Wednesday, March 27, 2019

Trail Mix

1 Corinthians 10:1-14
Third Sunday of Lent

I came to the conclusion this year, that I’m not supposed to give up anything up for Lent.  For the past couple of seasons, I had been taking up a fast, but this year I’ve gone in the other direction.  I don’t mean gluttony; I mean I’ve taken up a practice rather than giving something up.  God put a spiritual practice on my heart at the beginning of Lent and, sure enough, it’s been a very meaningful experience.  

Frankly, I was a little relieved in the direction God led me.  There’s no way around the fact that, no matter how meaningful your particular fast is, after forty days, it gets to be a drag.  I’m not going to advertise what my Lenten practice is, but I can tell you it’s a lot more fun than giving something up… most things are.  

Now, having said that, I would certainly not want to discourage anyone from a fast if that’s where God leads you.  There are important lessons in giving things up as a spiritual journey.  The big lesson, of course, is in seeking God’s order of things.  Giving up a thing, even basic thing like food, for a specified time, helps us to remember where those good things come from; it helps us remember that our devotion to God is always more important than the thing.  A fast reminds us that there is a fine balance between the things we want and the things that God wants for us.  Those lists can often have the same items on them, but they are never the same list.  It is good for us to sometimes remember that God’s list is always better.  

Understanding the difference between what God wants for us and what we want is central to our Scripture lesson today.  I admit, that may be a tricky point to find; as perfect as this may be for us this Lenten Season, this is an odd lesson.  It’s odd, first of all, because Paul is making a point based on the Exodus story; a story his readers may not have been very familiar with.  Keep in mind, this was Corinth: what made this church so complicated—so complicated, there’s also a 2 Corinthians—was how diverse a city it was.  This complex mix of cultures, identities, and histories (as you might imagine) were tricky to pull together into one faith community.  So Paul does an interesting thing: he assumes them all into his family.  

It’s not surprising.  We do it all the time; I feel I’ve been doing it more than ever lately.  I’ve been learning a model for what the church does and is that’s quite a bit different from how we’ve been doing it.  I think it’s a lot more like how Jesus intended, but somehow we’ve gotten away from it.  You see, I’m starting to think that Jesus didn’t come into the world to form a religion; I think he came to build relationships.  The church, then is simply about building and fostering relationships; here in this place and in the world.  It’s a wonderful thing to discover and we’ll be talking more about it as we go.  

But more to the point of our lesson today: Paul is simply taking this complex mix of complicated people and inviting them to be family.  Like I said, we do it all the time: we make a new friend and we find our common ground.  We create a united culture through our unique pasts.  We share our experiences and create values that connect through those experiences.  A smaller example might be: say you liked watching the TV show The Office and then find out I liked watching The Office.  We never watched The Office together, but it’s a thing that we share and whatever values we took from it become our shared experience.  

In a bigger way: Paul tells this story—and tells it as if it’s the story of “our ancestors,” even when it’s not the story of our ancestors—but it’s still our shared experience.  It is a story that has created the relationship and culture we share.  

Which actually highlights another odd thing about this story: because Paul is using this historical-story as an allegory.  It’s a preaching technique.  He’s taking this story from Israel’s biblical-history, he makes it our shared story, then he takes elements from that story and uses them as object lessons.  

If you look closely, you’ll notice there are two contrasting narratives that he points to from the Exodus story: there’s what God has done for the people of God; and then there’s what the people chose for themselves instead.  

Paul takes a few liberties with the first part.  Again, it’s a preaching technique, but he’s not wrong: he’s making the point that what God did for the Israelites in the wilderness, are the same things God continues to do for the church today.  Instead of a pillar of smoke and fire to lead the people and remind them of God’s constant presence, we have the Holy Spirit.  Instead of the baptism through the Red Sea to escape death and captivity by the Egyptians, we have the baptism of eternal life through the death and resurrection of Jesus.  Instead of manna from heaven, we have the Body of Christ.  Instead of water from a rock, we have his Blood.  In all of the ways that God has provided for the people, God continues to provide these things for and more.  But here’s the thing: if God continues to do what God has always done, what about us?  Maybe we might continue to do the same things too.  

