountainside, rising up hundreds of feet at looked to be about 70 degree angle. Man! Up we climbed, our feet slipping and sliding, my heart pounding and my lungs aching for breath as we neared the top to begin cutting the grounded trees to size; then rolling huge pieces down the mountainside, steering them around boulders and stumps, getting them unstuck. After a couple of hours of those insane calisthenics, we still had to chainsaw the assorted logs into smaller pieces in order be able to load the tons of wood by hand into the truck and the trailer.
And what was it all for? Wood for the stove, sure. But even more, knowing that winter was coming, for that wonderfully satisfied feeling, the cord wood neatly stacked, promising security. Even if the power went out for weeks, our house would be warm. Security. I worked so hard I almost killed myself to get it--security.
The disciples, Peter, James, and John knew a thing or two about hard work. Former fishermen, they had rowed boats in rough water and hauled in more heavy nets than they cared to think about. It was a risky life, being a fisherman, but now, they figured they’d found their security—Jesus the powerful rabbi. No, he was more than that, as Peter had confessed a chapter before today’s mysterious lesson, Jesus was—and this almost took their breath away--the long-awaited Messiah. He was the One who came in the world to set things right. And now, he invites them to the mountain—not for firewood, but for a retreat, a spiritual super stardom they hoped—the security of being on the inside track with the Messiah!
Security. Control. Nothing to fear anymore. Back in 1992 I had the firewood and I had lots of other security blankets, I was in charge of things, I had convinced myself, and then the big quakes hit the North Coast the Sunday after Easter: in less than 24 hours, a 7.1, a 6.4 and a 6.6. It was as if the earth itself, that firm foundation, betrayed us. All security shaken. Months later, just bump a table, and people jumped. There are powers greater than anything we can achieve, maintain, or even believe. Security is always at risk.
A sudden illness, a fatal accident, the long suffering one with cancer, the insidious destruction of families by alcoholism, random acts of violence, a betrayal of a marriage, a teen in serious trouble, all these may be the shaking of our foundations, even as those who put all their trust in their Enron stock, assuming their futures were secure, lost everything. The glorious symbols of capitalism, the twin towers of the World Trade Center, destroyed by madmen. We are at risk in a world of risk.
Security. We want it, need it, lust after it. Hoping for growing bank accounts, respect in the community, a decent house, a successful family, good health—we climb mountains of hard work and exhaust ourselves trying to get security. Big mistake. Like Peter, in a sacred moment of worship or exaltation, we may babble to Christ about our ideology of hard work and achievement, point to our glorious heights of moralism, and say, Look Lord, what we can do for you! But God rudely interrupts Peter, cuts his babble off. From the bright and holy cloud the voice commands, "This is my own dear Son, and I am pleased with him. Listen to what he says!" [and writes Matthew] When the disciples heard the voice, they were so afraid that they fell flat on the ground.
No one plans on having God interrupt our chatter, silence our claims to righteousness, render foolish the vanity of our lust for false security, or make us fall flat on our faces in fear. But terror comes anyway. In such moments of encounter with God and the mystery of suffering, the disciples, and we ourselves, seem so much like Job, the Biblical character. A success by any standards, his righteous life was turned upside down, the Biblical story says, simply because Satan made a bet with God—I wager I can get that righteous Job to curse you! Just give me a chance to make everything go wrong in his life. So Job lost wealth, health, family, everything. Job’s life, interrupted, by God!
Having protested his suffering to God at great length Job is brought at last into the thundering presence of the Holy One whose voice and presence overwhelms poor Job. Interrupted by God, Job gets it, falls on the ground before God and says,
I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be hindered. I have dealt with great things that I do not understand; things too wonderful for me, which I cannot know. I had heard of you by word of mouth, but now my eye has seen you. Therefore I disown what I have said, and repent in dust and ashes.
Why do bad things happen to good people? we ask. In vain we try to explain. Far better to learn that we are not in control of the universe or even of our lives! Listen to what the Lord is saying!
A lust for any kind of worldly security is idolatry, whereas the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. Wisdom begins as we come down off the mountains of our arrogance, into the gray-shadowed valley of human suffering, our clothes dirty and torn, and our faces pale with the exhaustion of playing God. Wisdom is found where Lent will direct us: at the Cross, at that point where we meet Christ in our powerlessness. He is the Lord of an often frightening Universe. But when we’ve fallen flat on our faces fearing all is lost, he is our true Security. Thank God for our Beautiful Savior. Amen.