Sermon Seeds: Astounding Glory/Wholly Holy
Last Sunday after Epiphany Year C
2 Corinthians 3:12–4:2
Luke 9:28-36 (37- 43)
Preaching notes in preparation for the One Great Hour of Sharing Offering 2016
by Mary Schaller Blaufuss
Luke 9:28-36 (37- 43)
Astounding Glory/Wholly Holy
by Kathryn M. Matthews
We’ve come to the end of another season of Epiphany, when we’re particularly attuned to the ways and times that God is manifested in our lives and in the life of the world. Here on the edge of Lent, as we turn with Jesus toward Jerusalem and the mount of Calvary, we pause on another mountain for one of those “peak experiences” so sought after even by post-Enlightenment, scientifically minded folks, as well as by those who call themselves “post-modern.” What is that about, that deep human longing to taste, however briefly, the transcendence of God?
Peter, James, and John got much more than a brief taste. They had one of those intense, ecstatic experiences that might have transformed their lives then and there, except that they didn’t know what to do with it when it happened. Sleepy-headed Peter, the text says, practically babbled, “not knowing what he said” (9:33), offering to put up tents and preserve the experience. We are sure that he was, of course, only trying to be helpful.
Be quiet and listen, Peter
Those of us who think that every situation requires us to DO something, however well-intentioned our efforts, are called back to faithfulness (and perhaps simplicity) by the voice of God in the story: “This is my Son, my chosen, listen to him!” Lori Brandt Hale imagines a “cosmic hand” from heaven, “reaching down to give Peter a good ‘you-are-missing-the point’ slap upside the head” (Feasting on the Word Year C, Vol. 1). We might imagine God’s annoyance that Peter didn’t have sense enough to remain silent at such a moment. If Moses was told he couldn’t see God and live, perhaps Peter should have been told that he couldn’t see God and talk so much.
Let’s be real: that whole experience up on the mountain must have been frightening for Peter, James and John, and when we’re afraid, even in sort of a good way, we don’t know what to do. Peter, like any good extrovert, starts talking. And thinking. And making suggestions: I know, let’s erect a monument, he says. At least that’s what we would do today: let’s mark the spot where this great, memorable thing happened. However, as R. Alan Culpepper observes, Peter’s attempt to enshrine his mountaintop experience wasn’t what Jesus had in mind: “Faithfulness is not achieved by freezing a moment,” instead, faithfulness follows God in trust toward the future (“Luke,” New Interpreter’s Bible).
Busily making meaning of experience
Peter, of course, is very much like many of us. We often try to talk our way into understanding, try to process an experience so that we can absorb its meaning and make that meaning part of who we are. That’s what we humans do, because we’re meaning-seekers at our core. But this story is, first, about Jesus and who Jesus is, and the disciples are invited into an incredibly intimate moment with him, when God speaks of God’s own beloved Child. Ann Svennungsen notes the difference between Moses’ encounter with God on Mt. Sinai, with its Ten Commandments, and this one, with Peter, James, and John on hand, with one simple command to “listen to Jesus.” Don’t talk, don’t do; just listen. It seems that we find that one simple command as challenging as all ten of the Commandments given to Moses (New Proclamation Year C 2006-2007).
In the midst of teaching and healing, Jesus has called his followers to stop and pray, to be open to and strengthened by God’s unexpected and indescribable grace, instructed by the voice of the Stillspeaking God, and empowered to continue on the path of Jesus, no matter where it leads. In these conversations, he’s told them what’s expected of him, and what will be expected of them as well (9:18-27). It seems that Peter and the others are not so keen on these recent words of Jesus about suffering and death, because they’re understandably hoping for deliverance from, and maybe even triumph over, their enemies, the Romans (maybe with a little revenge and a bit of glory thrown in). But Jesus hears another call, and he follows it faithfully, inviting his friends, and us, to come along.
Moses and Elijah are the stories, “older than old”
Scholars focus on several details in this story, an unusual one even for the Gospels, with their many accounts of miracles. Most commentators explain the presence of Moses and Elijah as confirmation that Jesus is in continuity with the faith, the story, of his people, that he is the fulfillment of what has come before. Or, as Richard Swanson puts it so evocatively: “Moses and Elijah…are characters from some of the oldest stories told among Jews. They are more real than Peter, James, and John….more real than Caesar…Quirinius…Pontius Pilate….” Moses and Elijah aren’t just figures from history, but “figures who are the stories that are older than old” (Provoking the Gospel of Luke).
