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I am a child of the ’80s. Those
ten years, 1980 to 1989, are the years I came of age. If you
too are a child of the’80s, or raised a child during the
’80s, then things like Atari, Friday Night Videos,
Pac Man and Space Invaders will be definitely bring a smile
to your face. If, like me, you remember fondly the decade of
the ’80s, then you probably remember rushing home to watch
the ABC After School Special and you’ll probably
never forget where you were when the space shuttle
Challenger exploded. For those of us who lived through the
decade that gave us The Cosby Show, The Facts of Life,
Family Ties and Growing Pains, we know that
before there was Apple and Windows, we had the Commodore 64.
The ’80s were defined by great
musical transitions, starting the decade with chart toppers
like Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl” and ending with
Public Enemy’s “Fight the Power.” And just as every decade
has its defining movies, the ’80s are no different. Movies
like Back to the Future, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,
Ghostbusters and the critically-acclaimed Vietnam
film Platoon still hold special places for those of
us who grew up during the Reagan years. I think if you were
to ask any child of the ’80s to make a list of the important
and memorable movies of their generation, I would bet that
almost every list would include the 1985 John Hughes
classic, The Breakfast Club.
The Breakfast Club is the
story of five high school students who have to report to
their school’s library on a Saturday morning to serve
detention. It is clear from the movie’s get-go that each of
these students comes from one of the different social groups
within the school. There is Claire, the fashion princess and
prom queen. There is Andy, the athlete and quintessential
jock. There is Brian, the nerdy brainchild of the group, and
the dark-clothed, basket case Allison. And of course there’s
everybody’s favorite antihero, criminal and burnout, John
Bender.
As we would expect, bringing
these different social strata of students together in one
place begins with some fireworks. Each character is pretty
sure they know everything about every other character simply
by the clothes they wear and friends they keep. They are
sure they have nothing in common. Throughout the opening
scenes, they clash with each other. They argue with each
other. They struggle with each other. They mock and harass
each other. There is even a moment where they almost come to
blows with each other. In the beginning, all they can see
are their differences.
But something happens. Things
change. As the day progresses, they begin to see things
differently. They begin to hear differently. Eventually they
begin to listen to each other, and as they listen, they find
themselves revealing more and more of who they really are to
each other. They discover they all have real problems and
they all share similar fears. And in this discovery they
begin to see each other as more than the label they each
carried into the detention hall that morning.
As the movie moves along, you
can feel the hope build as social boundaries disappear and
genuine connections are made. I think one of the reasons why
an entire generation of teenagers connected so powerfully
with this film is because, for a moment, it painted the
world as we hoped we could live in it. It dared to suggest
that it might actually be able to happen, and that our lives
and our world could actually be different. The Breakfast
Club touched that hopeful place in every teenager who
wants to believe that it is safe to let your guard down long
enough to be yourself without fear of ridicule or judgment.
The movie dared us to dream of a world where preppies and
druggies, jocks and nerds, could peaceably coexist. The
Breakfast Club made us all believers.
I suppose, in a religious sense,
The Breakfast Club gave teenagers of the ’80s a
mountaintop experience. Mountaintop experiences are those
experiences in life that transcend the normal, everyday
experiences of our lives. They are the moments when, as if
you were actually standing atop a high mountain, everything
just looks different. From the top of the mountain you get
the bigger picture. You can see how things fit together
differently than from down below. During that day in the
detention hall, these characters had a transformational,
mountaintop experience, one that had the potential to change
the way they looked at themselves, each other and ultimately
their world. Sometimes it is only by ascending the mountain
that we are able to get a glimpse of life’s bigger picture.
But then it happened. Brian, the
conscience of the group, asked the question all of them
wanted to ask. He asked the question all of them were afraid
to ask: “What about Monday?” What about Monday? What happens
when this is over? Will anything be different? What happens
on Monday? What happens when “real life” resumes? What will
happen when they see each other in the hall? Will they still
be friends or will they simply return to their different
cliques, never to speak again? What about Monday? What
happens when the mountaintop meets Monday morning?
Every year I take a busload of
kids on a mission trip, and every year I see it happen. By
week’s end, many of these kids will have been to the
mountaintop. They will have seen themselves differently.
They will have seen their world differently. By week’s end,
the social boundaries that often separate kids have been
broken down, and friendships are built with kids they would
never have dreamed of getting to know just a few days
earlier. But then comes the bus ride home. It is then I find
myself asking, “What about Monday?” What happens when we get
home? Will the lesson stick with them? Will they keep the
promises they made to God and each other? What happens to
them when the routines and pressures of their everyday lives
kick back into gear? What happens when the mountaintop meets
Monday morning?
