Tag Archives: doxa

The glory of Sheer Silence

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The story of the Transfiguration of Jesus on Mount Tabor is as disorienting as it is blinding. It was also disorienting and blinding for the three apostles Jesus had taken up with him. Obviously, Peter didn’t know what to say, so we shouldn’t feel bad if we don’t know what to say, either.

One of the more fascinating and powerful reflections on this story is at the heart of the theology of the 14th century Greek theologian St. Gregory Palamas. He suggested that the light of Tabor was the working of the uncreated energies of God. This energetic light, the Light of Tabor, embodies God’s self-giving to us, a giving of Godself, that is deification. Not human self-deification, but deification as a gift from God who gives us everything that God has. This concept hasn’t gained much traction in Western Christianity, partly because it doesn’t compute well with many forms of Western theology. However, for those who find traditional Western theology problematic, the Palamite notion is perhaps an attractive alternative. For what it’s worth, I think the clash between Western and Palamite notions explodes into a powerful mystery which is deeper than one set of concepts alone.

There is much more to the radiance than blinding brilliance. The Hebrew word kabod, also means glory in the sense of honor. This is also true of the Greek word doxa that translates the Hebrew. When we glorify a human being for great accomplishments, there is a sort of radiance we put around them. Saints are often painted with a nimbus when portrayed in art. However, there is a tension at the root of glorification. It almost always seems to be accompanied by derision and dishonor. In fact, the Greek word doxa means dishonor as much as it means honor. The people we honor by putting on a pedestal are knocked over in a heartbeat if they don’t meet our expectations. Artists like Igor Stravinsky and Bob Dylan have both been greatly honored, but both were denigrated when they changed their artistic visions away from projected expectations. This is what happens when fans make idols of the people they adore; they create little boxes to put them in.

What about Jesus? Jesus had received much glory and honor from his numerous followers, not least the three disciples who Jesus took up the mountain with him. But the more some praised Jesus, the more energetically others denounced him. In all three synoptic Gospels, the Transfiguration marks a turning point where Jesus heads towards Jerusalem where he will be denounced, mocked, and crucified. The honor given Jesus turns to dishonor. What about the disciples who experienced the Transfiguration? When Jesus told them what was coming, they resisted Jesus’ resolve and argued among each other as to who was the greatest. I can’t help but suspect that they were basking in the derived honor given Jesus up to that point and, rather than receiving glory from God, wanted to receive glory from the other followers of Jesus. Like modern day fans of celebrities, they were putting Jesus into boxes of their own making, turning Jesus into an idol. The disciples were blinded by their warped understanding of honor at least as much as they were blinded by the brilliance of Jesus’ shining garments.

We can gain more insight into glory by reflecting on the presence of Moses and Elijah with Jesus on the mountain. They were the two most glorified figures in Jewish history. Moses, by receiving the Law on Mount Sinai from God himself shone with the reflection of God ‘s light to the extent that he had to wear a veil. Elijah was the greatest of prophets. Both, however, also experienced dishonor. Several times the people threatened to stone Moses, and Elijah was a fugitive from royal power. Both were implicated in violence, especially Elijah in his contest with the prophets of Baal. They were in the position to know well what was going to happen to Jesus. Moses’ best moments, when he was most Christlike, was when he was interceding for the people to turn God’s wrath from them, even when the same people were directing wrath at him. Elijah, alone in a cave, heard God in the sheer silence of the wilderness. As for Jesus’ disciples, the Book of Acts shows them breaking out of the idolatrous boxes they had made and acting like their Master in self-giving, preaching, and healing, the divine energies clearly working through them.

There is reason to believe that the Transfiguration of Jesus was, at least in part, to prepare the disciples for the suffering Jesus would have to endure, and that they, too, would have to endure. At a deeper level, they were being prepared for the challenges of the Resurrection Life of Jesus that would energize them when the time came. As we prepare for Lent, perhaps we can make it our Lenten project to let the light of the transfigured Christ reveal our own warped notions of honor and dishonor so that the divine energies championed by Gregory Palamas can energize prayer on behalf of other people, especially those who dishonor God, a prayer enveloped in sheer silence.