What Paul will call it is “idolatry”; but the profound part of it is, he’s not just talking about bowing down to a golden calf.  Their idolatry took a lot of different shapes—and of course, the point we’re meant to hear is that it still does.  Their idolatry started way before they melted their earrings down into the shape of a cow.  Their idolatry started like it always does: by putting own wants and desires over and above the will of God.  Their idolatry, at first, just looked like immorality.  Their idolatry at first put God to the test.  Their idolatry, at first, led them to complain.  

I miss my friend Steve; I may have told you about him.  He was the guy, when you’d ask him how he was doing, he’d always say the same ridiculous thing.  “How you doing, Steve?”  

“Can’t complain, even if I wanted to!”  And that would be his answer, no matter his circumstance.  You could visit him when he had the flu: “Can’t complain,” hack, puke, “even if I wanted to.”  

I made fun of him for it sometimes.  I told him he wasn’t even trying.  I told him he just wasn’t being creative; I can find things to complain about even when there wasn’t anything to complain about.  He’d just laugh it off as if to say, “Don’t worry about it, kid.  You’ll figure it out someday.”  

Of course, he was right.  Eventually I would figure it out.  Eventually, I would come to understand that, by not complaining, he was making an active choice to avoid his own self-centered idolatry.  He was shaping his mind to see what God was providing for him, instead of only seeing what he lacked.  I don’t know if that’s how he would describe it; I wish he was alive so I could ask him.  Like I said, I miss my friend, Steve.  

The point is today: what are we going to choose along this journey; and I don’t just mean this Lenten journey.  What are we going choose to feed upon, as it were, along this journey?  Will we be nourished by what God provides?  Will we trust, when it seems that God’s choice for us to go hungry?  Or will we make for ourselves, ourselves as an idol?  

This is one of those sermons that ends with more questions than answers.  As we talked about a couple of weeks ago, temptation is complicated because it takes shape differently in each of us; it’s exactly the same with the temptation toward idolatry.  

So I would challenge you—perhaps this morning, perhaps throughout the week—to consider various areas of your life.  Consider what in those areas is God providing for you and what in those areas are you trying to provide for yourself.  Think about it in terms of things like your finances, the things you buy and the things you’re willing to give away.  Your health, both emotional and physical: what does God want for you and how is that different from what you want for you?  In your relationships: how does God want you to care and be cared for?  Think about your hobbies; think about your job; think about what you’re going to make for dinner.  You see where this is going, right?  

We have a choice; we always have a choice.  We can remember and rely on the power and the providence of our loving God or we can make this life all about us.  As Paul reminds us today: history shows us that that making it about us never works out well.  Let us trust in our Risen Savior, let us seek to do his will, and may we be satisfied by the ways he cares for us every day.

Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Go & Tell

Luke 13:31-35
2nd Sunday of Lent

It occurred to me the other day that I haven’t met a bored person in years.  Do you even remember the last time you were bored?  Maybe when you were a kid: “Oh, I’m sooo bored!  There’s nothing to doooo!”  Not any more: we are always busy.  There is always something to do.  I have even learned to be busy with things to keep me too busy to do the things I ought to be busy with.  My friend Stan wanted me to write a report to the Presbytery and I kept putting it off because it was so tedious; I kept telling myself that I should do it, but really didn’t want to.  So I let every other job I’ve got take priority.  “Sorry Stan, but I have been way too busy.”  

I’ve even heard people use their business as a kind of humble bragging.  Have you noticed that?  You ask a person, “Hey, how have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve just been so busy!”  Then they list off all of the things they are doing, the meetings they’ve had to go to, their workload, and all the family obligations that have them pulled in a million directions.  

I’ve kind of done that at times, except the family obligations one.  I’m actually pretty lucky in that regard.  I was catching up with an old friend just the other day and said that I feel fortunate that my kids are only musical; they’re not terribly athletic.  No evening practices; no weekend tournaments; no driving to all corners of the state.  Nope, just the occasional concert and those are pretty enjoyable.  

But it seems that we are all, for the most part, always busy with one thing or another.  And don’t get me wrong, taken in moderation business can be as healthy as moderate rest.  My only caution would be to ask: what are we busy with?  Are we busy with distractions, and vices, and work-work-work?  Or are we busy with the things that Jesus would be busy with?  Are we busy with the things that seek our needs alone, or are we busy helping, and caring, and loving those that Jesus was busy with?  