Truth be told, I ask myself that
same question every Sunday afternoon about 4:30. It is the
half hour before SNA begins, and it is in those moments I
find myself in prayer. I am praying for the service. I am
praying for those who will lead worship. I am praying for
all of you who attend. And I am praying for me. I ask God
that, in some way, each and every worship experience might
take people to the mountaintop, to the place where they
might get a glimpse of God’s holiness and see the world
differently. And you better believe that my prayer each week
isn’t just for the mountaintop, but also for Monday morning.
I pray that, in some way, because of the time we spend
together here each Sunday evening, we are all better
equipped to live the way God intends us to live come Monday
morning. I pray that because of the love we experience here
on Sunday, we will be better able to love our neighbors come
Monday. I pray that because of the way we are fed when we
come together on Sunday, we will be more attuned to a hungry
world come Monday. It is my hope that every worship
experience we have seeks to answer that ultimate question,
“What about Monday?”
Our scripture today tries to
answer that question. Jesus invites three of his disciples
to a mountaintop experience. Jesus takes them to the top of
a very high mountain. The pace had been hectic and the
demands of the ministry overwhelming, so I imagine these
disciples saw this excursion as a welcome break and an
opportunity to get away and reflect. Once on top of the
mountain, everything changes. Suddenly Jesus is
transfigured. He is changed. His face shines like the sun
and his clothes become a dazzling white. On the mountaintop,
these disciples glimpse something within Jesus they have
never seen before. Within this traveling teacher from
Nazareth, they glimpse the very nature of God. And as if
that isn’t enough, suddenly at Jesus’ side appear Moses and
Elijah. Friends, this is big! There are no bigger figures in
the religious consciousness of these disciples than that of
Moses, the great deliverer, and Elijah, the powerful
prophet. And here they are — long since dead — in the flesh.
Imagine being present to listen to Jesus, Moses and Elijah
talk about religion. It doesn’t get any bigger than that.
(As a baseball fan, the closest thing I can compare it to is
being present for a conversation between Babe Ruth, Ted
Williams and Jackie Robinson on the finer points of hitting.
It would be unbelievable and unforgettable.)
This is Christian worship as
good as it gets. In fact, take this encounter as a
description of what we want at every service — old
stories coming back to life, conversation connecting the
past to the present, new visions and unexpected responses.
We, who do so much talking, fall silent in awe of God’s
holiness and wonder. And we can hear the voice of God
reminding us that in Jesus, we have found what we are
looking for: “This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him!”
That is the kind of church I’m talking about.
Peter blurts out what we all
want to say: “Can’t we just stay here? Let’s build some
tents (maybe a church and seminary, while we’re at it) and
just stay here.” We’ve all been there. Somewhere in the
midst of every mountaintop experience — every mission trip,
summer camp, vacation time, long weekend or paternity leave
— there comes a moment when you ask yourself, “Why can’t I
just stay here? This is so much nicer. So much easier. I
really like this. Maybe I’ll just put up a tent and stay
awhile.” I know there are those moments that come on Sundays
when we wish we could just stick around, hang out on the
mountain with Jesus and our church friends, avoid the
inevitable return to our work-a-day world with its
challenges, pressures and heartaches. When it comes to
mountaintops and Monday mornings, most of us would choose
the mountaintop every time.
Because we know what awaits us
on the other side of the mountain. We know what comes with
Monday mornings. Life, that’s what. Real life with real
people and real problems. On the mountaintop we can get away
from all the folk who cause us stress. But come Monday
morning, we’ve got to live with them. It is exactly what
happens in the scripture. Jesus tells Peter and the others
that they can’t stay. They must leave the mountain and their
mountaintop experience. They must return.
Within minutes of coming off the
mountain, they are confronted with the stuff of life. They
encounter a man and his son. The boy is convulsing violently
with seizures. They come to the disciples, knowing that they
have been with the great healer Jesus. The man asks the
disciples to cure his boy. And what happens next might be
one of the most disappointing moments in all of the
scriptures. It is the picture of what can happen when the
events of the mountaintop don’t mean anything come Monday
morning. These disciples who have just been to the
mountaintop, who have just had worship where the great
prophets of old spoke and the Savior was revealed, can offer
no help, no comfort, no healing to this man and his son. It
is as if the disciples left everything they had just
witnessed on the top of that mountain, left it right there
in the church building to be picked up next week when they
came to worship.
