Lent begins on Wednesday, February 22. During this six-week spiritual season, The Cottage will be exploring the stories of people who encourage us to live with joy and justice, and to pursue meaning and courage. We aren’t going to be talking about sin. We’re going on a journey to discover the “saints” that speak to us in this cynical age.
You can find all the Lent details below, at the bottom of this post after the poems. Make sure you are appropriately signed up. Invite a friend — or two.
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TODAY’S MUSING reflects on the traditional readings for the final Sunday in Epiphany. We end Epiphany — my favorite season of the Christian year — and turn toward Lent.
Exodus 24:12-18
Then Moses went up on the mountain, and the cloud covered the mountain. The glory of the Lord settled on Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it for six days; on the seventh day he called to Moses out of the cloud. Now the appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain in the sight of the people of Israel. Moses entered the cloud, and went up on the mountain. Moses was on the mountain for forty days and forty nights.
Matthew 17:1-9
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.
As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”
Ash Wednesday is this week. Lent is almost here.
But it is still Epiphany. And this is the last Sunday in the season of light. This final Sunday has me recalling the first Sunday. On that day, the lectionary offered this story of Jesus’ baptism:
And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
I’ve always loved this scene — Jesus coming up from the river, eyes opening to the sky above, perhaps blinking back both tears and Jordan’s waters. As his dampened gaze clears, he sees something coming toward him. What is it? The Spirit like a dove lands upon him. A voice accompanies the spirit, a voice of belonging, a voice of love.
Although Christians often think of the what followed the baptism as a public spectacle, there’s no indication that anyone other than Jesus saw any of it. Indeed, the text is quite clear — the heavens opened to him, he saw, and the spirit alighted on him. John the Baptizer has disappeared from the story, as have the crowds of earlier verses.
Quite simply, at his baptism Jesus had a vision of the spirit coming to him — “alighting” upon him. “Alighting” holds the double meaning of both landing upon him and illuminating him. At the baptism, Jesus awakened to his deepest identity as the beloved Child of God. It is a revelation of Abba-God, the Spirit, and Jesus, a mystical retelling of divine relationship at the center of the cosmos.
Through the season of Epiphany, we’ve read stories of Jesus inviting others to “come and see.” We witnessed the excitement of the first followers who recognized the light of God’s reign beckoning, as they awoke to the radical vision of the Beatitudes. And we were, perhaps, a bit shocked when Jesus declared to his disciples: “You are the light of the world.”
The season of Epiphany is about Jesus’ vision — of the Spirit alighting on those rising from turbulent waters to complete belovedness — slowly, surely being seen by others. All around Jesus, people follow his light, they see a new way toward joy and justice, and they begin to envision a world that pleases Abba-God. The circle of light and enlightenment widens. They can see, to some degree, Jesus’ baptismal vision.
And then, on this final Sunday, his followers are invited into the vision for themselves. Jesus took his friends up to a mountain. There, they see their teacher with Moses and Elijah — Jesus, shining with Light, conversing with the Law and the Prophets.
In itself, that’s a remarkable vision, one that inspired Peter to come up with the completely understandable idea of building three temples right on the spot. Carried away with enthusiasm, he began to explain how great it will be. How it will help many others to see.
I confess to having some sympathy for Peter’s plan. But we dense human beings don’t always get the point of divine visions. This isn’t about building temples. So, God got more direct with Jesus’ friends and interrupted poor Peter:
Suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”
This is the completion of the Epiphany story. The curious are no longer down at the river observing Jesus, as he experienced an intensely personal vision. Instead, his followers have gone up to the mountain with him. There, he appears in shining light with God’s beloved Law and Prophets. Surely his friends will understand that Jesus is as beloved of God as Moses and Elijah, and the the kingdom of Heaven has come near.
They sort of get it. But not entirely. Building a shrine seems to indicate that they still think of this vision as something external to their own lives. They still think this is a vision about Jesus, not a vision accessible to them.
And so God — the cloud — overshadows them. They don’t just see it from a distance. Instead, they are baptized into the sacred presence. They enter into the cloud, they are within God, breathing the Breath itself. Nothing comes down. They are swept into. Just like Moses. Just like Elijah. Just like Jesus.
Peter, James, and John aren’t special people like those great heroes of Israel. They are failed fishermen. They are subjects, practically slaves, of imperial Rome. They are poor people, nothing and no one special, with little hope of justice or joy.
God overshadowed them. They find themselves in the cloud. Within the sacred.
Suddenly, blessed are the poor. . . blessed are the meek. . . blessed are the persecuted. . . it all makes sense. The Beloved Son has opened the vision to all of them, invited them in, the distance between heaven and earth has vanished. The kingdom of God, the blessedness of belovedness, the law written on hearts, mercy and righteousness meet, the glory of God shines through all creation: “LISTEN TO HIM!”