N.T. Wright also illuminates that connection to what has come before: “The word for ‘departure’ is exodus,” he writes. “In the new Exodus, Jesus will lead all God’s people out of the slavery of sin and death, and home to their promised inheritance – the new creation in which the whole world will be redeemed” (Luke for Everyone).
Stories that go together
The lectionary brackets the passage immediately following the Transfiguration but it’s much more powerful to read the two stories together, and to preach them as one text. We may not have been up on that mountain with Peter, James, and John, but we can see who Jesus is in what he does with the little boy in the grips of a demon. We might say that in his healing of the child, Jesus demonstrates what the mountaintop experience meant. In fact, N.T. Wright reminds us that Matthew, Mark, and Luke all tell these stories in this order, as if they “go together: the mountain-top experience and the shrieking, stubborn demon” (Luke for Everyone).
Scholars “hear” meaning in the voices of the text as well, even though this passage seems to be mostly about seeing. God’s voice, after all, was heard during the glorious episode up on the mountain, but God’s power is dramatically revealed in what happens below, where people are suffering: Sharon Ringe suggests that the demon’s recognition of Jesus’ power, in a sense, confirms what the voice of God said at Jesus’ baptism (Feasting on the Word Year C, Vol. 1). And Kimberly Miller van Driel makes a poignant connection between the voice of God in the cloud and the anguish of a father in the crowd, each of them speaking of a beloved only child (Feasting on the Word Year C, Vol. 1).
Glory and vulnerability
It seems true, then, that in our own lives, thousands of years later, our experience of God, rather than being our own private pursuit and comfort, is inextricably linked to our response to the suffering of the world, and that makes us vulnerable ourselves. Paradoxically, mysteriously, it also seems that the closer we draw to God, the closer we draw to one another and to one another’s pain (and joy, of course). Spiritual growth and even true religion itself, then, are expressed in a deeper commitment to compassion and justice for the world God loves. (Mary Schaller Blaufuss makes this connection beautifully and practically in the reflection following this one.)
I’m reminded of an exquisite prayer by Walter Brueggemann, the great biblical scholar who has spent his life helping us to connect with the God of the Bible. His prayer could be for this very occasion, a prayer to Jesus, up on the mountaintop, but headed down to the people below, who yearn for wholeness. He asks God to “move off the page to the trouble” of the world, to “the peace negotiations, and cancer diagnoses, and burning churches, and lynched blacks, and abused children. Listen to the groans and moans, and see and hear and know and remember, and come down!” (Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth: Prayers of Walter Brueggemann).
What does it all mean today?
And so we meaning-making, meaning-seeking people of faith can’t resist our need to ask, “What does this story mean?” First, commentators seem to agree that we are commanded, with Peter, James, and John, to “listen to [Jesus]!” Jeffrey L. Tribble, Sr., urges us to be faithful to our experience of God by being clear, as Jesus was, about our identity and our mission, and not to be deterred or determined by outward success or failure as measured by our current culture. Instead, we should stick with Jesus, abiding in his presence, like Peter, James and John, and we might add, the women who faithfully accompanied him as well (Feasting on the Word Year C, Vol. 1).
Encouraged and inspired to do the same: to be present with Jesus, up on the mountain, and down below, in the need of the people, as well. The painting of the Transfiguration by Raphael (which can be found at Transfiguration) is mentioned by several writers, including Kimberly Miller van Driel, who draws our attention to those who are pointing to Jesus. The call of the preacher is to do the same, even in a world that we are tempted, she writes, to imagine as hopeless: we preachers must point to God (Feasting on the Word Year C, Vol. 1).
Our hunger for the experience of God’s presence
Earlier in this reflection I mentioned the pursuit of mountaintop experiences by people of faith, and then made the statement that this story is (first) about Jesus and who Jesus is. However, I don’t see things quite the same way as Stephen Farris does when he claims that this story is only about Jesus and not about us at all (The Lectionary Commentary: The Gospels). If our relationship with Jesus, with God, is that – a relationship – then I think it’s a good thing to consider our hunger for and response to experiences of God’s presence. That question leads to other sources, who offer rich reflections on the human need to “taste and feel” God with us. (The world certainly bombards us with invitations to taste and feel – and own and take and use – so many things and even people at times. It’s enough to distract us from our deepest needs.)
