I find it interesting in the two readings for today that there are two responses to the divine. Moses speaks with God and comes down off Mount Sinai, and the Israelites put a veil over his face. His face is radiant, and they are afraid of him.

Juxtapose this to Peter’s response. When Jesus appears in glorious splendor, talking with Moses and Elijah, Peter’s response is fearful, but he says, “It is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.”

I wonder about these responses. One is not better than the other.  I love that Luke puts in parenthesis about Peter (He did not know what he was saying.) Or maybe your bible had a dash. Peter was out of his mind. And notice Peter didn’t offer to build shelters for James, John or himself, he was ready to get out of there!

I even wonder if they’re not the same response to the divine. When God shows up, we can’t handle it. We want to run or avoid. Or be somewhere else. It’s an amazing impulse. We yearn for God then when we get a glimpse or an experience where we’re not in control, we can’t handle it.

I think many of us have had mountain top experiences. A time where a feeling comes over us and we’re hyper-present. Things are illuminated with in. Or we’re in an extended Deja-vu. Or maybe some mystical experience of seeing a loved one, or at least thinking of them, at the hour of their death. A dream that felt more real, somehow. A mystical experience that we can’t quite put into words but it was as real as a heart attack.

Some of us have had these experiences, but we don’t talk about them because we don’t want to be forcibly committed to an institution. Or have our friends think we’re crazy with this “woo-woo.” These experiences can’t be quantified, measured, replicated, or even planned for. They take us by surprise.

Some of us have had these experiences, but we’ve minimized them. That feeling of being surrounded by nature on a perfect day… well that’s not God that’s a hike. An amazing meal with friends or family that you’ll remember forever… well that’s not God, that’s just dinner. When your favorite song comes on as you’re on a wide-open highway and you just turn it up… well, that’s not God, that’s just America.

But that IS God. Those moments are gifts from God. They are divine. All of this is divine.

But we veil those moments. Try to explain them away. Or we’ve been taught to think that God can only be accessed by professional men through an institution. I don’t think God is much interested in our paperwork.

Or we want to work and avoid the divine. If I get to work providing shelter for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, I won’t have to deal with what I’m seeing. I can deal with practical concerns. And those are important! We need shelter. We need food. We need ways to address practical concerns… but not always. There’s a time and place for it. When you are experiencing God firsthand, that would not be the time.

Recently, I had a vision of the kingdom. This past Monday, we had our bread makers and teens bake bread together. It was a beautiful sight to witness. Our bread makers teaching our young men and women how to make bread. Our young men and women experiencing the gifts who are Shirley Krcmar, Carolee Rafn, Diana Root, and Sue Dean. Each of those names are a gift from God and put them together, now that’s a group!

An intergenerational event. An event rooted in a unique practice done here for years. Something we haven’t done for two years thanks to the pandemic. We might want to veil it. “Ah, it was nothing.” Or, “We do this all the time.”

But it’s not. And we haven’t. To take time to make bread for our church members and visitors takes time. And we haven’t done this for a long while. To have the generations mix like this is so counter cultural. We are living in an increasingly age-segregated society. That worries me. Certain skills and values will not be passed down.

And we haven’t done this for two years. There’s a lot we haven’t done. If you’re trying to think of something we haven’t done but can’t… then we can leave that alone. Some things are fine not being done any more. I think making bread and ensuring that this continues is important. It is something we’re known for. It is an answer to the prayer, “Give us this day our daily bread.” Here’s a fresh loaf, still warm from the oven, made with skill and care, and delivered in love.

It’s a holy thing. Let us not cover it. Nor can we stay there. This practice will have to adapt and change for it to continue. We cannot build shelters and stay. This practice is not for the process… This practice is rooted in loving. I love each of the bread makers and each of the teens. I loved that some brought friends! Some I haven’t seen in a while. Some who went through confirmation are now driving. And to see these two groups come together with such harmony… It brought me to tears.

I was deeply moved, church. It was a holy time. Sacramental.

And we didn’t do this for ourselves. We delivered this bread to our neighbors. I delivered two loaves and had really nice visits that I might not have had otherwise It was a beautiful experience.

Yet I am feeling a little selfish. That’s not the right word. Maybe a little… isolated? Words are failing me here. I guess I’m feeling like I want more of you to have these experiences. We are more than church on Sunday.

My mantra for this year is, “Something is better than nothing.” The pandemic brought a paralysis. We didn’t know what to do. We didn’t know what was safe. Now we do. We’re in a safer time now. We know how to gather safely. So let us gather safely.

Some old processes have changed. That’s okay. They do all the time. Whatever we build is going to require maintenance. Every homeowner has decorated or rearranged their house at least once since they moved in. Every homeowner in this room will tell you this fact about houses: they are always trying to fall down on you. Anything we build will have to change. Any program we come up with will have to adapt.

You might have had a moment like the Transfiguration. One of my favorite stories was told to me by the late Marcus Borg. He was on an airline, and everything suddenly seemed beautiful. Everyone and everything drenched in a golden light, and he just stared. Even the ugly man behind him with his wheezing was rendered unbelievably beautiful. Marcus stated how that moment was a gift. It came and went unexpectedly. He loved it. It was amazing and sort of frightening. Marcus didn’t try to write it off like it was a result of the thin air that far up in the atmosphere. He wasn’t on any hallucinogens. He couldn’t do anything with it. It made no lasting impact on his life other than the fact that he felt completely loved and at home in the universe. He couldn’t commodify it and sell it. It was a gift.

I will now tell you the secret to having a moment like Marcus’ and like the Transfiguration. Show up. That’s all Peter, James, and John did. That’s all Moses did. Like Marcus did. Be open to it.

We have been gifted with this time. This existence. This experience of being human here and now, in this time and in this place. No one is going to live it for you. No one is going to be the church for you. God is breaking into our lives, screaming from the dirty, crying out from the stones, found in the face of each hungry child, every stranger, everyone we consider other, saying NOTICE ME!

Notice and love. It’s all holy. Show up to it. Don’t cover it up, like we did to Moses. Don’t try to do some work avoidance like Peter. Be present.

Show up. Let’s be together. Be present to one another. We have the Encounter Discussions on Monday at 1 & 7. An open mic night this Tuesday. We have Ash Wednesday. Show up. Maybe you’ll have a mountaintop experience. Maybe you can talk about it at the open mic night.

Show up. Let’s do something. Something is better than nothing. And this something… well, God has already blessed it. Thanks be to God. Amen.