Voices

Voices

About eight days later Jesus took Peter, John, and James up on a mountain to pray. And as he was praying, the appearance of his face was transformed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly, two men, Moses and Elijah, appeared and began talking with Jesus. They were glorious to see. And they were speaking about his exodus from this world, which was about to be fulfilled in Jerusalem. ¶Peter and the others had fallen asleep. When they woke up, they saw Jesus’ glory and the two men standing with him. As Moses and Elijah were starting to leave, Peter, not even knowing what he was saying, blurted out, “Master, it’s wonderful for us to be here! Let’s make three shelters as memorials — one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” But even as he was saying this, a cloud overshadowed them, and terror gripped them as the cloud covered them. Then a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, my Chosen One. Listen to him.” (Luke 9:28-35)

Summer, 1966. The Pomona Fair. A big place and a bigger day for a wide-eyed 8 year-old whose week generally peaked out at the local Dairy Queen on Saturday. The sights and sounds of the midway left me like Dorothy – “Toto, I’ve a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore." The carnival rumbled with excitement. Roller coasters. Ferris wheels. Candied apples. Cotton candy. And, the voices. "Step right up and try your luck, sonny!" "This way, young man. Three shots for a dollar." "Come on, little fella’. Win your mom a teddy bear." And there I stood – one bewildered boy. Do I listen to the skinny lady with the pointy objects in the dart booth, or answer the call of the carny and heave a ball at the milk bottles? The guy in top hat and tails dares me to explore the haunted house: "Come on in. What's wrong? Afraid?"

A gauntlet of barkers – each taking their turn. Dad had warned me about them. He knew all about the midway. I can't recall his exact instruction, but I remember its impact. So, I stuck next to him, my hand lost in his. And every time I heard the voices, I looked at dad’s face. He gave either protection or permission. Dad rolling his eyes meant, "Move on," because he smelled a huckster. A smile and a nod said, "Go on – no harm here." My father helped me handle the voices. Could you use the same?

Because when it comes to your faith, do you ever feel as if you’re walking through a religious midway? The Torah sends you to Moses. The Koran sends you to Muhammad. Buddhists invite you to meditate; spiritists, to levitate. A palm reader wants your hand. The TV evangelist wants your money. The agnostic believes no one can know. The hedonist doesn't care to know. And atheists believe there’s nothing to know. "Step right up. Try my witchcraft." Or, "Psssst! Over here. Interested in some New Age crystals?" Or, "Hey, you! Ever tried Scientology?" What do you do? Where's a person to go? Mecca? Salt Lake City? Rome? Therapy? Aromatherapy? All those voices. They can’t all be right, can they?

If that's your conundrum, then Luke 9 is your chapter – the day God isolated the authoritative voice of history and declared, "Listen to him." It's the first scene of the final act in the earthly life of Christ. Jesus has taken three of his followers on a prayer retreat. "Jesus took Peter, John, and James up on a mountain to pray. And as he was praying, the appearance of his face was transformed, and his clothes became dazzling white." (Luke 9:28-29)

Wow, to have heard that prayer. What words so lifted Christ that his face was changed? Did he see his home? Was home calling? Maybe Jesus needed some comfort. Maybe knowing that his road home would pass through Calvary, he put in a call. And God was quick to answer. "Suddenly, two men, Moses and Elijah, appeared and began talking with Jesus." (v. 30) The perfect comfort givers – Moses understood tough journeys, and Elijah could relate to an unusual exit. So Jesus and Moses and Elijah discuss "his exodus from this world, which was about to be fulfilled in Jerusalem." (v. 31) Peter, James, and John, meanwhile, are taking a good nap. But suddenly, they woke up and saw how glorious Jesus was. They also saw the two men who were with him. And just when Moses and Elijah were about to leave, Peter says to Jesus, "Master, it’s wonderful for us to be here! Let’s make three shelters as memorials — one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” (vv. 32-33)

What would we do without Peter? The guy has no idea what he’s saying, but that doesn't keep him from talking. He has no clue what he’s doing but offers to do it anyway. And this is his bright idea: build three monuments for the three heroes he sees. Great plan? Maybe for Peter, but not in God's book. Even as Peter is speaking, God starts clearing his throat: “Even as (Peter) was saying this, a cloud overshadowed them, and terror gripped them as the cloud covered them. Then a voice from the cloud said, ‘This is my Son, my Chosen One. Listen to him.’” (vv. 34-35) Peter's error is not that he spoke, but that he spoke heresy. Because three monuments would equate Moses and Elijah with Jesus. But no one shares the platform with Christ. God comes with the suddenness of an earthquake and leaves Peter shaking. "This is My Son." Not "a son," as if he were clumped in with the rest of us. Not "the best son," as if he were valedictorian of the human race. Jesus is, according to God, "My Son, My Chosen One." Absolutely unique and unlike anyone else. "Listen to Him."