Barbara Brown Taylor’s sermon on this text, “Thin Places,” is a great starting point down such a path. She spends little time analyzing what happened up on the mountaintop that day (or down below, afterward). In fact, she describes the Transfiguration as something too daunting to talk about, even though its presence in the Gospels has spurred countless people down through the ages who have tried to explain its meaning. (In an age of science and technology, everything can be explained.)
Instead, Taylor talks about “thin places.” She writes as a preacher who knows the Bible, a pastor who senses what goes on in the human heart, and a seeker herself who traveled to Ireland where her understanding of thin places was deepened by a pilgrimage up (and back down) a holy mountain. Like our ancestors in faith in ancient times, we humans search for God, but we won’t be persuaded by scientific proof or logical arguments about the truth we seek. We want to experience God, not just acquire head-knowledge about God. Taylor describes the thin places so cherished in Celtic spirituality as “cracked doors” that give us a glimpse of heaven and a sense of God’s presence (Home by Another Way).
Holding the vision of healing and light together
It’s not that something spiritual happened up above, on the mountain, and then something material, something physical, down below in the town. After all, the people were astounded by the greatness, the glory, of a God who healed a father’s only little boy, perhaps as astounded as Peter, James and John were up on the mountain by the vision of Moses and Elijah with Jesus. If we could recover the ability to hold the spiritual and material in a unity that is much healthier than the split between the two that has dominated us for centuries, it will transform everything in our lives, not just up on the mountaintop, but every single day, down here in the lived experience of “the plain,” or the town, or the office, or the suburb, or the city…wherever our spiritual journey takes and keeps us.
Thinking about the way “the appearance of Jesus’ face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white” (9:29), and then about the way the crowd was “astounded at the greatness of God” (v. 43), I was drawn to consider the experience of light. Not just any light, but Jesus, the Light of the World. Perhaps what happened up on that mountain is that the disciples were given a precious opportunity to see and feel what is present always, the light and glory of God in all of creation, including in us, but that day it just burst forth in Jesus, and their eyes were practically blinded and they didn’t know what to do.
Stories of brilliant light
I’m reminded of two stories about a brilliant light that I read long ago: The first one is from the conclusion of War and Remembrance, Herman Wouk’s fine novel on World War II (note: spoiler alert). At the end of a long story of indescribable suffering and loss, a young mother, Natalie, is reunited with her child, Louis, after their terrible ordeal in a concentration camp. When the child who has refused to speak slowly begins to sing along with his mother’s lullaby, the two men watching the mother-and-child reunion “each put a hand over his eyes, as though dazzled by an unbearable sudden light.”
The second story was told by a surgeon about a young couple, after the doctor had to perform a disfiguring surgery on the wife’s face so that she could live. As a result of the surgery, the young woman would never be able to smile on one side of her face again. The surgeon felt very bad about this, and watched with a heavy heart as the husband went into his wife’s room and saw her for the first time, a line drawing her mouth down on one side. “I think it’s kind of cute,” he said, “your crooked little smile.” The doctor said that he had to look away from these two young people, as if the light were too bright for him to bear.
These stories connect me with the almost inaccessible story of the Transfiguration much as the story of the boy’s healing does in Luke’s Gospel: those flashes of brilliant light that made those who watched a scene of transcendent, almost unbearable, beauty cover their eyes…that light is what came to my mind when I thought of Jesus all glorious and full of light, up there on the mountaintop with his disciples.
Holding this all together
If we can at last hold the spiritual and material together, won’t we care better for the environment in which we live and breathe? J. Philip Newell, the theologian of Celtic spirituality, thinks so, but he also believes that such a wholistic spirituality will affect how we regard the communities of which we are a part. We’re reading about God’s glory and light in the Gospel of Luke, but Celtic spirituality looks to John’s Gospel, where light is present at the very beginning, and “we have seen his glory…full of grace and truth” (1:14b).
