Feast of the Transfiguration - Friday, 6 September

Transfiguration icon by Theophanes the Greek, 15th century

Today’s feast day of Jesus’ Transfiguration into light on top of the beautiful Mt Tabor in Galilee in today’s Israel, is the feast day of mystical union par excellence.

In the Eastern Orthodox churches this Feast Day is held in the highest esteem. It is venerated as the day when we recall the invitation to all Christians to seek the divine light, ineffable, yet available to experience for all people of faith.

This evening we draw inwards in meditation and with Peter, James and John, the sons of Thunder, we walk up the mythological mountain shrouded in clouds, a biblical symbol of the divine revelation beyond rational knowing, and we enter into the light of God, hidden in the depths of the mind and heart.

Why not become all flame, as the desert elder, Abba Joseph once said to a spiritual seeker, Abba Lot, in the 4h century? This evening is all about getting close to the fire and melting into the light. This evening is all about emptying ourselves, sitting on the mountain or indeed sitting in this Church, waiting, content in the presence of God, as St Romuald said in his little rule for Benedictine, Camaldolese life

some 1000 years ago. As the shadows lengthen and the week’s work draws to a close, this Friday evening we lay aside the busyness of life; we pause; we breathein and out; we calm ourselves; we draw inwards; we listen to the chantsand open ourselves up to what St Gregory Palamas in the 14th centurycalled the uncreated, divine light illuminating our minds and hearts.

The Western, Christian church has for too long been predominantly preoccupied with social mission, with ethical agency and doctrine, and with the call to social justice. But there can be no action without contemplation. And there can of course, be no contemplation without action. There can be no mountain without a valley and no valley without a mountain. The two belong together, just like the two wings are needed for the bird to fly.

The 19th century, Tractarian reformers in Oxford knew this to be true and thus emerged a new Anglo-Catholic vision with its emphasis on beautiful, mystical liturgy inspired by the Orthodox tradition and the mysticism of the various strands of our Christian, contemplative tradition. Energised and illumined by the mystical, Christ light revealedon Mt Tabor, the Tractarian reformers emerged into the streets to set up soup kitchens and provide food and shelter for the homeless.

We at St Peter’s Eastern Hill belong to that beautiful tradition. As we ponder how Anglo-Catholicism might renew itself, we ought to never lose sight of the mountain top shrouded, so to speak, in mystical cloud. We must never lose sight of the liturgical beauty leading us into contemplation of Christ. With St Peter we may be tempted to want to stay in the light and, with Peter’s words, build a dwelling on top of the mountain. But alas, asstated in the gospel, whenever we are gifted with a vision of faith, an experience of God, we must all with Christ venture down the mountain and into daily life with all its struggles and challenges.

Finding and navigating the balance between contemplation and work, between the mountain and the valley, is essential for a healthy Christian community and I think the monastic tradition of Christianity has a lot to teach us here. The Benedictine monastic tradition, both modern and ancient, has always emphasised the need for balance between slowing down and learning how to be in God’s presence and the call to work for God’s justice in the world.

Our world is starving for peace, belonging and purpose. Just look at the bookshelves in airports or any bookshop and you will see how many books there are on mindfulness and discovering inner balance. It seems like everyone is ready to sell their story on how to find peace and healing; yet somehow, the Christian voice is not easily heard in the noise of the secular, commercial world. Yet we have so much to offer. Perhaps the current monastic renewal occurring, for example, in Iona, Taize, Bonevaux, Bose and St Anselm in London are signs that we as a Church are recovering and learning to offer our ancient contemplative practices in new and modern ways to a world hungering for purpose and peace.

Surely that is our core purpose as a church. Just as Jesus takes his closest disciples up to the mountain where he reveals himself to them, an experience they never forgot, which we heard St Peter write about 30 years later, so we are to learn new ways we can invite people up the mountain, closer to the flame of love itself.

Part of that renewal may be learning to lead seekers into the silence where the Christ light can reveal itself. We don’t trust silence enough in the church. “A church that doesn’t know how to be quiet and listening is failing its people”, as the former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, said not so long ago. At Taize a big part of their beautiful liturgy is simply being quiet and gazing at the candles burning at the altar.

Perhaps we should do more of that in the church? The movement inward or upward to the mountain top is essential; as a dry and thirsty land, we all long to be filled with God’s presence, as the psalmist sings. This evening, we are drawn inwards and we seek the light; we draw near to the living water gushing up to eternal life in our spirit; we open ourselves towards the uncreated light of God shining in the

depth of our being. But after we have received the Eucharist this evening, we are invited down the mountain and into the hustle and bustle of the city; into the midst of the action; and there, energised by the beauty of the liturgy, inspired from a place of deep contemplative presence we must serve Christ who meets us in every face and in every place.

In the name of God. Amen.