It was not until I became a father that I realized how poorly we listen to one another. A day does not go by where someone in my house says something like, “Listen to me,” “listen to her,” “listen to him.”

“Let them speak!”

“Don’t interrupt me, her, him, or them.”

Talking over people – teachers, classmates, one another, their mother, me –  is one of the many talents I have tried to avoid handing down to my children. So, when a note came home from school a few weeks ago outing one of my children with an “unsatisfactory” ability to listen and follow directions, I immediately blamed their mother. “It couldn’t be my fault,” I blurted out over Allison as she was reading the note aloud.

“Oops!” I thought to myself.

At first, I thought this was a poor reflection of my parenting. “Maybe,” I said to myself, “I need to do better. I should be a better example. I’ll try harder to let the kids talk more, not being so quick to offer advice or direction.” I had the problem figured out.

As a pastor, I am in the listening business.

I listen to the Bryan rehearse on the organ on Wednesday afternoons and the choir rehearse on Wednesday evenings.

I listen to Pastor Jeff ask where he left his keys.

I listen to you all as you share your dreams and fears with me.

A few days later, I remembered an observation I had made a few weeks earlier. I realized how often adults should receive an “unsatisfactory” checkmark for our ability listening. How many times do we talk over our spouse or partner at home? How often do we fail to listen to a friend or mentor when they are offering advice, consolation, or critique? How often do I, how often do you walk past someone on Sunday morning asking, “how are you this morning?” without stopping to listen to the person’s answer?

So, contrary to what my kids will tell you, my parenting is not the issue. We are all terrible listeners. I feel so much better.

Today is a turning point in the Church’s year. The Transfiguration of Jesus signals a transition away from the light of Epiphany to the shadows of Lent. The bright light of Epiphany will soon give way as the shadow of the cross grows larger as we journey through Lent, toward Jesus entering Jerusalem to shouts of “Hossana!” on Palm Sunday followed by shouts of, “Crucify!” on Good Friday. According to Rev. Fleming Rutledge, only Palm Sunday can compete with the drama of the Transfiguration.

On the mountain top, alongside Jesus, Moses and Elijah appear. Their presence at the Transfiguration confirms Jesus as the Messiah and as the Son of God, the chosen One of Israel, of all creation. In Jesus, the hopes of all creation have been realized.

Eight days before Jesus and his three trusted disciples trekked up the mountain, Jesus foretold of his death. Jesus said he, “must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”[1]

What Jesus told his disciples before their climb is precisely what Jesus, Moses, and Elijah discussed as the disciples drifted off the sleep. The disciples were asleep on the job as they will be when Jesus prays in the garden, hours before his arrest and execution.

What is to happen in Jerusalem will be the sacrifice to end all sacrifices required by the Law and the turning point the prophets pointed toward. In the Church we believe Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection fulfill the ministry of Moses and Elijah.

Jesus’ disciples knew the Law and the words of the prophets. The disciples would have known full-well who Jesus was colluding with as the disciples rose from their slumber. Just as the disciples had listened to Jesus teaching, the disciples listened as the words of Moses and the prophets were spoken in the synagogues and in the Temple.

After the cloud-filled mountain top scene, Moses and Elijah depart, and Jesus is alone with his three disciples. Jesus alone is the fulfillment of the Law and the prophets – the fulfillment of the ministries of Moses and Elijah.

“This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”[2] instructed a voice as the clouds lifed.

Listen to him.

Listen to Jesus.

Christians are not usually lauded for their ability to listen.

I have heard Christians described as grace-filled and hate-filled, loving and withholding, merciful and judgmental, but never have I heard someone say, “Those Christians, they are great listeners.” Church meetings have taught me we love to hear ourselves talk about what is important to us but often we drift off to something more interesting as someone else begins to speak. Color me guilty.

Listening is an essential function of living, necessary for our survival

We listen for danger. Citizens across Ukraine are listening right now for the sound of sirens, tank tracks, and the silence of momentary peace.

Parents listen for the cries of newborns in the middle of the night or the footsteps of a teenager sneaking back inside the house after curfew.

We listen for the sounds of footsteps and the doorknob turning as we await the homecoming of a family member or friend who is closer than family.

In her book Freeing Jesus, author Diana Butler Bass recalls when she was praying and listening. Kneeling at a chapel altar inside the Nation Cathedral, Diana lifted up a simple four-word prayer. “Where are you, God?” she asked.

Silence.

She raised the same prayer again.

“Where are you, God?”

Silence.

God?” she asked.

“Get me out of here,” a voice replied.

No one, Diana writes, was in the chapel with her. No docent. No hovering priest. No tourists snapping pictures.

“Get me out of here,” she heard again.

Diana did what most of us would do at that moment: she bolted out of the cathedral.

Listen to him.

So much of what we do in the Church is not listening. We talk, and talk, and talk, but rarely do listen. We talk and create theology to try to explain and often create more noise that we in turn must sift through to hear God calling out to us. And in our talking, we create more of that which Jesus fulfilled – Law, things we think must be done, usually by other people, to hear a word or experience the grace of God. We create new ways people must ascend up the mountain to obtain the grace of Christ when the reality is that Jesus has descended to us. In word. In sacrament. In his real presence.

Jesus has come to save us, and in the process of trying to make sense of this on our own – talking and talking instead of listening – we lock him up, or attempt to, behind doctrine, church law, and politics.

Listen to him.

Jesus comes down from the Transfiguration. He heals a demon-possessed boy. He predicts his own death for a second time. He visits a Samaritan village (he went on the wrong side of the tracks). He details for the disciples the cost of following him. None of these things were done on the mountain. No one needs to ascend to him.

In each of the scenes that follow the Transfiguration, Jesus points to the fulfillment of what had been revealed while on the mountain top.

Listen to him.

Though we are shaped by social, cultural, and economic pressures that tell us we must ascend, if we listen, if we set aside our own noise, we hear words of grace. A word that tells us God will not be confined to the mountain-top, theology, or Law. A word that tells us God is present with us now, in this sanctuary, in our homes, in the places we feel most alone.

God has come down, dwelling among us in flesh and blood, a holy and living tabernacle, and is not set apart from us. God is seeking us, giving us something different from G-law-spel – a law-filled list of you must X, Y, and Z to receive the gospel good news.

Jesus is speaking to the church today.

Listen to him.

Set aside the Law and follow, for the Law of Moses and the words of the prophets have been fulfilled. God has come to us. God continues to come to us. Because God is continually seeking us out, the love of God, the amazing grace of our Lord and Savior is always yours. It never ends.

[1] Luke 9:22

[2] Luke 9:35