Newell draws on John’s Gospel to help us see God’s glory in everything, and his reflection feels like poetry: “From that inaccessible light of God all life comes forth, whether that be the morning light of the burning sun, the yellow brilliance of the sunflower growing from the dark ground or the glow of starfish emerging in the depths of the sea. It is the light within all life.” To see it, of course, we have to use more than our physical eyes; perhaps we have to learn to see with our heart and our soul. And yet, at the same time, God is so far beyond our knowing, “always more than the wind and the waters, other than the bear and the child, greater than thought and image” (The Book of Creation).
God is everywhere and anywhere
Taylor expands on this theme of encountering God in and through creation in her wonderful book An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith, a handbook that helps us to encounter God in the everyday experience of human life, here, in the midst of creation, “the House of God.” In her chapter on the spiritual practice of “waking up to God,” she writes of God as “the More, the Really Real, the Luminous Web That Holds Everything in Place.”
Taylor remembers a time when people encountered God out in the world rather than limiting themselves to temples and churches, because they understood that they could encounter God anywhere and everywhere. God was with them wherever they went, even though there were places, here and there, where God’s presence was keenly felt, if only for a moment. Doesn’t this remind us of Jesus, on the move from that mountain, headed to another one, where he would show us once again what God’s love looks like, but this time, without light, and without glory?
Yet another Lenten journey
As we prepare to embark on our Lenten journey, how do read and hear this text as a call to take what we have experienced out into the world? Thomas Merton once said, “We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and God is shining through it all the time.” How do we integrate our glimpses of God’s love, our tastes of God’s glory, into the everydayness of our lives? Are we awake, alert to what God is doing in the world, and in our lives, and in the life of our congregation? Is transformation a sudden thing, or a day-by-day, perhaps even hour-by-hour process?
As the United Church of Christ looks back on its own story, where were mountaintop moments when we caught a glimpse of God’s glory right here, in the very human existence of our denomination? Outside our General Minister and President’s office is a display of photographs that remind me of such mountaintop moments, and I love that part of a tour of our national offices when we pause to remember when Dr. King or Bishop Desmond Tutu addressed General Synod (or when the GS delegates responded to a call from Cesar Chavez to come to California), or to consider the gift of UCC members like Jackie Robinson and Andrew Young. How are we listening to the Stillspeaking God’s command to “listen to Jesus” in the way we live our lives today?
Where is God?
All the earth – all creation, broken yet beautiful, is full of the presence of God. We don’t have to climb a mountain to find God, although we might have to turn off our cell phones, our computers, and our television sets long enough to notice…like our ancestor Jacob, who said, “God is in this place, and I wasn’t aware of it” (Genesis 28:16). God is in the beauty of nature, in all its glory; God is in those moments of unconditional, tender love we share; God is there, between the lines, when we share our stories and our fragile hopes; God is there, in our suffering and in every moment of rescue, restoration, and resurrection. But be careful…the light is so bright – you may need to shield your eyes.
The Rev. Kathryn M. Matthews serves as dean of Amistad Chapel at the national offices of the United Church of Christ in Cleveland, Ohio.
You’re invited to share your reflections on this text on our Facebook page.
A Bible study version of this reflection is at Weekly Seeds.
For further reflection:
Barbara Brown Taylor, 21st century
“Fortunately, the Bible I set out to learn and love rewarded me with another way of approaching God, a way that trusts the union of spirit and flesh as much as it trusts the world to be a place of encounter with God.”
Thomas Merton, 20th century
“We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and God is shining through it all the time.”
George MacLeod, founder of the modern-day Iona Community, 20th century
“Show us the glory in the grey.”
Hafiz, 14th century
“An awake heart is like a sky that pours light.”
Neal Stephenson, The Diamond Age, 21st century
“…he liked his transcendence out in plain sight where he could keep an eye on it – say, in a nice stained-glass window – not woven through the fabric of life like gold threads through a brocade.”
Irenaeus, 2nd century
“The glory of God is a human being fully alive; and to be alive consists in beholding God.”
Lectionary-based reflection on Disaster, Refugee and Sustainable Development ministries of the United Church of Christ through One Great Hour of Sharing (OGHS)
by Mary Schaller Blaufuss
Theology is created in the interaction between awe and action. Moments of awe give disciples the vision to identify God’s glory in the actions of the journey ahead and incorporates their own action into God’s mission.
