Head in the Clouds

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February 15, 2015

Mark 9:2-9

²Six 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, ³and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. ⁴And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. ⁵Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” ⁶He did not know what to say, for they were terrified.

⁷Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” ⁸Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.

⁹As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

“Head in the Clouds”

I remember the first time I ever flew.  I was fifteen, and my Aunt Karen invited me to come visit her, but to make it extra fun, she bought me a plane ticket to fly 45 minutes to Dallas, instead of a lengthy road trip.  I was elated – flying all by myself!  My parents took me to the airport really early, and so before going to my gate, I had some time to kill.  These days, a fifteen-year-old would probably just play on their phone and hang out at an airport Starbucks.  Not so then.  As soon as I entered that airport as an “unaccompanied minor”, an employee was with me constantly, and promised to take me somewhere “fun” to pass the time before my flight. 

Do you know where they took me?!  The airport nursery!  I mean, there were kids playing with blocks!  I know I’ve always looked really young, but goodness, I was fifteen and mortified to be taken to a nursery. 

Things did get better, though.  I finally got on the plane, and settled in my much-coveted window seat.  After a bit of nervous heavy breathing and frenetic heartbeats at the take off, I watched with wonder as we went up, up, up.  We went through the clouds and my breathing slowed, my heart calmed.  I felt totally at peace, like I was getting a front-row view of heaven that day.  In the clouds, I couldn’t worry about what lay below me – about the insecurities known to any fifteen-year-old, about this school project or that friendship.  There were only the clouds, and me.  My life was totally out of my own hands.  I was free.

I can’t help but wonder if that’s something of what Peter, James and John might have felt that day they went on a hiking trip up a mountain with Jesus, only to have him transfigure before them.  According to our text, we hear that Elijah and Moses appeared with Jesus, and then Peter went into planning mode.  (I’m a planner – I appreciate this.)  He knew it was getting dark, and Pete, he was a worrier.  He also knew that mere mortals shouldn’t really be looking at glow-in-the-dark Jesus, Elijah and Moses.  Like a good boy scout, he was ready to pitch three tents for them.  He was already taking that other-worldly experience and trying to appropriate it into terms he could understand, like calling it just some special camping trip. 

Jesus could have just said, “Pete, calm down.  Just be present in this moment, for once, without worrying about what it might mean.”  He could have stopped glowing. 

But instead, Pete, James and John got their heads in the clouds.  In the Greek, we hear that “a cloud was born to overshadow them.”  Egeneto – Genesis, born.  They were surrounded by new clouds, and they couldn’t even see Jesus anymore.  They were no doubt terrified.  But like me on that first flight as a fifteen-year-old, I suspect they were also enthralled.  Maybe for the first time, these disciples realized how very little in this life was up to them.  Maybe they stopped worrying about what they couldn’t see.  Maybe, just for a moment, they felt free. 

That is what new clouds do, after all: they make us feel both terrified and free.

When carefully laid plans are replaced by life’s spontaneity, a new cloud is born.

When grief weighs heavily, giving every breath an exhausted edge, but reminding us we’re made for more than this one life, a new cloud is born.

When we find ourselves awake in the middle of the night with worry about what we can’t really control, but then eventually drift off to sleep once more, a new cloud is born.

When our meticulous faith is shaken by new thinking or circumstances, a new cloud is born.

Having a new cloud descend upon us is a terrifying experience, but it can also be liberating.  Because, as much as we might feel like we are alone in that foggy din, we are not. 

A voice spoke to Pete, James and John from their cloud: “This is my Son, the beloved, listen to him!” it said.  God spoke, not in the uphill climb to that mountaintop, not in the blinding light, not in the descent as changed people.  God spoke in the cloud of unknowing. 

Perhaps God still speaks best to us when we have our head in the clouds.  In those rare moments where life’s beauty or heartache leave us unable to consider more than the exact moment we are living, to let go of the illusion of control.  As that childlike fifteen-year-old on that plane, I realized how very dependent I was on the pilot.  I couldn’t chart my own course even if I’d wanted to. 

When life’s clouds come, and with them God speaking to us, we realize how utterly dependent we are on God and one another.  We realize that sometimes living in the transfiguring – changing – moment is more important than figuring out what it all means.

The clouds did clear on that mountain.  Pete, James and John were there just as they had been, and so was Jesus.  But before they could begin interpreting that moment, before Pete could plan how to best communicate it, Jesus shushed them.  “Don’t tell anyone,” he said.  “Not yet.  Not until all is finished and I’m raised from the dead.”  I don’t think he said this because others wouldn’t understand this chapter of the book until they knew the whole story.   I think he told them to keep that mountaintop moment to themselves because he knew they didn’t yet understand it, and maybe they never would. 

Often, we don’t understand what happens when the clouds descend in life.  We don’t know why anxiety seems more powerful than hope.  We don’t know why we have to lose people we love.  We don’t know why God constantly resists our habit of boxing Her in.  We just know that, when the clouds come, we let go of the illusion of control of our lives.  We are forced to be still for a fleeting moment and just be.  Not do, not plan, not prove, not explain, not defend.  Just be. 

Jesus being lit up like a Christmas tree revealed his true identity.  The clouds of unknowing revealed to Pete, James and John theirs.  We learn who we are with our head in the clouds.  We learn how “other” God is.  And, if we allow our breathing to relax and our thumping hearts to calm, we will begin to hear that God bending close to us, whispering in our ears through the uneasy fog, saying, “You, child, are my beloved.  Listen.”

We don’t need the bright moments of clarity to see God and ourselves clearly.  We need the clouds, trusting that when we reach out to what we cannot see, God reaches back, and we are not alone. 

Thanks be to the God who led a wandering people to freedom in a cloud each day, and leads us still; to the Son who dimmed his own light to meet us in our shadowed lives; and to the Spirit who fills us with faith beyond our understanding in the fog of the unknown.  Amen.