Trinity Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)
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SERMON
the phrase “mountaintop experience”
to describe wonderful kinds of things
that happen in our lives.
Often
we use it to refer
specifically to religious experiences,
but not always.
The
psychologist Abraham Maslow
talked about “peak experiences,”
moments of joy and wonder,
and a sense that everything is all right
and is going to be all right.
A
time when we would agree with the poet that
“God’s in his heaven;
all’s right with the world.”
Sometimes
they are just fleeting moments . . .
other times, they seem to last weeks or even months.
Moses
stayed up on the mountain
forty days and forty nights.
Jesus
seems to have remained just long enough
to have a brief conversation with Moses and Elijah.
But
both of these were,
literally and figuratively,
mountaintop experiences.
And
both of them are followed immediately by
what I would have to call
“valley experiences.”
And
I’m sure we’ve all had those as well.
Those
times when the world is too much with us,
and seems to make heavy demands on us,
and give us little or nothing in return,
and God seems very far away.
When
Jesus comes down from the mountain,
there’s a crowd waiting for him.
And
among the crowd is a man
whose son needs to be healed,
and the disciples who didn’t go up the mountain tried to heal him,
but their faith wasn’t great enough.
So,
not surprisingly, Jesus heals the boy,
and then teaches a lesson about faith,
and then talks about his death,
which is yet to come.
I
can’t imagine a more abrupt shift
from the mountaintop back down to the valley –
well, except for maybe what happened to Moses.
Moses
is up on Sinai for a long time.
God
delivers a forty-day monologue
on how Moses is to build the tabernacle,
and what priests should do and wear and say,
and how sacrifices should be made,
and lots of other details.
And
then God writes some commandments
on tablets of stone,
and sends Moses to take them down to the people.
And
what does he find,
when he comes down off the mountain?
The
people have made a golden calf . . .
incidentally, check Exodus 32, verse 2;
men did wear earrings . . .
anyway, people are having a religious festival
around this idol they’ve made,
with the help of Moses’ brother Aaron of all people,
and they’re making sacrifices to it
and having a feast and making lots of noise.
And
the shock of the transition
is just too much for poor Moses . . .
He
drops and smashes the stone tablets God gave him,
and rushes to intervene.
So
later, of course,
he has to go back up on the mountain
and get God to make him another copy.
But
doesn’t it often seem to happen that way?
That
the best of times
seem inevitably to be followed by
the worst of times?
I
can think of numerous times in my own life
when that has happened,
and I’ve wondered, rather perversely,
whether God didn’t set it up that way!
Most
of us, I think,
are a little like Peter in the transfiguration story . . .
When
something wonderful happens to us,
up there on the mountaintop,
we’d like to just build us a dwelling
and stay there.
Even
if it’s only a temporary dwelling –
the Greek word here suggests a booth, or a tent.
But,
to heck with the rest of the world;
we’ve found what we need;
what satisfies our very soul;
we’re staying right here.
We
don’t ever get away with that for very long, do we?
I
don’t believe that God sets us up to fall off that mountaintop . . .
But
I do believe that God’s plan for our lives
is that we spend time
both on the mountaintops and in the valleys.
We
most assuredly need those mountaintop times,
to restore ourselves
and to be lifted up into the presence of God.
But
we also are needed in the valleys,
to lift up other people,
and to bring God’s light to them.
And
sometimes, of course,
we ourselves are in the depths
and need someone to bring light and lifting to us.
And
that’s all right,
that’s part of what being human is all about.
But
I’m more interested in our thinking about
times when we choose to enter the valley.
When
we’ve been up on the heights,
and it’s been wonderful,
and we’ve been strengthened and enlightened by being with God . . .
but
then, as Jesus did,
we choose to come back down from the mountain
and enter into the struggles and the pain
of the world around us.
To
allow the crowds, the masses,
those who need healing,
those who need teaching,
to make demands on us.
And
to respond in whatever way we are able,
even if our faith isn’t as great as we might wish,
and even if at times it tires us out
and leaves us in need of some strengthening ourselves.
The
mountaintops are a privilege of our faith . . .
the valleys are a responsibility.
Now,
here’s the flip side of what I’ve just said,
and it’s equally important.
Just
as it would be irresponsible
and even selfish of us
to try to spend all our time
enjoying the splendor of the heights . . .
so also it just doesn’t work
when we try to spend all our time in the trenches
without ever taking time
to renew ourselves on the mountain.
It’s
all too easy
to become overly involved with
helping, teaching, lifting, healing others;
and to forget that we ourselves
also have those needs.
When
we really look honestly at the pain in the world,
and the tremendous needs of so many of God’s children,
it’s truly overwhelming.
And
it’s easy to get caught up in the need,
and run around doing our good works,
without ever taking time out
to be sure our own souls get restored.
That’s
when you get “burnout”
and all its lovely symptoms,
and I’ve been there, as I’m sure many of you have.
When
you keep giving, giving, giving,
but never stop to allow God
to fill you back up.
We
can’t take on our responsibility in the depths
without also taking on the privilege
of meeting God in the heights.
While
it’s true that God created each one of us
different and unique,
it’s
also true that we are all created
with a need for solitude,
for prayer, meditation, study,
and personal, one-on-one communion with God;
and
we are all created
with a need for community,
for contact with other people,
living and learning together,
and accepting the demands that we sometimes place on one another.
Some
of us, I think,
may try to find the balance between the heights and the depths
by trying to live in the flatlands
and not getting too extreme either way.
I’ve
thought a lot about that,
and wondered if that was how it was supposed to be done.
Sort
of a “golden mean,”
like the Greek philosophers talked about.
Little
heights and little depths . . .
brief, exciting contact with God
and a little bit of ministry to others,
but not enough to make us lose our balance.
That’s
real tempting.
Unfortunately,
I don’t think it’s real faithful.
There’s
a wonderful section in the book of Revelation,
in the part where there’s the letters to the seven churches,
where God says to the church in Laodicaea:
basically, because you are lukewarm,
I’m going to spit you out.
I
wouldn’t mind if you were either hot or cold,
but you aren’t either one;
you’re just some feeble attempt at a middle ground.
Bleah!
We
can’t be lukewarm;
we can’t stay on the plains, as it were;
our calling is to both the high places and the low places
of human life and the human spirit.
We
too can be transfigured on the mountaintop,
but we can’t stay there.
Like
Jesus, we too must descend to the valley
where we are needed,
where there is suffering,
where people hurt and we can help.
God’s
zoning ordinances
don’t permit us to build on the mountaintop!
We
need God.
And
at the same time, we are needed.
We
are called in both directions:
to the top of the mountain and to the depth of the valley.
May
we be afraid of neither,
but go joyfully to serve our neighbors and our Lord.
Amen.
© 2002 Julie
Adkins (e-mail: Drjadkins@aol.com)