St Peter and the three shelters

 In the story of the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountain-top, there's a moment with St Peter that has resonance, going forward, for our experience of church in general.

Confronted with the intense spiritual experience of this insight into who Jesus is, in garments of light and flanked by those who stand for the Law and the Prophets — the two pillars of their tradition — Peter, overwhelmed, reaches for something that will allow him to contain it, manage it, allow him to encompass it and take charge. He looks for a job to do, a role to play, and a corresponding physical expression that will allow him to pigeonhole it.

One of the temptations of religion is to settle for less; to opt for its body not its soul.

Many of us feel uncomfortable on holy ground. It asks a lot of us. Its power vibrates at a level that winnows and sifts us. It's always easy to try and parcel it up into manageable segments: a building, a role, a job to be getting on with.

If we can make it about the pulpit, the altar and accoutrements, the vestments, the organ and choir, the sheet music, the liturgy, the fund for mending the roof, the burglar alarm in the vicarage, sealing the floor and what the candles are made of and when it's time to service the boiler and deal with the damp in the church hall — we will. There is enough in all that to offer grist to our mill for a lifetime. 

But establishing our role and getting busy with our task and building our holy shelters comes at a terrible price. All of this allows us to set up a distraction until the moment has gone and the vision has passed.

How blessed are those who have the courage, the preparedness of heart and mind, and the hunger, to sit and gaze upon the glory of the Lord on the bare mountaintop, and feed the spirit, and satisfy the thirst of the soul.

The buildings will crumble and the organ will pack up; the three little shelters will be one with the earth again in due course: but to the one who has been called into the presence of Jesus, to gaze upon the transfiguration of the Lord, is offered the chance to see past the veil of the physical into the light of eternity.

If this ever comes to you, let your hands be still. Give it your full attention. Bear the weight of glory. Not often in one lifetime is such a chance held out.

Yes, altars and sanctuaries and robes and perpetual lights and clergy housing are part of what we do. They express and recall and direct us to the central reality of the holy — but they are not all of it. As Augustine said, "This also is Thou; neither is this Thou."

When the clouds break and the ray of heaven shines through, may you be ready, may you look up, may your heart open, may you be unafraid.

"And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed; and all flesh shall see it together."