The appointed readings can be found here
That Tabor Light
Long ago and far away, at the beginning of the pandemic, we distributed lawn signs to the families with children in our community.
“Cling to what is good.” A reference to Romans 12:9, meant as an encouragement to remember. To remember what is good in this world. To remember, that it is worth pursuing the good. To remember that, even now, the good is present.
As we have traversed this long wilderness and as we summit the mountain only to find more wilderness beyond, I am finding this encouragement to be absolutely essential as both joy and consolation.
For as psychologists have pointed out that it in the course of this pandemic we are in a fragile time. The way has been long, we have worked so hard to cling to the good and work for the better, and now better presents itself—but, it’s not the better for which we hoped and pandemic fatigue sets it. And, at this point, exhausted by the cautions and limitations, we begin to take risks that endanger ourselves and our communities.
This fragile place, reminds me of the cautions given to those of us who face mental health challenges or love those who do—it is when the lethargy of despair begins to lift that people are most likely to become actively suicidal. This is a dangerous place where despair is empowered and it is a time when we need to invest deeply in care for each other. We need to reach out, connect, and encourage each other in this fragile place.
This fragile place, where the summit’s consolation give rise to our recognition that beyond this mountain, there are more mountains. The momentary joy of the summit’s pure light, dimmed by the prospect of the valley below and the mountains which remain. At this point in the journey, the resonance of the Haitian Proverb, “beyond the mountains, there are more mountains”, cannot be ignored.
So, is it any wonder that Jesus’ friends wanted to stay at the summit? Exhausted by the prospect of what lies ahead, they yearn to luxuriate in what Orthodox Christians call, “the Tabor light”. The Tabor light, drawing it’s name from Mount Tabor—the mountain assigned by as the place of the Transfiguration.
From the Reverend Suzanne Guthrie’s reflection on this light:
“A high mountain. The cloud of Presence. The voice of the Most High. The disciples fall into ecstasy. They see time disassemble. They see Jesus, Moses, and Elijah - outside of time - talking about something that will happen in time, that is, Jesus' “exodus”. And the light! Orthodox Christians call it “Tabor Light.” This is the kind of light that transfigured Moses so that he had to wear a veil. It is this kind of light which blinded Paul on his way to Damascus. It is the light at the boundary of the soul, alluring us in meditation to continue deepening, and the remembrance of it helps us remain faithful when prayer is dark.”
Outside of time, talking about what will happen in time. A moment in which we step out of the stream of time and observe the stream itself. Like a historian who steps outside of the stream of this time, in order to view all things through the patterns, stories, rhythms, and reflections of the past—and in so doing, shines light upon the present and the breadth of the future possible. Stepping out of time. Stepping out of time in order to place the now within the context of all creation. The Tabor light illuminates the present with the meaning of the Creator.
The tabor light is a light that puts all things within the context of God’s pure light. It is “all the light we cannot see” experienced all at once. It is the light that takes the mirror through which we peer dimly and illuminates it with the beauty of seeing God face to face. It is the light we remember in the dark night of the soul. It is the light that leads us through the wilderness. It is the light that brings peace out of our lamentation. The Tabor light at the boundary of the soul.
Experienced once, this radiant light offers us unabashed joy. Joy that, remembered, will be a consolation in present sorrows.
Cling to what is good.
So that when peril and plight overwhelm us, we can remember the goodness that is real. The goodness that is intended. The goodness we know to be true—even now, especially now.
I wonder if, in the days to come, the disciples, Peter, James and John turned to their memory of the light to make the present time bearable. If the recollection of that momentary joy allowed them to endure the suffering that was to come. If the echo of the timeless declaration of beloved-ness would fend off their fear on the dark nights to come.
I wonder if in the days come, the disciples, each and every one of us, followers of Christ will be able to lean into that moment of fleeting glory. That moment of Tabor light. That moment, when an all encompassing joy filled us—a joy that proves sufficient for our sustenance in the wilderness.
For, it is not for the present sorrow that we live. We are instead to live in preparation for a greater glory to come. A glory made manifest at Jordan’s stream, manifest in moments of healing that exceed any reasonable expectation, manifest in moments of celebration, manifest when evil is overcome by good.
Manifest, incarnate in the real world of this present time, a light that perseveres. A light that promises more. A light that has the power to illuminate even the dark night of our soul.
Think on this. Pray on this. And remember some moment, perhaps known to you alone, in which the Tabor light shone into your life and the glory of God was revealed. A glory that is enough to sustain you through this present time.
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