There is a point in the Gospel of Luke, back in chapter nine, where Jesus is described as setting his face toward Jerusalem.  What this seems to mean is, starting from that point on in the Gospel, Jesus slowly and steadily makes his way toward Jerusalem.  From that point on, Jesus intentionally moves toward where his betrayal, arrest, and crucifixion will be waiting.  So when we get to our text for today, the reader already knows where Jesus is going and what he intends to do.  It’s kind of like the season of Lent itself: everyone knows where this is going; although there might be some surprises that await us.  

In our reading today, we meet some Pharisees who also seem to know where Jesus is going.  They come to warn Jesus because his life is apparently in danger and he should probably turn around.  Now I know what you’re thinking: since when do Pharisees care about the wellbeing of Jesus?  And that is an excellent question.  Luke doesn’t say anything about their motives; and for all we know, maybe they really are concerned about Jesus; but judging by the way Jesus responds it seems he thinks they’re being less-than-genuine.  

His response is delightful if you enjoy passive-aggressive insults.  He starts by insinuating that they know about Herod’s plans because they’re pals with Herod.  Jesus tells them to deliver a message back to Herod like they have a personal relationship with them; which is an idea that would have enraged them.  Religious orders like the Pharisees existed because of evil and corrupted leaders like Herod.  We mostly know them as the guys who care so much about not working on the Sabbath that they don’t notice that miracles are being performed right before their eyes.  But their beginnings had good intentions: whenever religion goes bad—when it becomes a tool of judgment and starts rejecting those Jesus would love—it starts with good intentions.  The Pharisees began as a way to lead the people back to faithfulness to God; a thing that the political and religious leaders had failed to do.  So insinuating that they had become buddies with those leaders would have been pretty insulting.  

And to top it off, the message he gives them to deliver to Herod, is clearly not for Herod: he says, “I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work [hint, hint].  Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.”  He cites the miracles he performs as evidence that he is indeed sent by God; that he is (at least) a prophet sent to gather God’s people under his wings to protect them against the foxes of the world.  And like any prophet, if you want to get killed, well you just have to go to Jerusalem for that.  

I can’t even imagine what the disciples must have thought about this altercation.  Would they be terrified that Herod knew about and was after Jesus?  Would they have enjoyed the way that Jesus stood up to these religious bullies, as it were?  Would they look back on this and see the promise of the work he would through dying and rising and say, “Oh, now I get it”?  Or would they notice a more-subtle point here?  Would they notice the contrast between the work Jesus was about and the work the Herods and the Pharisees of the world were about?  The work of Herod: all about gaining and maintaining power and wealth.  The work of people like the Pharisees: all about controlling others through judgment and legalism.  Their work: all about them.  The work of Jesus: all about humankind; especially those who were dominated, used, judged, and vilified.  There is an important lesson there for the followers of Jesus: what is the work we are busy with?  

If I use myself as a sermon illustration, it’s usually not flattering; the not flattering stories are at least more entertaining.  But I’m going to tell you a story that I’m actually kind-of proud of; I think I did a good thing the other day.  

I don’t know if you guys are still following the Pine River Times on the internet.  I don’t very often, but a couple of days ago, I read an article that made sad.  It was about something that happened at the library the other day, following a presentation on Buddhism.  If you don’t know, sometimes the library does seminars like that to help the good people of our community to expand their worlds a little bit; to better understand people and viewpoints that are different from ours.  That’s not the part that made me sad; I like that part.  

The article went like this: “At a March 9 book-signing at The Pine River Library, Rev. Alaric and Andrew Hutchinson, a married couple who own and operate The Zen Cowboy, were threatened by two individuals who said they will be “running them out of town.”

The two referenced Sodom and Gomorrah in regards to the Hutchinsons being gay and said they were perpetuating satanist views.”

Listen, I know that even in this room, we have a wide variety of opinions on what some call “alternative lifestyles”; and I know that those opinions are often shaped by what we read in Scripture.  I get it: it’s a complicated subject for most Christians.  That complexity is why I would never tell you what to believe when it comes to homosexuality; the Spirit is going to lead us to different conclusions and the Spirit has reasons I don’t understand.  

