Good morning friends—it’s an honor and blessing to be asked to speak to you again. And it’s particularly nice to see friends here who I don’t see as often as I’d like.

Many who preach, and Reverend Duane Holm comes to mind, use the wonderful words of Psalm 19 as a prayer before preaching. For me it is an always-needed reminder that whatever good might result from these words may come through me, but does not come from me, and only through God’s grace am I even here at all. Now I’m going to do a little editing of those words. Please be in prayer with me for a moment.

May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of our hearts help us become open to your love, which finds every thing we do acceptable.

When Nan Costello called me last September on a Monday and asked if I could preach six days later, I told her the short notice was OK because I had a sermon “in the bank” so to speak. The primary topic was balance. But then a funny thing happened—I looked at the lectionary to see what scripture verses were suggested for that Sunday. In some denominations, the lectionary is mandatory, followed religiously you might say. But for Presbyterians, its use is optional. Anyway, what happened in September is that the suggested passages called me in a different direction, toward “Rambo and the Dalai Lama”, as some of you may recall. Then in November, again there was a short-notice need, and I was happy to oblige Nan’s request again, knowing I still had thoughts on balance I wanted to share and thought were worthy of your time and attention. But darned if the same thing didn’t happen again. The lectionary Gospel suggestion was about the widow’s offering, and my sermon focused on surrender to faith and simple generosity. Our dire financial straits and the fears swirling around our legal challenges at that time seemed to be directly addressed by words about faith and giving, right where the lectionary pointed.  So “balance” stayed in the bank.

Last week, when I agreed to preach today, I had some resolve to stick to my guns this time. I told a few friends in advance that balance would be the topic. And, who knows if the opportunity will come again. My own “inner jerk” that Rick Sowash described so well never ceases to remind me that the time will come when you all see right through me to the scrambling try-to-figure-it-out-as-I-go egotistical sinner that is who I really am.

So anyway, what happens? I look at the lectionary and see that today we celebrate the Transfiguration of the Lord.  I read and pondered the scripture verses you’ve heard, and reflected on my own experiences with people who glow.  The thought then occurred that this event on the mountain, when Jesus, like Moses, was visibly resplendent from contact with God, might well have been the crowning moment of his life. More significant than his birth, more significant than his compassionate miracles of winemaking and healing, even more important than his crucifixion and resurrection. This moment of transfiguration can be seen as the point of no return in the drama of human alchemy that was the life of Jesus, the story of a human becoming divine.

Now there are many in our faith that believe Jesus started out divine, and always was.  In fact, to suggest otherwise might be heresy. Who knows, I might be hearing from Paul Rolf Jensen. But you’re stuck with me this morning, and my best guess is that while Jesus may have started out divine, so does every other newborn baby. And in his life, Jesus was absolutely human, and through his own work and practice and faith he became divine in his life on earth. And my newfound suspicion is that the moment that deal was sealed was marked by the transfiguration that we celebrate today.

Now there are some interesting things in these readings—the veil in Exodus for example, is to keep Moses’ light from getting out, so it wouldn’t freak out the Israelites. But in Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, the veil doesn’t keep the light from getting out, it keeps new light from getting in to veiled and hardened minds. Veils work both ways, and they’re not all bad. Consider Emily Dickinson’s insight on the subject.

Tell all the truth, but tell it slant,
Success in circuit lies,
Too bright for our infirm delight
The truth’s superb surprise;
As lightning to the children eased
With explanation kind
The truth must dazzle gradually
Lest every man be blind.

But let me tell you what maybe interested me most of all about the scripture readings. It is found in a little footnote in the Gospel of Luke, about exactly what the voice from the cloud said. (And you know, guys, the voice had to sound a lot like Peter Le Page.)  The first translation reads, “This is my son, my chosen; listen to him.” But there’s a little footnote that says, instead of “my chosen”, other ancient authorities read “my beloved.” What a difference in translation! Imagine other references to “chosen”, like “chosen people” for example, becoming “beloved” people. In our language, and in Judeo-Christian culture, “chosen” carries a definite implication that others are not chosen. “Beloved” has room for everybody.

How can anyone claim to know the single definitive meaning of any part of this book?

But a much more practical question I think, is what got Moses and Jesus lit? What is it that can not only transform a human, but actually transfigure them, cause them to glow?   And despite my skepticism about biblical literalists, let me tell you I have no problem here at all, because I’ve seen way too many people glowing myself. This is not information I share widely, but after all, most of you already know I’m a little nuts. 