Inside the cloud, the fullness of light is revealed: “In him was life, and that life was the light of all humankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
My heart breaks with the beauty of it all. I am undone.
So were the disciples — “they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear.”
But Jesus touched them and said with great tenderness, “Don’t be afraid.” They looked up and saw only him. Their friend. Together, they’d entered the presence. They’d heard the voice of divine love. Don’t be afraid.
Keep it a secret for now, Jesus said. But one has to wonder if their faces gave it away. After all, he’d also told them, “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid.”
There’s a hint of irony in Jesus’ statement. As Peter learned, you don’t need to build anything. Enter the cloud. Let love overshadow, embrace, and transfigure you.
And that won’t stay secret long.
I want
to see Jesus,
maybe in the clouds
— Mary Oliver
INSPIRATION
white clouds blown by wind
losing shape to become one with blue—
what a soul can do
— Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, One Inspiration
I lounge on the grass, that’s all. So
simple. Then I lie back until I am
inside the cloud that is just above me
but very high, and shaped like a fish.
Or, perhaps not. Then I enter the place
of not-thinking, not-remembering, not-
wanting. When the blue jay cries out his
riddle, in his carping voice, I return.
But I go back, the threshold is always
near. Over and back, over and back. Then
I rise. Maybe I rub my face as though I
have been asleep. But I have not been
asleep. I have been, as I say, inside
the cloud, or, perhaps, the lily floating
on the water. Then I go back to town,
to my own house, my own life, which has
now become brighter and simpler, some-
where I have never been before.
Of course I have always known you
are present in the clouds,
and the black oak I especially adore,
and the wings of birds. . .
—Mary Oliver, from Six Recognitions of the Lord
LENT STARTS ON FEBRUARY 22
This Lent, The Cottage explores the EMPTY ALTARS of our days.
We are living in a time of iconoclasm. We've stripped the altars of both state and church. America's spiritual landscape is now marked by empty altars everywhere.
What does it mean to live in such an age? And what comes next? Will we put up new icons? Who are saints and heroes who speak beyond our cynicism? Who can inspire us to move ahead with joy, hope, and courage? Can we reimagine the sacred spaces in which we live?
We’ll explore EMPTY ALTARS in TWO WAYS:
1. WEEKLY DEVOTIONAL REFLECTIONS and conversation threads for paid subscribers at The Cottage. “Empty Altars” is the theme of my next book project — so you’ll be getting a preview of what I’m working in the form of inspirational material for your Lenten journey.
If you aren’t already a paid subscriber and want to receive the Empty Altars devotional reflections, please upgrade here:
2. An EMPTY ALTARS online class with me and Tripp Fuller. The Cottage and Homebrewed Christianity are teaming up once again for a mind-blowing, heart-expanding class this Lent — and our focus this year is history, spirituality, and social change. The course will begin on Monday, February 27. THE CLASS REQUIRES A SEPARATE SIGN-UP HERE — and is offered for free. Voluntary donations are welcome.
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If you want the ENTIRE EXPERIENCE, make sure you are registered for the class AND have a Cottage paid subscription. The registration and the subscription will give you full access to everything!
Of course, you are welcome to do one without the other — they are complimentary explorations but each is beneficial on its own.
As I wrote today’s musing, the news broke that President Jimmy Carter has entered hospice and is not expected to live much longer. Say a prayer for him, his family, and for the nation. An admirable, faithful soul, and if there are political saints, he may indeed have come close to such.
I have one life and one chance to make it count for something . . .
I'm free to choose what that something is, and the something I've chosen is my faith. Now, my faith goes beyond theology and religion and requires considerable work and effort. My faith demands — this is not optional — my faith demands that I do whatever I can, wherever I am, whenever I can, for as long as I can with whatever I have to try to make a difference.
― Jimmy Carter
Diana, I am so excited about your work on altars in our world. I first learned of your work on this while at Southern Lights in January. Since then, I have listened to several segments of an amazing podcast by a woman from Virginia who visits Germany and lives there for a time in a quest to determine if America can learn from Germany's efforts to face its horrific past. Many times, altars or memorials are mentioned. You are probably fully aware of this project but thought of your work when I listened. The podcast is called Memory Wars from Radio IQ ...it can be found on Apple Podcasts. Episode 6 was especially what made me think of your work. Thank you for you so much for all the many ways you reach out to others: books, podcasts, preaching, conferences, articles, etc. It has meant so much to me.
Beautiful, insightful comments on the linkage between Jesus' baptism and the Transfiguration. Thanks for opening my own vision for this invitation to enter into the divine mystery of presence, here and now.