“Why Couldn't We Throw it Out?”

• Scriptural Reference: Luke 9:28-43
• February 18, 2007

By all accounts, Jesus was an impressive person. When he came on the scene at the age of around 30, he had developed into one of the most charismatic, captivating teachers anyone had ever met. Most people had never heard of him before and many asked where in the world he'd been all these years. Whatever, his teaching and the healing that accompanied it were so impressive that within at the most three years, maybe a little less, he'd even gotten the attention of the established religious and political leaders to the extent that they felt threatened enough to kill him just to shut him up. Now, you'd think with that kind of charisma and personal power, he'd have really been successful pulling together and training his disciples. Surprisingly, it seems Jesus had less success doing that than many business people these days. If you trust the text of Luke 9, and the sequence of events reported there, the disciples were plain dense. For some reason or the other, they missed the point again and again. This of course doesn't say anything about Jesus: it says everything about his disciples, and as his 21 st century disciples, we'd better pay attention to what's going on here.

A quick review. The historical sequence Luke reports runs like this. Jesus and his disciples take a break one day from their travels and Jesus asks who the substantial crowds that have been following their entourage say that he is. The disciples report what they've heard in the way of rumor and public opinion. Jesus then asks them what they think and they all look at each other and avoiding Jesus' eyes say nothing. Peter then bravely and boldly proclaims, "You're the Messiah! That's who you are!" Jesus congratulates him and then explains that yes, he is the Messiah, but not one like most people are expecting. He's not a military guy who's going to kill Roman soldiers and toss out Caesar’s minions in Jerusalem . He's a suffering servant Messiah more like the one described by Isaiah the prophet who'll mend the nation by being broken himself.

About a week later, Jesus takes Peter, John, and James, and they go up on an unnamed mountain somewhere to do a little worship. It turns out to be an extraordinary worship experience for everyone. As a matter of fact, Jesus' is so intense that he's transfigured. Time itself lifts and the temporal meets the eternal as Moses and Elijah appear, in conversation with Jesus. Amazing worship experience, huh? What are Peter, John, and James doing? Dozing off! Of course, an event like this is going to have some impact on them and while the light is particularly bright, they wake up. Sensing that something significant has happened, Peter says, "Hey Jesus, this is really cool. Let's build a memorial here. Let's set up a marker to mark the spot." Luke tells us in verse 33 that Peter really didn't know what he was saying. He was just babbling. Sort of like that pastor I've told you about before who got up in front of his people and said, "Before I preach, I want to say something." Peter didn't have his mind in gear but that didn't stop him from making syllables. Sounds like he would qualify as a Baptist preacher, huh?

That's when the presence of God gets real intense and God interrupts Peter's blathering. The spirit of God speaks clearly and announces that Jesus is exactly what he ought to be, that he is God in flesh, that what he says everybody better listen to. All the disciples can do in response at this point is be terrified. Luke tells us that immediately after the experience ended, the disciples didn't tell anyone what had happened. Probably they thought no one would ever believe them -- and besides, they didn't understand it themselves.

Then after this event, Jesus goes back down the mountain with the three and discovers that the disciples he left in charge were totally incompetent when it came to carrying on. Jesus had left the other nine in charge of things and when a man asked them to heal his son, they couldn't do it. The boy was possessed by a demon, and unclean spirit, literally translated. Said the man, "I asked your disciples to throw the demon out, but they couldn't do it." Jesus plainly conveys his disgust and disappointment, heals the boy himself, and again, in verse 45, the disciples are left not being able to grasp the significance of what has transpired. All they have is the frustration of not being able to perform and pure confusion as to why.

I think the disciples of Jesus had an age old problem characteristic of humanity throughout the eons: their fascination with the spectacular had blinded them to the profundity of the mundane. Until you can see the specialness of the ordinary, you'll never know fully the joy of following Christ. And until you can see the profound connection between the mountain and the valley, you'll never be able to throw out any demons.