In my experience, there are three general categories of folks who tend to glow. Those involved some kind of transforming love, like pregnant women and mutually infatuated new lovers.  Those very close to life without a body, like newborn babies and unafraid people who know that death is near. The third category is subtler, hard to describe in words. But these are people who move through life in an active state of tranquil joy. And the thing they seem to have in common is a kind of unflappability. Somehow or other, they have become very good at balance.  Maybe their God is a rock they can hold onto.

Mystic Hazrat Inayat Khan, who brought Sufism to the west, says this: “The Sufi has traced in the Vedanta, Zend-Avesta, Kabah, Bible, Qur’an and all other sacred scriptures, the same truth which can be seen in the incorruptible manuscript of nature, the perfect and living model that teaches the inner laws of life. All scriptures before nature’s manuscript are as little pools of water before the ocean”

And the feature that permeates all aspects of nature on every scale is balance. Incredibly intricate, truly mind-boggling balance. Examples are everywhere.  Think of marriage of motion and gravity that keeps the entire cosmos, from atom to solar system, in relative stability. Look at the slow-motion ballet of growth and decay in a forest, the magic symbiosis of plant photosynthesis and animal respiration.  People, if you don’t suspect balance is a critical aspect of ultimate truth, you’re not paying attention.

The litany of beliefs that formed my personal faith statement when I joined Mt. Auburn included these: “I believe God’s signature is balance, and that human history is a story of progressive loss of balance. I believe all spiritual teachers have sought ways to help us re-attain balance, from a foundation of mindfulness, of and in the here and now.”

And my personal all-time top-ten movie list is a riveting documentary by Godfrey Reggio called Koyaanisqatsi.  Without dialogue or narration, the film uses visual images of contemporary America and a compelling score by Phillip Glass to describe our culture with chilling accuracy. The title, Koyaanisqatsi,  is a Hopi Indian word describing a deteriorating cycle that is translated “life out of balance.”

 Ask a kinesiologist what is required for humans to walk upright—the constant miniscule adjustments and movements, arm swings and leanings, all triggered by tiny floating balance indicators in the inner ear—it is something of a miracle that we can do it at all. And this particular function of balance, for navigation, has very important practical applications.

 There’s a 1960’s song from the Incredible String Band called “Maya”, with an allegorical verse that goes like this:

“The great ship, ship of the world, long time sailing,
mariners, mariners, gather your skills.
What with Jesus and Hitler and Richard the Lion Heart,
three kings and Moses and Queen Cleopatra,
the cobbler, the maiden, the mender and the maker,
the sickener and the twitcher and the glad undertaker,
the shepherd of willow, the harper and the archer,
all sat down in one boat together—
troubled voyage in calm weather”.

Think of the troubled voyage as a spiritual journey on this crazy material planet. Think of the calm weather as the grace of God. The destination or direction of the journey is God’s love. If we “mariners” are to gather the critical skill of navigation, we’d better get better at balance.

Think of the limitations of unbalanced development, even though aspects that are well developed are good and needed: an intellectual theorist who can’t feel, a passionate impulsive who never stops to think.  How far can it take you?  Roll a lopsided ball, throw an unbalanced dart.

 We sometimes close our services here with this formulation of the question of spiritual navigation: “What does the lord require of us?”  And the answers, surprise, surprise, are three in one in perfect balance.  To seek justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.    How far will an unbalanced approach take you?  If we seek justice without kindness and humility, we may gain a piece of justice here on earth, but we will not touch God.  Balance is required, integral to the whole, as God’s creation shows us everywhere we look. Balance is the key to transformation because balance is the difference between falling in love and living in love. That’s the sound bite for today. That’s the lead, buried at the end of the sermon.

 Balance is the difference between falling in love and living in love. And living in love is the path to God that can light up your face, and your whole life.

I’ve often been touched by love here at Mt. Auburn. Two years ago during the “Sharing of the Peace”, a person who was glowing quite brightly caught my eye and blew me a kiss. Eventually, with the help of my muse, the kiss became a poem that I will leave you with now. 

TOUCHED

 It seemed an ordinary day, until my eye did find
the open heart of the Beloved.

 Absorbed into her whim I fell and rose,
while business called and neighbors whispered,
I was swallowed in rose mist and memory.

 A burial at sea of no returning
save through the coursing veins of the Beloved,
into her burning heart, devoured, sanctified.

 My bubble body burst into transparency,
my scaly skin baptized in fires of passion,
my soul embalmed in honey-salt of tears.

 Then suddenly propelled into the air,
fluttering on wings and wind of a blown kiss
into another unsuspecting eye.

 Another extraordinary day
touched by the open heart of the Beloved.