Campfire Songs
Luke 9:28-36
Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became as bright as a flash of lightning. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking about his exodus, which he was about to fulfill in Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep, but as they awoke they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us set up three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah,” not realizing what he was saying. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them, and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.
Response
Now we need you, Lord, come by here;
How we need you, Lord, come by here;
How we need you, Lord, come by here,
Oh, Lord, come by here.
Sermon
Picture it! Dusk sets in after a crisp, autumn day. The weather has been chilly, but not frigid, and our weary feet and legs are ready to rest after hiking over hill and valley. Bright reds and yellows adorn the trees, and when we can’t seem to absorb any more beauty, we wind our way back to camp. Some of us scurry into tents, while others set their things down in small, austere cabins.
With dusk giving way to nighttime, darkness sets in all around us. Everything becomes cloaked in stillness, with the exception of a few insects around us and the rustling of a small critter or two.
We all slowly start to emerge from our dwellings, and gravitate to a circular array of logs. A crackling fire awaits us, drawing us like insects to a light.
The hot dogs come out. The s’mores come out. Maybe Colleen cracks open a cold one. There’s laughter and good-natured pokes, storytelling and reminiscing. Each person compares notes about their experience of the day – the things they saw, the sounds they noticed, the sensations they felt along the way.
After most have gone to bed, a few folks stay around the fire. Slowly, quietly, a song starts to bubble up.
The day has ended. All its events, all its stressors, all its surprises have drawn to a close. Everything that is uncertain is laid to rest. A sense of acceptance, gratitude, and meaningfulness washes over us before we fall asleep.
…
Who doesn’t love a good campfire? If you grew up as a youth attending camp, you might remember nights like this. Or for those who participated in scouting, this might be a well-loved, familiar experience.
During church camps, campfires are often places of reflection and contemplation, where the movement of the Spirit seems to saturate the world. Campfires are for connection with God and our inner lives. Campfires are for connection with each other; with the world; with all that exists and moves and stirs about.
As we continue to move through our Lenten theme, “Singing Until There’s Resurrection,” we’ll keep hearing the song “Kum ba yah,” in some way, shape, or form. For a lot of folks, if we let go of the hoaky irony, we might remember this song from its proximity to a good old-fashioned campfire. It’s a melody that can’t be completely divorced from that classic Americana or the experiences at camp.
If I had to guess, singing around the campfire is an experience that is more-so familiar to the men of this congregation. And those experiences singing around the campfire or in scouting might have been some of the few occasions men felt supported by one another. In 2023, only one out of five men reported they received emotional support from a friend in the past week [1]. Men are especially likely to lack supportive friendships or socialize apart from their spouse, a phenomenon which is sometimes dubbed a “friendship recession.”
This is a worrisome trend as polarization and identity-based violence surges against women and minorities. Men need friends and emotional support outside of their spouse, if they have one. And there is an urgent need for men to unpack their pain, let go of harmful patterns in their relationships, and to find healing, meaning, and peace.
“If I had to guess, singing around the campfire is an experience that is more-so familiar to the men of this congregation. And those experiences singing around the campfire or in scouting might have been some of the few occasions men felt supported by one another.”
Today’s Gospel lesson, centered on the terror and isolation of three men, asks in part an open-ended question. From their experiences of uncertainty and fear, we hear a question that we don’t receive an answer for, and it’s a question that might be a little foggy around the edges:
How do we make sense of experiences that leave us disoriented and isolated? When words fail, and our terror disorients us, how do we find our way back to connection with others?
Like last week, singing isn’t going to fix anything in and of itself. So don’t check out - there’s still a lot to uncover.
…
Sometimes we kind of mush the events of today’s passage into one contiguous event. After all, it’s “the transfiguration.” But even though all of this is a single plot point in the life and ministry of Jesus, there’s a little bit of a sequence in the story. Let’s walk through the six things that happen in order:
First, this whole series of events starts with Jesus’ clothes becoming blindingly radiant. Luke describes his wardrobe as “bright as a flash of lightning.” With this, we hear that Jesus’ face changed in some way.
Second, Moses and Elijah appear, and they begin conversing with Jesus about what is to come in the weeks ahead.
Third, Jesus’ three disciples seem to mysteriously fall asleep while Jesus, Moses, and Elijah speak with each other. They wake up, some undetermined amount of time later, and the three prophets are still speaking with each other.