Don't think I'm getting spooky on you here. We all know demons we'd like to throw out. Those activists who want to end abortion on demand have been waging a long, apparently futile battle and they certainly wonder at times, "Why can't we throw it out?" The members of MADD must feel that way. They do their best to mount moves against the insane laws which protect drunk drivers and allow them to go out a kill a few more people, only to see more people pick up the keys after picking up too much alcohol. They wonder, "Why can't we throw it out?" Peace activists who wish to see a ban on weapons of mass destruction and then hear that more nations, not less, have gone nuclear or have chemical stockpiles, certainly must ask themselves the discouraging question, "Why can't we throw it out?" Teachers who struggle with absentee parents wonder. Those who see child abuse and spouse abuse, and see it only increase wonder. Drug abuse takes another swing upward in our schools and we wonder. As a pastor, I see people's lives getting more and more filled with the work they must put in to earn enough money to pay for their various gadgets. I wonder with so many of you about many kinds of demons: "Why can't we throw them out?"

One of the reasons we can't throw these demons out, why they keep sticking up their heads is because humanity seems to be fundamentally flawed. We're sinful. We've honed going astray into an art form. Nobody's perfect and mistakes always create victims. There'll always be demons yet to be thrown out.

But fewer demons get ejected than otherwise might be possible because of another reason: so many of us who should know better fail to make the connection between the mountaintop and the valley floor. How often have I heard it, even here at church? "Pastor, those are nice, idealistic notions concerning peace, and forgiveness, and understanding, and making sacrifices, and being kind, but in the real world, if you act that way, you'll just get chewed up." The real world? Listen folks, the only reality we have is the one you and I create and if Christian ideals aren't evident in the real world, it's because you and I haven't been willing to take the risk and pay the price in significant enough numbers to make a difference. Not enough of us have understood what happens on the mountaintop and then taken that into the valley.

You’d think a preacher would be the first to understand this. After all, we’re the ones that pump this up in worship services all the time, but even preachers can fail to make the connection. I won’t tell you how I fail at this on a regular basis, but I WILL tell you about how a friend of mine missed it. (He wouldn’t mind.)

Brad had always wanted to be a medical doctor. Instead he’d gotten a Ph. D. in theology and become a pastor. He regretted this, especially after deacons meetings. As many of us parents do – against our better judgment and education – we unconsciously try to guide our children to make decisions based on what we’d wished we would have done had we been more courageous or had a dad as aware and good as we are. Brad was especially proud of his son, Mark, when Mark moved from biology major into medical school at Bowman Gray School of Medicine. Mark, Brad exulted, would not be an underachiever like his dad.

On Transfiguration Sunday three years ago, Brad preached on this passage about the transfiguration and the subsequent failure of nerve. Brad made the same point I’ve been making. “We need to connect the mountain top with the valley,” he said. Mark was home on break and Brad noticed him paying especially careful attention, or so it seemed. At lunch at a nearby bistro after worship, Mark confirmed what Brad had sensed: he’d paid special attention. Brad felt a bit of pride and a warm glow of satisfaction that his son had grown up so much to see the wisdom in his dad’s insights.

Then, two weeks later, Mark called Brad. “Dad, I’ve decided to quit medical school.”

Brad was stunned. “Why would you do that!?”

“Well Dad, your sermon a couple of weeks ago confirmed what I’ve been feeling for a long time. I want to move to the Rio Grande Valley and open a mission school. I want to teach English and basic science to the kids of immigrants and migrant farm workers.”

“But what about medical school?” All kinds of questions came to mind. Who was he going with? How would he support himself? Would he have insurance? Who was he working with? Are you crazy!?

“Dad. I want to connect the mountain top with the valley.”

“But son, you don’t have anything to fall back on.”

“Dad! Listen to yourself! I’ve got Jesus to fall back on!”

Brad stammered. How could he answer that? His son had taken him seriously. All those years of sitting in the pew listening to those sermons about putting feet to our faith had come home to roost in his house. How could he say, “Son! I was just preaching. I didn’t really mean it!”

“Dad, I’ll misquote Jessie Jackson here. Why should you be surprised after talking that talk that your own son would feel led to walk the walk?”

That was three years ago. I called my friend Brad while preparing this sermon to catch up on his son’s progress. “He’s happier than I could ever imagine, and filled with purpose and satisfaction,” Brad told me that Mark had moved to Laredo and had opened the school in an abandoned store front. He has more students than he knows what to do with and he’s become a local hero. “He doesn’t know what the distant future looks like, but he’s confident that God’ll devise a good one.”

That’s what happens when the mountain top meets the valley – abundant life filled with confidence and purpose. What could be better?