Look at Jesus’ response to this
man and his son. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say, “Of course
they couldn’t help you. They don’t have the power. Only I
have the power to heal.” Jesus is disappointed, almost
disgusted, that these disciples — those who have been the
students of his teachings and the witnesses of miracles and
healings — are unable to translate these experiences into
concrete ministry on behalf of others and the world. Jesus
is in the business of transferring power, giving us, through
the Holy Spirit, the power to be teachers, healers,
reconcilers and transformers of the world.
So what can we take from this
story tonight, so that when Monday rolls around, we too
aren’t powerless in the face of our hurting and broken
world? First, tonight’s story makes it clear we all have to
spend some time on the mountaintop. We have to go to the
places where God can inspire us and where God can transform
us. One of the places we can meet God on the mountain is
here at worship every week. This is one of the reasons that
regular worship is so essential to our lives. We all have
other places and practices that bring us into closer
connection with God. For some it might be nature, and for
others it might a spot in our homes. Some connect with God
through reading or writing, while others find that God is
revealed through acts of kindness and compassion. Whatever
it is that gets you to the mountaintop, make sure you are
getting there regularly.
While tonight’s scripture
reminds us of the importance of getting to the mountaintop,
it makes one thing pretty clear: we can’t stay. When Peter
asks Jesus if they can stay, Jesus doesn’t say, “You bet.”
Instead he says, “Get up and don’t be afraid.” Get up and go
back down the mountain. This story challenges any notion we
might have to say our religious experience is meant to have
us escape the world. If that were the case, they would have
stayed on that mountain and never come back down. But it is
right back down the mountain. Friends, there is such a thing
as too much church. We can be here too much. We can come
here to escape the world, set up our tents and never leave.
Tonight’s scripture makes it clear that while Jesus invites
us onto the mountaintop, we aren’t supposed to stay. We
can’t stay because what happens on the mountain can’t stay
on the mountain.
Have you seen those commercials
for Las Vegas that say, “What happens in Vegas stays in
Vegas”? They are saying that nobody needs to know about all
of the wild and crazy things you do while you are there, all
of things you wouldn’t dream of doing at home, things that
might raise an eyebrow or two. I think a lot of Christians
treat church like Las Vegas (without the slot machines and
showgirls, of course). We can act as if our mantra is “What
happens at church stays at church. Nobody needs to know
where I go, how often I go or what happens to me while I am
there. My Christianity, like my trip to Vegas, is a private
matter and nobody else’s business.”
Tonight’s scripture seems to
suggest something very different. Jesus reminds us that what
happens on the mountaintop — what happens while in worship,
what happens while on mission trips or at choir camp — can’t
stay on the mountaintop. It is meant to be shared with
others. While we are here tonight, we have to encounter God
in this place so that those people we work with and live
with tomorrow, who haven’t had such an encounter, might
encounter God through us.
If we live our faith actively in
front of others and share with them where we get our
strength and hope, there will come a moment when a friend or
coworker will say something like, “You go to church, right?
Well, my mom was just diagnosed with cancer. I was wondering
if you might say a prayer for her.” Or they might say
something like, “I heard you talking about what a great time
your kid had on that mission trip. I want my kid to have an
experience like that. Do you think maybe he could join your
group next time?” Or they might say something like, “I heard
you talking about the small group you are a part of at your
church. Sounds like you all have a lot of fun and have some
great discussions. Tell me more about that.” Those moments,
those authentic and natural ways of sharing our faith,
happen only when we make sure that what happens on the
mountaintop doesn’t stay on the mountaintop.
I heard a story this summer told
by a man who has spent his life working with special
education students. Brian, a young man in his class, has
Down Syndrome. One day, he told Brian a story about two men.
He said the first man lived on the top of mountain. He lived
in a simple hut. He spent most of his time in silent prayer.
He tended a garden. He ate simply. He lived a peaceful life.
The second man lived at the bottom of the mountain. He too
lived in a simple hut. But this man at the bottom of the
mountain had turned his hut into a clinic and spent his time
healing and helping people. His life was busy. The teacher
then asked Brian, “Which of these men lived the best life?”
Brian thought for a moment and said, “I am not sure, but it
sounds like the second guy has a lot more fun!”
So friends, let me say it is
good to be back. I am glad to see you all again. I love our
Sunday nights together. I have missed them. But what I am
even more excited about is tomorrow morning. Sundays are
great, but Mondays – well, Brian’s right – they’re a whole
lot more fun. I hope to meet you there.
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