But as your pastor, I will tell you when the answer is simple.  And the simple answer is: Jesus would never say a thing like that to another person.  The work that Jesus was about was about healing and caring; his work was about loving the unloved; his work was about welcoming the unwelcomed.  You know what Jesus would do to the gay couple across the street?  He’d have dinner with them.  

So here’s what I did: I was pulling up in front of the church after learning that story.  I noticed a car out in front of their business and a man moving things from the car into the shop.  I felt that nudge that I’m learning not to ignore.  I walked over to the man and asked, “Are you the Cowboy?”  

I imagine, seeing me walk over to him from the church, he thought, “Now what?”  But he said, “No that’s my husband.”  

I said, “I’m the pastor of this church and I wanted you guys to know that the people who would threaten you and tell you you’re not welcome—especially in the name of Jesus—are not my people; frankly, I’m not sure they’re Jesus’ people either.  You are welcome here, and if there’s anything you need, we’re right across the street.”  He told me that what I said meant a lot to them and we parted ways.  

As we continue this Lenten journey let us remain focused on the Savior who walked it first.  Let us remember his journey that loved humanity so much that he would give his life for us.  Let us remember his journey, and by his Spirit, let us be about his work.

Monday, March 11, 2019

Road Trip

First Sunday of Lent

I remember the first Lenten thing I ever did.  I was in college and my mom wanted to participate in a 48 hour fast and didn’t want to do it all by herself.  So, we both went hungry for 48 hours and then went to a soup supper at our church after.  By the way, that was about as spiritual as it was for me: “Okay, I was hungry for a couple of days for my mom’s sake and now I’m not.”  

Fast forward to this past Wednesday: as I was officiating our Ash Wednesday service, I blurted out, “I’m getting really good at drawing ash crosses on people’s foreheads.”   I mean, if I had a resume, “forehead ash-crosses” would certainly be on it.  They looked good.  And of course they’re made of locally sourced, artisanal, Palm Sunday palms.  

Somewhere along my life’s journey, I became a person who observes Lent.  I can’t tell you exactly when that happened, and maybe there’s a lesson just in that: if nothing else, Lent is a journey.  Beyond the fasts and practices, Lent is a pathway that leads us somewhere.  Where it leads is different for each of us, but it goes somewhere if we follow it.  

Today we witness the journey Jesus took—a forty-day journey that I would, frankly, not recommend—but maybe there’s something there for us too.  Maybe there’s something in his journey that might help lead us down our journeys as well.  

Once upon a time, on a First-Sunday-of-Lent much like this one, a Sunday school teacher was telling the children the story of the temptation of Jesus.  Things got very serious when the conversation turned to the fact that everyone gets tempted from time to time; that we all need to be ready and know how to respond when the devil shows up to tempt us.  

The teacher put forth a scenario: “Say you’re at the grocery store and you are in the candy isle, but your parents are in a different isle.  So no one is watching; no one can see what you’re doing.  And you hear the devil say, ‘You should take some candy.’”  The teacher paused a moment so that everyone could fully imagine themselves in this scene and then she asked, “What would you say to the devil?”  

Mary’s hand shot right up; she was always the most thoughtful obedient child; clearly she knew the answer.  So the teacher called on Mary and Mary said, “If the devil offered me candy, I’d say, ‘Thank you;’ because you’re supposed to say ‘Thank you’ when someone offers you something.”  

Temptation is fascinating to me.  What fascinates me most is that it is both universal and strangely specific it is.  We all face temptation, but the devil knows what we like.  What is tempting to you may not be tempting to me… and vice versa.  

And yet, as Jesus shows us in our lesson today, the answer to temptation is always the same: as Jesus shows us through the Scriptures, the answer to being tempted with the things we want is to remember what God wants.  The answer to life’s temptations is to realign our lives, again and again, to the priorities of God and not simply of ourselves.  

The nice thing—for me at least—with our lesson today is that we’ve heard this story before.  This Lenten season begins the same way every year: with the story of Jesus going out into the wilderness for forty days, to be tempted.  So the nice thing for me is that I can skip some of the story’s details; what I don’t get to today, we’ll get to some other time.  

