A Sermon from the Church of
Bethesda-by-the-Sea in Palm Beach, Florida
Preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck on January 11, 2024 (Last Epiphany, Year B)
I’m not a big awards show watcher. Oscars, Emmys, Tonys, Grammys. The percentage of nominated movies, TV shows, plays, and music that I’ve seen, watched, or listened to tends to be rather miniscule. But I happened to tune in to the Grammy Awards last Sunday night. At least the beginning of it — by the time Taylor Swift won her fourth Album of the Year Grammy, I was fast asleep. But in between the apparently famous artists I’d never heard of, there was one performance that really stood out to me.
One of the most popular hits last year was country music star Luke Combs covering Tracy Chapman’s 1988 song Fast Car. Perhaps you know the iconic original tune, or you’ve heard the newer version — I was at a minor hockey game on Friday night and they even played it there.
I’ve always followed Tracy Chapman, partly because her songs are powerful both musically and lyrically, but also because she graduated from my alma mater Tufts University, the year before I arrived for my freshman year. Before she was “discovered,” she used to play to a handful of people in the Campus Center, or she’d take her guitar to Harvard Square and sit outside strumming and singing to passers-by. It was a humble start to a critically acclaimed career.
Now, on the surface of things, you wouldn’t think that Combs, a large bearded country singer from rural North Carolina, with a ubiquitous southern twang, would choose to sing a 35-year-old song written by a gay black woman from Cleveland. In our hopelessly divided world, the barriers of shared experience would seem insurmountable. But Luke Combs says that Fast Car was his first favorite song, one that he played over and over again, learning that memorable guitar part, and he’s always considered Tracy Chapman to be one of his idols.
And that performance at the Grammys, this duet sung between Luke Combs and Tracy Chapman, was a transcendent experience. Combs was clearly in awe of Chapman, visibly moved to share the stage with this trailblazer of an artist, as they sang this soulful, heart-achingly beautiful song together.
The other reason this particular moment was so powerful is the song itself. Fast Car is an evocative and expressive lament, one that touches on broken dreams and the inability to escape one’s financial and emotional circumstances. It resonated in the late 1980s, especially for poor and marginalized communities, and it certainly resonates today for a large segment of society as the wealth gap continues to drive a wedge into the social order.
And so this musical moment, this harmony across difference broke open the false narrative of culture wars and the ensuing divisions they sow, and pointed to the universality of the human condition. It allowed us to see that the fear and hopelessness felt by so many Americans crosses barriers of race and gender, generation and geography. It allowed us to see that when we peel back these layers of fear and the ensuing hate, there is a seed of hope. And that is a message we could all stand to hear.
In real time, this felt like a mountaintop moment. A moment where time stood still, a moment where earth and heaven touched one another. I was moved. I was inspired. It literally gave me chills. And while I know that talking about a mountaintop experience is much less compelling than actually experiencing one, we need more such moments in our lives. The world needs more such moments.
As we hear the story of Jesus’ transfiguration up on that mountaintop, it’s hard not to want to experience the same thing. To experience a moment of utter transcendence and transformation. Peter, James, and John were privileged, if rather confused and terrified, to experience this outward display of the divinity of Jesus. They were literally standing in the warm glow of divine love as they heard the words coming out of the cloud, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!”
We desperately crave so-called mountaintop experiences, moments when we feel especially connected to God or spiritually plugged in. They’re always more elusive than we hope and when you have one you just want to press the pause button and revel in it before inevitably heading back down the mountain. I think that’s the motivation for Peter’s rather awkward and impetuous suggestion to “make three dwellings.” He wanted to mark and preserve this moment.
But the thing is, you can’t will yourself into having some profoundly moving divine encounter. You can’t spend your life climbing up mountains trying to conjure God’s presence. You can’t manufacture spirituality. The life of faith isn’t a widget made by human hands, but a mystery into which God invites us. So it’s not dependent upon us doing the right things or reciting the right prayers or checking the right boxes or making proverbial dwellings. Rather, it’s about being drawn into a living relationship of grace and love.
That’s what the resurrected Christ offers us. And the transfiguration offers the disciples a foretaste of the glory that is to come. Jesus’ divinity comes shining forth as he is transfigured before their eyes. It’s as fleeting as it is dazzling. And they’ll need to hold onto this glimpse of glory as they head back down the mountain, back down to reality, back down to face the crucifixion that is to come.
In the coming days, as we move into the season of Lent, we will journey from today’s mountaintop to tomorrow’s wilderness. From the grand vista of the risen Christ in all his glory, to our Lord’s temptation and ultimately to the agony of the cross. We will get back to the mountaintop, but not before first traveling the way of the cross.
The good news is, you don’t need an actual mountain to have a mountaintop experience. All you need is an open heart and a willingness to encounter Jesus Christ. Which is why you can have one even while sitting on the couch after a long day and tuning into an awards show.
Perhaps this moment of harmony and healing that took place at the Grammys will prove as fleeting as Jesus’ transfiguration. But just as Peter, James, and John were able to hold onto that mountaintop moment through the deep valleys that would soon follow, I hope we can hold on to this mountaintop moment even as we all scurry back into the safety of our political tribes in the days and months ahead. We will need all the unity we can muster.
But I also hope that as we continually seek to listen to God’s beloved Son, we remember that we are all one in Christ. It is only in him that, transcending all human barriers, we find our unity, our purpose, and our faith. Thanks be to the God who always lifts us up, and never leaves us to go it alone.
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