Next, fourth, Peter suggests setting up dwellings for those three.
Fifth, a cloud supernaturally appears. This isn’t just any cloud. We hear that Peter, John, and James are “terrified,” or as some translations render it, “afraid.” This wasn’t a garden-variety fear. The connotations of the Greek word are wrapped up in what was otherworldly. It is unsettled, foreboding apprehension that grips these men; a dread of what may be occurring or unfolding in the world. It encompasses them, just as this unnatural cloud consumes them.
Finally, this series of events concludes with an unmistakable, impossible-to-evade command: “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” And mysteriously, confusingly, disorientingly, suddenly these men were alone with Jesus as if nothing had occurred. It was so sudden, that it seems to leave uncertain whether it was, in fact, a real, embodied, temporal experience, or if it was a vision which overtook them all.
Even though we sometimes perceive the transfiguration as a unified, linear event, these movements are jarring. They are disjunct and confusing, juxtaposed together at a breakneck pace that as soon as these men realize what has happened, are already thrust into a new, disorienting experience. Time seems to warp during every plot point, and every physical sense is bombarded with sensations. All of it, coming in, speeding up, taking over, turning around — What’s going on?!
“How do we make sense of experiences that leave us disoriented and isolated? When words fail, and our terror disorients us, how do we find our way back to connection with others?”
In the transfiguration of Jesus, Peter, Paul, and James encounter the fullness of his divinity. That divinity was so incomprehensible, uncontainable, that their humanity was left completely and utterly disoriented. They found themselves caught in-between heaven and earth. The divine and the mortal, if only for a moment, were entangled with one another, colliding in the midst of the disciples in the person of Jesus Christ. The humanity and finitude of these men was pushed beyond its capacity; they experienced what was unthinkable.
These men were left silenced as a result. In being pushed beyond what they could endure, and in experiencing what was unthinkable, they either could not articulate what had happened, or they could not bear to speak it.
The work of Jesus Christ is wild. It rarely conforms to our expectations, and it’s usually not something we can plan for or anticipate. In the person of Jesus Christ and his continued presence among us, there is a light that is so good, so beautiful, so joyful, that we are left reeling. The depths of God’s love for every single person in this sanctuary and at home can leave us disoriented.
For anyone who has lived a life of fear and terror, it is unfamiliar to know the loving, outstretched arms of God, which offer assurance and peace.
For anyone who has lived a life feeling unloved, unwanted, or rejected, it is disorienting to encounter a community or redeemer who loves beyond words.
For men who often lack friendships and emotional intimacy with others, it is extremely uncomfortable to chart a path toward a connection and belonging to others in Christ.
…
The life of faith—this discipleship that Peter, James, and John emulate—is always in close proximity to uncertainty and a measure of disorientation, because God is in the business of constantly turning things right-side-up. We are constantly being dragged to the top of a mountain; our redeemer is constantly being transfigured before us in our lives, asking for us to be changed by the light of the gospel.
This being said, we know that disorientation in and of itself is not sacred or good. Uncomfortability is not an inherent sign of Christ’s work. There are experiences of profound pain and discomfort and disorientation that are anything but holy. God never, ever, ever inflicts trauma on us. God will always, constantly grieve the disorientation and pain and confusion that is lodged in experiences of neglect, abuse, and suffering beyond comprehension.
But whether we are disoriented as a result of mountaintop moments—when we encounter the light and goodness of Christ—or we are disoriented as a result of traumas or pains of our lives, we need a way back. When we are left silent from disorientation, regardless of its source, we need a way back into community with one another. We need a path toward wholeness and connection and the church, who will help us put the pieces back together and make sense of what has happened.
“For men who often lack friendships and emotional intimacy with others, it is extremely uncomfortable to chart a path toward a connection and belonging to others in Christ.”
When members of the armed forces are discharged, they enter into a period that’s termed “reintegration.” Reintegration involves a huge set of transitions. There is a different set of social skills used in the public square; there are vocational challenges; interpersonal changes; differences in workplace supervision; and a host of other items to address, including housing and healthcare.