In fact, if we intentionally ignore some of the smaller details and just look at the temptation of Jesus in a more general way, we see that there are some similarities between our temptations and the temptations of Jesus.  When Jesus was tempted—with satisfying his own hunger, with gaining power for himself, with avoiding the pain that his faithfulness would cause—we see a common theme: just like our temptations, the temptation of Jesus was all about Jesus.  Frankly, at its heart, I think that’s all that temptation is: to make our lives just about us; to fulfill our hungers and passions; to get our way at any cost; to ignore God’s call to love our neighbor and instead of our desire to love only ourselves.  So even though the specific temptations of Jesus were different from ours, they were rooted in the same self-serving place ours come from: to make our lives only about us.  

And so, Jesus’ answer to temptation can be our answer as well: Jesus uses Scripture to point away from the things he might be desiring and back to the promises and priorities of God.  So in a sense, the answer to temptations is simple: do what you know God wants you to do; obey God’s will as it’s been revealed in Scripture.  Love God and love what God loves: which is humanity itself.  Simple!  If only it were that simple.  

I noticed a kind of theme in the Scripture lessons leading us through Lent this year: they seem to have a traveling theme.  Granted, in the Gospels, Jesus and the disciples are always on their way somewhere.  But there may be a deeper lesson here for the season leading us to Easter.  Maybe the goal of becoming the people God calls us to be isn’t so much about the destination; maybe it’s more about the journey.  Maybe the disciplines and practices that we take up are valuable, not because they make us perfect, but because they move us in a direction toward making our lives less about us and more about God.  

I was talking with a friend of mine the other day.  He was telling me about how he got cut off while driving, but he couldn’t yell or honk or anything because his nine year-old daughter was in the car.  I joked, “What if that’s all spiritual growth is?  What if it’s just remembering that you’re not in the proverbial car alone?  Can you still take pride in the fact that you didn’t scream and honk?  Yeah, I think you can.  It’s called growth!”  

As we enter this Lenten season, let us follow in the example of our Savior.  Let us recognize the nature of temptation to make our lives only about us.  Let us recognize the nature of Scripture, which returns our thoughts and minds back to God.  And most of all, let us remember the God that goes with us when we succeed and when we fail.  

God only knows what this Lenten journey will bring for each of us; God only knows the temptations we’ll face; but God will not leave us, especially when things get tough.  As we walk through this wilderness, as we face the temptation of making this life all about us, let us remember that we are not alone. Let us take comfort in knowing that our Savior walks with us every step.

Thursday, March 7, 2019

Unveiled

2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2
Transfiguration of the Lord

Are you attractive?  Don’t overthink it; there isn’t a wrong answer.  Do you think you’re attractive?  I know it’s an awkward question, that’s why I ask it.  Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like most people, even if they are attractive, would be reluctant to admit to it.  The list of people who find me attractive grows smaller every day, but even I know I’m not hideous.  But having said that, I would probably qualify my answer: “I’m attractive… for a man of my age.  I’m attractive, as pastors go.”  It’s hard for us sometimes to see ourselves in a positive light; even when there are positives to see.  

It was suggested to me recently that, if I can think of myself as attractive, I will present myself in the world in a more-attractive way.  That makes sense, I guess; but it’s the “convincing myself that I’m attractive” part that seems to be the big hurdle.  

Now, I’m not just fishing for compliments here.  There are other ways that we may not always see ourselves in our “proper light” (if you will); ways in which we downplay or even hide the glory we’ve been given.  On this day that celebrates the Transfiguration of the Lord, we also gather around his Table; we gather here and remember that, by his work and by his spirit, we are now created to be the very Body of Christ.  That is, if we let it be, a pretty attractive light.  Are we ready, are we willing, to let that glory shine in this world?  

To experience God is to be changed.  All you need to do is open your Bibles to figure that out; it’s repeated over and over again.  Certainly, we’ve seen examples of this in Scripture this past season.  We watched on Epiphany, as the magical visitors experienced the presence of the Savior, and went home praising God.  We met another magician named Simon who tried to buy the power of the Holy Spirit, only to be transformed by that same Spirit and find something better: repentance.  There were those who tasted the water that had become “good wine” at a wedding in Cana; receiving the “good stuff” from Jesus may not be the biggest change, but we’ll take it.  We heard about the Israelites returning to the Word of God with Ezra and Nehemiah; and finding that God is more about joyful celebration than shame and sorrow.  We learned about the experience of God that transforms us into love itself.  We saw the crowds press in on Jesus to hear him teach and to find belief.  His followers heard him and found hope as he declared, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.”  We watched them as they wrestled when he taught them to love their enemies and to “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

Everyone gets changed: some are merely amazed, others become angry, multitudes find hope, and a handful left everything and followed him.  Everyone gets changed.  How could they not be?  How could we not be changed when we experience the Living Incarnate God?  