Glamor and Glory Transfigured

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It is a source of insight that the word “glamor” normally refers to a pleasing quality, one that makes the rich and famous rich and famous, but it can also mean a spell that exerts power over other people. When we think of a Hollywood actress as glamorous, we think that is a good thing, but such an actress does tend to put a spell on those devoted to her. Such careers are considered glorious, also a good thing. The word “glory” has a rich ambiguity in biblical studies. When we read the word “glory” in scripture, especially as an attribute of God, we think it means something wonderful, and sometimes it does. But the Greek word doxa can mean the opposite: disgrace. As James Alison said in one of his writings, doxa actually means “reputation.” A reputation can be good or bad. When applied to humans, glory, doxa, is associated with human glory that tends to be violent, for example a victor in war. That was the kind of glory that Roman emperors strove for and often got. If we find life dull or downright oppressive, then we crave for some glamor and glory. We want to be bespelled by someone glamorous. The glory of a victory parade for a victorious football team makes life exciting and well, glorious. For the winners anyway. Not so much for the losers.

I have come to see that these concepts of glamor and glory were instilled in me before I had any way of knowing it was happening. They were two of many filters that informed my reactions to life and still do as reflex reactions. It is unavoidable that such a thing should happen to me and everybody else. Humans are cultural animals and that means we get cultured. Becoming aware of how we are cultured and then trying to change the culture when that is desirable, is a an important challenge. René Girard, gave us much insight into this phenomenon when he wrote about the natural way humans share desires. We don’t live with our own desires, as we think; rather, we live in a sea of desires of others all around us. The desires for glamor and glory are among the desires shared among all of us.

This inculturation had an affect on how I first reacted to the story of the Transfiguration of Jesus on Mount Tabor. One could say that the image of a resplendent Jesus cast something of a glamor on me, especially with the help of Raphael’s great painting. There was much that was theologically sound in this reaction. I took it as a vision of the potential transfiguration of all creation, as Gerard Manley Hopkins said: “the world is charged with the grandeur of God.” Many gloriously beautiful works of music also transfigure the world. The Transfiguration made Jesus look like a winner, what with hanging out with two heavyweight bigwigs from the Hebrew scriptures, and in a sense that was true, but Jesus was not the kind of winner who gets ticker tape parades down Fifth Avenue.

Countering this inculturation of glamor and glory was the awareness that Jesus was about to begin the trip to Jerusalem where he was going to die on the cross. Adding a celebration of the Transfiguration at the final Sunday of Epiphany, the last Sunday before Lent, did a lot to shift attention in that direction, but there was still a tendency to think of the Transfiguration as an encouragement to the disciples—and to us—before the grimness of Lent sets in and we follow the Way of the Cross. The reactions of the disciples—the closest disciples of Jesus—fits the same inculturation of glamor and glory that I grew up with two thousand years later.

What I have come to see–and I have to give credit to thinkers like René Girard and James Alison for this—is that the disgrace of crucifixion is the glamor and glory, not the transfigured light. That is, Jesus wins glory by losing. It is because Jesus became the victim of the religious and secular powers that Jesus showed his radiance as the transfigured human. This kind of transfiguration is ugly when we take the gold plate and jewels off so many crosses gilded by them and focus on the ugly death on the cross. But this ugliness shows us the truth of the violence we inflict on each other in our search for glamor and glory. In Mark, Jesus calls himself “The Son of Man.” Much ink has been spilled on defining the phrase, but the most convincing interpretation is that it means roughly the true human being. In order to be true, Jesus had to undergo an ugly death of suffering precisely because so many other people had suffered death and mutilation and humiliation before Jesus and continue to do so, up to the present day. Much of this inflicted suffering has resulted in glory and glamor for the winners but Jesus has shown us the truth of that glory and glamor, and it isn’t pretty.

Should we toss out all bejeweled crosses? I think not. The thing to do is discern the truth in the glitter. In the great hymn Crux fidelis, the cross is “richly jeweled” but it is consecrated by the Lamb’s blood when Jesus was “nailed and mocked and parched.” We can appreciate the glamor of movie stars and electrifying pianists, but we need to watch for victims when glory has rolled over them in its wake. To quote Paul: ‘For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.” (2 Cor. 4: 6) The face of Christ is a crucified face. Paul confirms this when he says: “We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body” (2 Cor. 4: 10) Yes, the Transfiguration does point to the Resurrection and Ascension, but the only route is through the cross. The ugly death of Jesus is the source, the stream of living water flowing by the tree of life whose leaves offer healing for all nations. (Rev. 22: 2)

For more about René Girard see: Living Stones in the House of the Forgiving Victim and Living Together with our Shared Desires