B Transfiguration
SJUCC 2021
Exodus 24:15-18;
Mark 9:2-9
February 14, 2021
She used to love long car trips when she
could rest her head by the window and stare out at the clouds that seemed to
follow the family car everywhere they went.
Just to make sure she was doing ok, her mother would ask, “What are you
thinking about, Jamie Beth?” And Jamie
Beth would stare at a cloud folding over on itself and say something like,
“Just watching God following us in the clouds,” or “Not knowing if God is following
us or just playing”, or, when she was older, “Never knowing the clouds is never
knowing God.”
When she was old enough to make that
statement, her mother responded, “Oh, Jamie Beth, you’ve always been our
mystic.” That title seemed to fit Jamie
Beth. She always had a sense of knowing
things down to her bones. She always had
a sense that she would never, ever get her head wrapped around God. But her body vibrated with the certainty that
God followed her like one of those clouds.
God was that unknown cloud, following the family station wagon—on the
move, fluid, changing from one moment to the next. Jamie Beth knew God on her skin, smelled God
in her nose before a rain, and saw God with her own eyes when one cloud
separated from another to follow her.
Her mother had named it. Jamie Beth was a mystic.
She worked hard at seeing God at play
when she was small. She kept her
appointed times in the station wagon, before school and after school, to and
from dance lessons on Saturdays. But
then, then she kind of fell out of practice, and the vibrations were not so
real, became less and less. Everything
could be explained away. Her window to
another reality became smaller and smaller.
Oh, there were times when she was
sure of God’s presence. When she was
sixteen, her whole family gathered around her mom’s bed, held hands. While her mom passed away, she knew God on
her skin, had a terrible, awful smell in her nose, and saw that cloud hovering
over her mom’s body.
Maybe that was it. Her mother had regularly, lovingly checked in
with her, “What are you thinking about, Jamie Beth?” And then her mother trusted Jamie Beth’s
answers. Looking at her mother’s
lifeless body, as tears streamed down her face, Jamie Beth heard the question
echo all over again, “What are you thinking about, Jamie Beth?” How could she ever explain how real she felt
God at that moment, the Divine Abyss she knew was present in that hospital
room?
Later that year, Jamie Beth felt
God’s presence again when she was caught stealing money and cigarettes out of
her friend’s purse. Even when the
principal told her she would be suspended for three days, she could feel the
unknown cloud, the dark abyss, the lonely desert around her, attentive to her,
like it was waiting to see if she would follow.
Maybe it was while she waited for her
stepmom to arrive in the principal’s office, when the principal was trying to
find the phone number for her dad in
Later that day, sitting in her
stepmom’s car, she gazed longingly into the sky, for any sign that God was
there, fluid, moving, rolling over. She
just wanted some sign that something or someone divine was still tracking
her. Why had she felt it so strongly in
the principal’s office, and then could not find a single cloud in the sky
now? Lauren, her stepmom, interrupted
her search, “We all loved her, you know.
If you need to go live with your dad just to sort everything out, I’ll
understand.”
Jamie Beth really did not even hear
the words. She simply asked back, “Can
we stop at the grocery store and get a big notebook? I need to get a really big, spiral bound
notebook.” Her stepmom was relieved and
disturbed all at the same time, “Sure, sweetie.
We’ll get a notebook.”
“Mom, do you think I’m a
mystic?” Jamie Beth asked.
“A mystic?”
“Yeah, Mom always used to call me a
mystic, and I think she is right.
Except, I stopped being one. Do
you think I can still be one?”
“Well, sweetie, your mom was very
wise,” her stepmom said, remembering, smile on her face, tears in her eyes,
struggling for words, “I imagine that once you are something like a mystic,
Jamie Beth, you are always one. What
makes you think you are one?”
“I get pictures of God
sometimes. Big, brilliant pictures. Sometimes big, scary pictures. I see God whole sometimes, and I’m just
overwhelmed by it. And I know that if I
started to describe God somehow, talked about the fire and light I would see,
God would, all of a sudden not be that.
But I would know that going in.”
Jamie Beth’s stepmom pulled over to
the side of the road and turned off the car.
She stared at Jamie Beth, “Jesus, kid, you just sent a chill up and down
my spine. Promise me you won’t write any
‘Left Behind’ books or start a cult deep in the woods somewhere. I couldn’t stand to lose you like that, and
your mom would kill me.” She smiled,
hoping to release Jamie Beth’s burden.
Jamie Beth welcomed the pause and
smiled. “Promise. I think I just got out of practice. I don’t want to sound stuck up, I just need
to start practicing to be a mystic again.”
Her stepmom started the car up again
and asked, “And the notebook is for practice?
Or what does a mystic do?”
Jamie Beth did not know for sure, but
she followed the conversation, “I’m not sure a mystic does anything. I think a mystic is. I think a mystic is to practice being a
mystic . . . kinda . . . sorta.”
“Ok, no more questions, I’m afraid
you’ll put a spell on me or something.
To the store for a notebook.” She
pulled onto the road.
“No spells. No mumbo jumbo. I just realized today that I have a lot more
freedom to be in places where I want to be.
You know, so many people believe that if they do this, I’ll do
this. For example, let’s say, one of my
girlfriends calls me a name because she knows she’ll get a rise out of me. I can just decide it won’t get a rise out of
me. I’m not that name.”
Her stepmom shook her head. “Or, you can steal money out of Kristen’s
purse just to get back at her.
Interesting that you stole the cigarettes as well. I’ll bet Kristen’s parent won’t appreciate
hearing that from the principal.”
Jamie Beth dropped her head. “Yeah, well.
Mystics have to live in the real world.”
When they stopped at the store,
Lauren turned to Jamie Beth and put her hand on her arm before she hopped out
of the car. “You are a mystic, you
know. I’ve always known that you have
different eyes. Every once in a while, I
think I see something exactly like you see it, but then I can tell you see it
longer and harder. Remember that after
you see it that hard and that long, all mystics have to live in the real
world. You have to do your best to
describe it so we can all see it.
Otherwise, otherwise, beautiful daughter, God becomes your private
property.”
Jamie Beth nodded. “And God has freedom too.”
Lauren, reminded of the mystic
sitting beside her, tried to understand, “Yeah . . . something like that.”
When Jamie Beth plopped down on her
bed with her notebook, she took out a pen and wrote at the top of the first
page, “What are you thinking about, Jamie Beth?” Hopefully, that would be the question that
helped her to see the unknown cloud at play, the dark abyss at work, the lonely
desert giving and taking life whenever it wanted.
Jamie Beth wanted to start writing,
but she knew more was demanded of her.
Under her first question, “What are you thinking about, Jamie Beth?”,
she wrote, “And why does it matter to everyone else?”
She could feel it on her skin, smell
it deep within her nose, and thought she saw the whole brilliant, scary
picture. She was ready to practice. Amen.
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