This shouldn’t surprise us: our relationships, with God or with one another always change us.  One can’t just un-know the things we’ve seen and experienced; whether we like it or not.  In our experiences, we gain knowledge, and knowledge unfortunately refuses to let us remain the same.


We are changed by our everyday interactions with others—how could we not be; especially what that interaction is with God Almighty? Who can see God and not be forever changed?

In our Scripture reading today, Paul alludes to a somewhat-obscure Old Testament story involving the prophet Moses.  Like a lot of Bible stories, the longer version has its highs and lows: this one is about the people of Israel journeying through the desert.  It turns out that, just like the rest of us, the people of Israel tended to be their own worst enemy—setting up unnecessary obstacles for themselves and allowing themselves to be distracted by their own idols.

In the part that Paul refers to, the people had been led out of bondage, but they still needed direction.  Not just directions of how to get to the Promised Land, but also direction about how to live as God’s people.

These directions were given to Moses on the top of Mount Sinai.  Moses went up to receive instruction and to see God, and the people camped at the bottom.  But when he came down from the Mountain, he didn’t realize that his interaction with God had changed him.  He came down the mountain, not only with tablets containing the Ten Commandments, but with a certain glow (if you will)—a result of being present with God.  It seems like it was one of those “spinach in your teeth moments.”  You know that moment, right?  You walk into a room and you can’t figure out why everyone is looking at you funny.  Then some kind soul says, “Hey, you got a little something here.”  

Moses came into contact with God and, of course, he was changed. How could he not be?  So as to not upset the people, Moses began to wear a veil over his face when he talked to them.  Note that subtle distinction: that Moses was not only changed in a personal way by his encounter with God, but it was such a life-altering event that it also changed the ways that he interacted and communicated with others.  So, this life-changing experience was not an isolated, personal, religious experience, but a very public thing that changed the life of Moses.

Over a thousand years later, the Apostle Paul, writing to the Church in Corinth, compared the transformation of Moses to the conversion of one’s mind when one comes to faith in God in Jesus.  He writes, “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.” Paul, whose life had been drastically changed by his own encounter with God, could speak from firsthand experience.  To see God is to be changed.  

But here’s the thing: there’s a purpose in that change.  God’s changes in us allow God to make changes through us.  To see God is to be changed, even when God is seen in us.  Through our relationship with our Risen Savior, we are not the same; and we are called to bear that same glory in our relationships with others.  

I’m sure I’ve told you this before, but I used to be Chuck E. Cheese.  You know what that is, right?  It’s a kid-centered pizza restaurant, but the pizza is by far not their best thing.  Their main thing is video games, and ball pits, and singing animatronic animals, and things like that.  Anyway, I didn’t just work at Chuck E. Cheese’s, I was Chuck E. Cheese.  I got paid to put on a giant rat costume, give hugs to children, play the occasional game of ski-ball, and to play peek-a-boo with toddlers.  

It was an unusual job, but most people, when they hear about it, can see it.  People who know me well can easily imagine me dressing up in an animal costume and being silly.  

But the thing is: that wasn’t who I was as a teen-ager.  When I was young I was painfully shy and very insecure.  But something happened when I put on the rat-suit (as we called it): I was able to embody something different.  As you might imagine, behind the rat-mask, I could find a boldness that I didn’t have before.  It allowed me to embody something else in me, and as it turned out, it made me into a pretty good Chuck E. Cheese.  But more importantly, I think, it gave me a confidence to be a better me as well.  

Paul’s words to us this morning encourage us, not to pretend to be someone we’re not, but to live boldly as people who have experienced the Risen Jesus.  Paul reminds us, this Transfiguration Sunday, that we are meant to shine.  We are meant to shine out God’s glory in all that we are.  We are meant to be transformed, so that God might transform the world through us as well.