Listen!

Then a cloud appeared and covered them, and a voice came from the cloud: “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to him” [Mark 9:7, NIV].

We’re approaching the tenth anniversary of the untimely death of the Reverend Dr. Peter Gomes, a distinguished preacher and Harvard Divinity School professor, and a former visiting professor at our own Duke Divinity School. Only 68 when he died on February 28, 2011, Gomes had, for a number of years, participated in an unusual annual “pulpit swap.” One Sunday each year, Gomes would come to Duke to preach in the Chapel. Will Willimon, then Dean of Duke Chapel, would travel to Cambridge to preach at Harvard. Will used to joke, “The attendance was better in Durham.”

Gomes had a lyrical style that is impossible to capture in print. He’d often concentrate on a statement or a question and allow it to echo back and forth within his sermons. On one Sunday in particular, Gomes preached on the Isaiah text that was last week’s OT reading [Isaiah 40:21-31]. That passage contains the familiar, “But those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint” [Isaiah 40:31, NKJV]. Gomes had a catchy refrain that Sunday: “Don’t just do something, stand there!”

I often think of Gomes’ refrain when I read the Gospel lesson assigned for this week: Mark 9:2-9 [Transfiguration Sunday, RCL, Year B]. As you know, within the church year, the Sunday before Ash Wednesday is Transfiguration Sunday. While the Lectionary cycles through all three Synoptic Gospels for the Transfiguration readings (Years A, B, & C), the gospel writers actually differ very little in their telling of the story.

Jesus goes up onto a high mountain, taking Peter, James, and John with him. The text says that Jesus is “transfigured.” His face shines and his clothes become dazzling white. As if that weren’t enough, Jesus is joined by Elijah and Moses. The three talk together. Peter is terrified–who wouldn’t have been? Had Isaiah been there, he likely would have turned to Peter and said something straightforward like, “Don’t just do something, stand there!”

But Peter, always willing to do something–anything–even if it’s the wrong thing to do, suggests that they build three booths to commemorate the moment. “When in doubt, get busy,” Peter seems to always think. It is as if Peter, sensing things are entirely out of control, decides that he’d like to bring some sort of order to the scene. Instead of just standing there, as Isaiah would suggest, Peter wants to “do something, anything.”

Lean forward just a bit and I’ll whisper a confession: “I’m a lot like Peter.” When I’m overwhelmed with the moment, I reach for something to do, something to control, some plan to sketch, some object to grasp. I find it exceedingly difficult to follow Gomes’ refrain, “Don’t just do something, stand there!” I display a not-so-subtle sort of arrogance. I think, “Someone needs to step forward and take charge, and I’m just the guy for the job.” Are you a bit like Peter and me?

We’ve certainly felt overwhelmed during the past year. All our routines have been turned upside-down. As I type this paragraph, I realize that, except for my daily 3-mile walk, I haven’t left the house since Saturday. Jane and I have only rarely gathered with friends in recent months, and then in such hermetical conditions that the visits seemed almost artificial. I haven’t hugged a friend or one of our children in ten months (Jane and I do hug grandchildren–one can only follow safe-distancing rules so far). My world is completely outside my control, and it bothers me desperately.

This isn’t just cabin fever; my psyche is yelling within me, “Get out, organize something, take charge of some sort of activity, exert your energy in some positive way.” Like Peter, I’m rearranging the furniture in order to mask my feelings of fear and inadequacy. And if I’m not careful, I’ll do what Peter did on the mountaintop: I’ll forget that Christ is standing here with us.

“Don’t just do something, stand there!” I’ve had a staggering thought over the past several days. It first came to me on Sunday, as I was taking my daily walk. I began to wonder if, here in the midst of our trouble, here in the midst of our pandemic, Yahweh is doing something that is most assuredly out of my reach and out of my control? And I’ve had another staggering thought: that if I get too busy–as is my way–if I pull out my laptop and start planning and scheming, I might miss what Yahweh is actually doing around us. Might there be some wisdom in stopping, waiting, and listening so as to receive whatever it is that Yahweh has in store for us?

Within this strange and unreal time, within this bizarre moment in human history, might Yahweh be trying to teach me (to teach “us”) a deeper truth: that Yahweh is acting, even though He may be doing so in ways that I cannot see or grasp? Might Yahweh want me, for once in my life, to hush, and just stand here?

“Don’t just do something, stand there!” Oh, but while we’re standing here, Yahweh does desire that we participate in some passive activity. Yahweh wants us to listen to Jesus [Mark 9:7]. We are to listen, for in His voice, in His words, comes truth.

I’m reminded of a bull session a group of us had at Duke Divinity School a long time ago. It was 1988 (I graduated in ’89). Eight or ten of us had gathered in a lounge with one of our most popular teachers (notice that I didn’t say “professors”). He was Bishop Ken Goodson. Goodson, a native North Carolinian, having retired from one of the Alabama conferences, was our “Bishop-in-residence.” He was easily the best story-teller I’ve ever known (and I’ve known some good ones). Some years later, Duke Divinity School would complete an impressive building project that included a beautiful new chapel within the interior of the school–a chapel that could hold its own in spite of the fact that it’s no more than a sand wedge from “towering” Duke Chapel. The school gave it a fitting name: Goodson Chapel.

Somehow the group had wandered upon the subject of listening for Christ’s voice. One of our group turned to the Bishop and inquired, “Do you hear the voice of Christ very often, Bishop Goodson?”

He said, “Most assuredly, I hear his familiar voice virtually every day.”

“Really?” one of the group of students replied.

“Absolutely,” said the Bishop. “You are familiar, are you not, with John 14:23?”

I squirmed in my chair, and silently thought to myself, “Tommy, you really need to learn more scripture.”

Bishop Goodson look upward slightly, as if he was reading from an invisible blackboard, “Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him” [John 14:23, KJV].

“Oh yeah,” someone to my left said, without much confidence.

The Bishop continued, “Don’t you see, if Jesus abides within you–which is His promise–then in order to listen to his voice, all one has to do is open the Bible, turn to the Gospels, and read the words in red.”

“Ouch!” In order to listen to His voice, I’d need to give over my life to Christ, so that he, not me, would be in charge. That is difficult to do, but our Lord is exceedingly patient. Listen, He’ll wait us out!

What ya say we just go ahead and give in now!