During reintegration, access to mental healthcare and spiritual care is essential. Beyond the psychosocial challenges facing American men broadly—like lack of friendships and the polarizing effects of social media—men who are reintegrating have an additional set of challenges faced by veterans. For those who served in Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom, one out of three developed post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Over 40% of veterans reported experiencing at least one form of moral injury, which is a phenomenon that occurs when an individual violates their deeply-held moral and ethical beliefs. Male veterans are also more likely to experience and be diagnosed with a substance abuse disorder.
Societies throughout history, across continents and value systems, have recognized the essential role of ritual in the healing process. I’m grateful for the writing of philosopher Shannon E. French and military chaplain Drew Stockstill, who pointed this out. In Rome, returning soldiers would undergo ritual purification after violence. Warriors in African tribes underwent rites and rituals before returning. Indigenous Americans in the plains participated in compulsory ceremonies before their own reintegration. In the Old Testament, we also read of rituals required of returning warriors.
As Presbyterians, we possess liturgies and services and hymns set apart for the healing that occurs through ritual and rite. Throughout time, humanity has understood that communal rituals are what put the pieces back together, and what reorients us in the aftermath of great disorientation—whether sacred or sacrilegious.
Every person here today, in every pew, and even every pulpit, is living a different life. Each of us have different thoughts and feelings and joys and sorrows. Every one of us is disoriented in a different way. We carry different scars and wounds, we carry different friendships and self-conceptions. Some of us are even veterans who have reintegrated, or who continue to reintegrate throughout life. But regardless of what is disorienting us, God orients us in this sanctuary, and the Spirit, through this shared ritual each week, and the Spirit works to reintegrate us to each other, to God, and to the world. As Presbyterians, we sing each week to heal our relationships and our lives. It’s not some trite, superficial, elective act. It is a sacred ritual which helps us ascend into the presence of the transfigured Christ, and what also helps us descend back into community with each other.
When we sing campfire songs literally and figuratively, we are singing to pick up the pieces. We’re singing to form intimacy with one another, without having to tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets. We’re singing hymns and campfire songs to make sense of what has happened to us—good or bad—and to share in each other’s humanities.
Each of us have hiked the Mount of the Transfiguration, where we’ve met the love and glory and radiant light of Jesus Christ. And each of us have hiked the valley of the shadow of death, where agony has ensnared us.
“As Presbyterians, we sing each week to heal our relationships and our lives. It’s not some trite, superficial, elective act. It is a sacred ritual which helps us ascend into the presence of the transfigured Christ, and what also helps us descend back into community with each other.”
Every single week, when we meet God in this sanctuary, we are also meeting each other around a campfire. We tear open a bag of marshmallows, unbox the graham crackers, and break off a hunk of chocolate.
Though we might compare notes about our hikes—some in the pits, some on the mountaintop, some that simply meander—we’re more importantly here to sing. Because no matter who we are, or where we’re going, we’re a little disoriented. Sometimes it’s because of God’s unexpected glory shining around us, and sometimes it’s because we’re in a season of pain. But in singing, as the church, at this little campfire on Sunday morning, we start to make sense of it all. We start to put the pieces back together, look each other in the eyes, and practice a ritual through which God will heal us.
Amen.
Sources
“Why a growing number of American men say they are in a ‘friendship recession’” PBS News Hour, 17 January 2024, https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/why-a-growing-number-of-american-men-say-they-are-in-a-friendship-recession
Drew Stockstill, “Welcoming the Warrior: The Role of Ritual for Military Veterans within the Reformed Tradition,” Call to Worship (58.3), Louisville KY: 2024.
“Moral Injury,” Department of Veterans Affairs: National Center for PTSD, https://www.ptsd.va.gov/professional/treat/cooccurring/moral_injury.asp
“Moral Injury,” PTSD Research Quarterly (33:1), https://www.ptsd.va.gov/publications/rq_docs/V33N1.pdf
“How Common Is PTSD in Veterans?,” Department of Veterans Affairs: National Center for PTSD, https://www.ptsd.va.gov/understand/common/common_veterans.asp
“Military Sexual Trauma,” Department of Veterans Affairs: National Center for PTSD, https://www.ptsd.va.gov/understand/types/sexual_trauma_military.asp
“Substance Use and Military Life,” NIH, National Institute on Drug Abuse, https://nida.nih.gov/publications/drugfacts/substance-use-military-life
