(Blindingly) Shiny
Stories
I remember at church youth retreats there would often be a special guest speaker. He would be young. He would be cool. He would wear jeans with holes in them and crack funny jokes and show us that being Christian was not necessarily synonymous with being a nerd.
And he would have a story. The details of the story changed from speaker to speaker, but the arc was always the same. His story would always involve a dramatic turnaround. “My life used to be a mess. Then I met Jesus. Now the mess is cleaned up, and I’m all better.”
The implication, of course, was “You can be like me.” Whatever’s got you down, whatever’s hurting you, Jesus can fix it and everything can be better.
Sometimes I wonder about the truth of these shiny stories. To be clear, I believe in the truth of the turnarounds. I just think there’s a little more to the story. I think these stories tell the truth—just not the whole truth. Listeners may walk away “blinded” by the “god of this world,” a god of control and certainty. They may walk away with unhealthy desires and expectations.
The Whole Truth
Jacob Loewen, a Mennonite missionary who taught college for a period of time, recounts a memorable incident that happened once when he took his small class to the local prison.
A college sophomore with a radiant
smile had been asked to give her testimony. When she got up in front of the
jail group, she grasped the bars with both hands and with a voice choked with
deep emotion revealed to the prisoners that her father, a prominent minister,
had committed suicide and that this had caused some very intense conflicts in
her life. She admitted that in her darker moments, she hated her father for
what he had done to her reputation. Then again she realized in those very
thoughts the [brokenness] of her own heart and could only say that she was
deeply grateful that she knew that God still cared for her, was concerned about
her, and wanted her to find peace, joy, and meaning in life.[1]
This story took the prisoners by complete surprise. In all the other testimonies they’d heard from church folks, the message was, “Let me tell you how bad I was. But now that I am a Christian, everything is completely different. I invite you all to become like me!”[2] But that kind of story did not move them. They could detect a mask, a certain pretense. The story was too shiny, too packaged. It wasn’t real. But this girl’s story was real. It confessed to the darkness in her life, the loss and anger and ongoing struggle—perhaps in a way that made the light in her, the hope and joy, shine more brilliantly.
One of the prisoners later remarked, “I don’t know why that girl had to be so honest….She had no business taking off her mask like that.”[3]
Christ, the Image of
God
In today’s short scripture, Paul repeatedly refers to Christ as a shining light. Several verses earlier, he talks about seeing the glory of God “as though reflected in a mirror” (2 Cor 3:18), which suggests that Christ is the mirror in which we see God. Or as he puts it in today’s scripture, Christ is “the image of God” (2 Cor 4:4). Like a mirror, Christ reflects God.
For us who follow Christ, this is a really helpful theological benchmark. If you want to know who God is, how God behaves, what God thinks—after all, these can all be rather high-minded and abstract ideas—look to Christ. Christ brings God’s glory down to earth. Christ is like a mirror in which we see God. In Christ, we see the image of God.
This is all very straightforward. The problem, Paul says, is that we have trouble seeing Christ as he really is. The world has been “blinded” to God’s glory in Christ. Blinded by “the god of this world” (2 Cor 4:4).
Peter, Blinded by the
God of This World
Today is Transfiguration Sunday. Our gospel text is that famous scene where Peter, James, and John see Jesus transfigured on a high mountain into dazzling white clothes. And then they hear a voice, “This is my beloved son; listen to him!” (Mark 9:8). But to understand the meaning of this epiphany, this remarkable revelation, we must go back to what immediately precedes it.
Peter has just proclaimed Jesus to be the messiah, and in response Jesus reveals to his disciples for the first time that as the messiah he will soon endure suffering and rejection at the hands of the religious leaders (Mark 8:31). Ironically, Peter rejects Jesus right then and there. As Mark puts it, “Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him” (Mark 8:32). I can imagine him with an arm around Jesus’ shoulder, shushing him and shaking his head. “No, no, Jesus, you must be mistaken. You’re the messiah!”
But it’s not really Peter speaking. It’s, in Paul’s language, “the god of this world,” who has blinded him. Jesus rebukes Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things” (Mark 8:33). Peter cannot see God reflected in Christ because he is blinded by his desire for a god of control. He’s looking for a god who controls things, not a God whose care for us goes to the lengths of suffering with us and for us. He’s looking for a god who will fix things with force, not a God whose love is patient and does not insist on its own way.
Peter’s blindness, I think, is part of the reason that God must proclaim on the mountaintop, “This is my beloved son; listen to him!” If you want to know who God is, look to Jesus. Listen to him.
Learning We Are Not
Alone
It is counterintuitive by the world’s standards.
It is, as Paul says in today’s scripture, “veiled” to the world,
Which has been “blinded” by the god of this world (2 Cor 4:3-4).
The glory of God,
The light that shines in the darkness,
Is not reflected in control and certainty.
Jesus did not triumph over the Roman occupation of Judea,
Nor did he come to argue and make his point.
The glory of God,
The light that shines in the darkness,
Is reflected as in a mirror
In a man who bears God’s vulnerable love;
A man who cries with the grieving,
Who endures the sin and violence of this world
And yet offers forgiveness;
Who shares with us this body
Of hunger and thirst, aches and pains,
And eternal glory.
The glory of God,
The light that shines in the darkness,
Is not reflected in a mask of perfection.
It is reflected only when the mask is dropped.
It is reflected by the college girl in prison,
Sharing the darkness of her struggles
And all the more, the light of her hope in Christ.
It is reflected in us,
Being honest about the darkness of our lives,
And all the more, about what gets us out of bed in the morning,
What brings hope to our heart and a smile to our face.
Our honest faces are a mirror for God’s light.
Because when we are honest,
Others know that they are not alone,
Just as in Christ we discovered
We are not alone.
The glory of God,
The light that shines in the darkness,
Is the love of a Companion,
Who shares the journey with us.
Loving God,
Whose thoughts are not our thoughts,
Whose ways are not our ways—
In Christ we see your true glory:
Not victory but vulnerability,
Not control but companionship.
…
Grant us peace and courage
Through your company,
That your glory might be reflected
In our honest companionship with others.
In Christ, who calls us friends: Amen.
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