Interpretation and Informing Stories:
This Transfiguration text in the Lectionary comes just before we enter Lent, engaging us in meaning-making. We join the disciples, Peter and John and James, in trying to figure out who Jesus is and the nature of how we are to follow. They experience the unhindered awe of seeing Jesus in all his glory – dazzling appearance and standing with Moses and Elijah talking of Jesus’ departure. Those disciples may have been sleepy before, but now their senses and spirituality are fully awake. No doubt, they are standing in the presence of holiness. But when Peter proposes to build dwellings to preserve the moment, instead they are incorporated into the very action of God.
In a scene directly reminiscent of Jesus’ baptism, the voice of God comes from a cloud addressed to the disciples rather than to Jesus this time, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” It made an impression that they took seriously, following Jesus down the mountain and toward Jerusalem, ‘owning’ the healing and teaching they were yet to experience.
Disaster responder as theologian is not often the label associated with either side of that simile. And, yet, articulating meaning in the midst of disaster’s disruption and recovery is work for the church to take seriously. This passage reminds us of the importance of that role in figuring out and articulating meaning – to identify God’s clear presence, to recognize the resources of faith at hand, and to be incorporated into the very action of God.
A natural disaster can disrupt people’s lives in the most devastating ways. The unexpectedness of the event and seeming randomness of those affected creates questions about the security of the space in which we live. The loss of loved ones and things we held dear creates holes in our lives. The order we once assumed of the world around us is shattered. Assigning meaning to the event and to the experience of the recovery is part of the journey to wholeness. A wider community to call on for assistance in putting back together an order to our lives and creating a “new normal” is healing.
The church occupies a distinct place in disaster recovery that puts people in places where this meaning-making is authentic. UCC Disaster Ministries is national and therefore, helps shape the high level processes of recovery mechanisms striving for effectiveness and widespread access. Government resources at local, state and federal levels are accessed and insurance systems taken seriously. But where there are gaps, the UCC is thoroughly connected with other church responses and with other voluntary organizations active in disaster to avoid duplication of services and multiply the special assets of each organization.
At the same time, the church is local, taking leadership in community building relationships that coordinate locally through long-term recovery organizations. The church has scope to channel financial gifts or secure people with particular skills from those living in other places who feel connected and the personal association to be a long-term presence in an affected community because it has been there already. This multi-layered presence and its effectiveness offers the space for those involved to be taken seriously in the meaning-making exercise in which we engage.
This ministry makes space for people to see God in new and dazzling ways and takes seriously the results of that experience by involving us in the hard journey that follows, making it our own. Disaster recovery is a meaning-making exercise with implications for wider community and the whole church.
Share your meaning-making experiences in the midst of disaster response, event, and preparation: Take survey here. (Please share this link with others.)
The Rev. Dr. Mary Schaller Blaufuss serves as Team Leader, Global Sharing of Resources, with Wider Church Ministries of the United Church of Christ at the national offices in Cleveland, Ohio.
More stories on Facebook (OGHS UCC) and Twitter @OGHS_at_UCC and online at http://www.ucc.org/oghs_stories.
Moses came down from Mount Sinai. As he came down from the mountain with the two tablets of the covenant in his hand, Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God. When Aaron and all the Israelites saw Moses, the skin of his face was shining, and they were afraid to come near him. But Moses called to them; and Aaron and all the leaders of the congregation returned to him, and Moses spoke with them. Afterward all the Israelites came near, and he gave them in commandment all that the Lord had spoken with him on Mount Sinai. When Moses had finished speaking with them, he put a veil on his face; but whenever Moses went in before the Lord to speak with him, he would take the veil off, until he came out; and when he came out, and told the Israelites what he had been commanded, the Israelites would see the face of Moses, that the skin of his face was shining; and Moses would put the veil on his face again, until he went in to speak with him.
God is ruler;
let the peoples tremble!
God sits enthroned upon the cherubim;
let the earth quake!
God is great in Zion;
God is exalted over all the peoples.
Let them praise your great and awesome name.
Holy is God!
Mighty Ruler, lover of justice,
you have established equity;
you have executed justice
and righteousness in Jacob.
Extol the Sovereign our God;
worship at God’s footstool.
Holy is God!
Moses and Aaron were among
Samuel also was among
those who called on God’s name.
They cried to God,
and God answered them.
God spoke to them in the pillar of cloud;
they kept God’s decrees,
and the statutes that God gave them.