In the synoptic Gospels, God speaks only twice – at Jesus’ baptism and then here at the Transfiguration. In both cases he begins with, "This is My beloved Son." At the river he concludes with affirmation: "in whom I am well pleased." (Matt. 3:17) But on the hill he concludes with clarification: "Listen to Him." He does not command, "Listen to them." Sure, he could have because has there been a more austere group ever assembled? Moses, the lawgiver. Elijah, the prophet. Peter, the eventual Pentecost preacher. James, the apostle. John, the eventual gospel writer and revelator. The Bible's first and final authors all in one place. So, God could have said, "These are my priceless servants; listen to them." But God didn’t.

Whereas Moses and Elijah comfort Christ, God crowns Christ. "Listen to Him . . . ." The definitive voice in the universe belongs to Jesus. He’s not one among many voices; he’s the One Voice over all voices. But you cross a line when you make that kind of claim and lots of people have recoiled at the distinction. They say, “Call Jesus godly, godlike, or even God-inspired. Call him ‘a voice’ but not ‘the voice;’ a good man but not God-man.” But a good man is precisely the terminology we can’t use because a good man wouldn’t say what Jesus said, or claim what he claimed. A liar would. Or God would. But call him anything in between and you have a real dilemma. The truth is that no one believed that Jesus was equal with God more than Jesus. His followers worshiped him, and he didn't tell them to stop. Peter and Thomas and Martha called him the Son of God, and he didn't tell them they were wrong. At his own death trial, his accusers asked, "'Are You the Son of God, then?' And He said to them, 'Yes, I am.'" (Luke 22:70)

His purpose, in his words, was to "give his life as a ransom for many." (Matt. 20:28) And, according to Jesus, no one could kill him because speaking of his life, he said, "I lay it down on My own initiative. I have authority to lay it down, and I have authority to take it up again." (John 10:18) And could he speak with more confidence than he did in John 14:9? "He who has seen Me has seen the Father." Or, could his words have been more blasphemous than John 8:58? "Before Abraham was, I AM." The claim infuriated the Jews and "they picked up stones to throw at Him." (v. 59) Why? Because only God is the great I AM. And in calling himself I AM, Christ was equating himself with God. "I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me." (John 14:6)

Make no mistake, Jesus saw himself as God. And in doing so, he leaves us with two options. Accept him as God, or reject him as a megalomaniac. There is no third alternative. Here’s what I mean. Suppose you saw me standing on the side of the road. I can go either north or south. You ask me which way I'm going, and I say, "I'm going sorth." Thinking you didn't hear correctly, you ask me to repeat the answer. "I'm going sorth. I can't choose between north and south, so I'm kind of going both ways. I'm going sorth." "You can't do that," you reply. "You have to choose." "Okay," I concede, "then I'll head nouth." "Nouth is not an option, either!" you insist. "It's either north or south. When it comes to this particular road, you’ve got to pick; it’s one way or the other." And when it comes to Christ, you've got to do the same.

Call Jesus crazy, or crown him as king. Dismiss him as a fraud, or declare him to be God. Walk away from him, or bow before him. But don't play games with him. Don't call him a great man. Don't list him among decent folk. Don't clump him in with Moses, Elijah, Buddha, Joseph Smith, Muhammad, or Confucius. He didn't leave us that option. He is either God or godless. Heaven-sent or hell-born. All hope or all hype. But nothing in between.

C. S. Lewis summarized it classically when he wrote: “A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic – on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg – or else he would be the Devil of Hell. . . . You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronising nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”

Jesus won't be diminished. And besides, do you want him to be? Don't you need a distinctive voice in your noisy world? We all do. So, don't walk the midway alone. Keep your hand in his and your eyes on him. And when he speaks, "Listen to him." He knows all about the midway, and the hucksters whose voices are trying to steal your soul.

Grace,

Randy