O Sovereign our God, you answered them;
you were a forgiving God to them,
but an avenger of their wrongdoings.
Extol the Sovereign our God,
and worship at God’s holy mountain;
for the Sovereign our God is holy.
2 Corinthians 3:12–4:2
Since, then, we have such a hope, we act with great boldness, not like Moses, who put a veil over his face to keep the people of Israel from gazing at the end of the glory that was being set aside. But their minds were hardened. Indeed, to this very day, when they hear the reading of the old covenant, that same veil is still there, since only in Christ is it set aside. Indeed, to this very day whenever Moses is read, a veil lies over their minds; but when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.
We have renounced the shameful things that one hides; we refuse to practice cunning or to falsify God’s word; but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the conscience of everyone in the sight of God.
Luke 9:28-36 (37- 43)
Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” — not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.
[On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. Just then a man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.” While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. And all were astounded at the greatness of God.]
Liturgical notes on the readings
In ecumenical liturgical practice, there are normally three readings and one psalm at each Sunday service, in this order:
First Reading: Hebrew Scripture
Response: Psalm (or Canticle) from the Bible
Second Reading: Epistle (or Acts or Revelation)
Third Reading: Gospel
The first and second readings are normally read by laypeople, the Gospel by a Minister of the Word or a layperson. In Roman Catholic, Anglican and liturgical Protestant churches, it is uncommon for an ordained minister to read all of the lessons.
The psalm is not a reading but a congregational response following the lesson from Hebrew Scripture: it is normally sung with a refrain or recited by the congregation as poetry. Occasionally, a canticle is appointed in place of a psalm; it is sung or recited in the same way. The New Century Hymnal provides a complete liturgical psalter with refrains and music.
A hymn may be sung as an introduction to the proclamation of the Gospel.
Notes on the Lectionary and Liturgical Colors
by the Rev. Susan Blain, Curator for Worship and Liturgical Arts (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Faith Formation Ministry, Local Church Ministries, United Church of Christ
(Essay based on an article by Laurence Hull Stookey: “Putting Liturgical Colors in their Place” in Calendar: Christ’s Time for the Church ©1996 Abingdon Press.)
The use of colors to differentiate liturgical seasons is a custom in use among some Western churches for hundreds of years. Although the custom of using colors is an ancient one, there has not always been agreement on what the colors should be. The Council of Trent in 1570, a Roman Catholic response to the Reformation, codified the colors for the Roman Catholic Church. When we talk about “traditional” colors today, we usually are referring to that codification. There were four basic colors in that codification: purple (penitence), red (Spirit or Martyrs memorials), green (long season after Pentecost) and white (festivals). Other colors, or no color at all, were acceptable variants in some regions.
The Reformation of course was a watershed for Christian ritual practice. Anglican and Lutheran churches often used some form of liturgical colors; however, the Reformed tradition of churches, where the UCC falls, for the most part did away with the custom of using colors, opting for much more simplicity. During the ecumenical liturgical movement of the mid-20th Century, Protestant churches began to look back at some of the ritual and colorful practices of the past with an eye toward reclaiming them to help give expression to feeling, tone, and imagery underlying the lectionary stories.
Before the Reformation’s iconoclasm, and Trent’s code, practices varied from place to place, often depending on what was available. Indeed, in some places the custom was to organize vestments into practical categories of “best,” “second best,” and “everyday” — not depending on the color at all. For Christmas and Easter the “best” vestments were used, no matter the color! Other, less prominent feasts or Sundays got “second best” or “everyday.”
The Season after Epiphany begins and ends with light: the heavens open over Jesus’ Baptism in the Jordan, and the dazzling transfiguration of Jesus’ person on the mountain. Who is this, in whom the light of God breaks through? Stories pondering the identity of Jesus fill these weeks, along with stories of the beginnings of the church’s mission to preach good news to the world. The themes established in this season (along with the sequence of readings from the Gospel) will continue in the season after Pentecost, so both seasons together can be called the “Time of the Church,” or “Ordinary Time.” The Season after Epiphany begins and ends with colors and textures suggesting light and translucence — traditionally white or gold, but see what may spark imagination! The color for the Sundays in the heart of the Season after Epiphany is shared with the Season after Pentecost: green, the color of growth.
So, here is a challenge to worship planners: Take it upon yourselves to develop and expand the “received” tradition!