What is Real in a Virtual World?

Charlie "Tremendous" Jones was an award-winning salesperson, a captivating
motivational speaker, and he thrilled audiences with his remarkable tales.
One of his stories goes like this: A zoo was advertising a job opportunity. They
told a young man who applied, "Our star attraction, the gorilla, has fallen ill. We
don’t want to disappoint the children who come specifically to see him. We’d
like you to dress up like a gorilla, play the part, jump, scratch, and hang by the
ropes or bars."
The man accepted the job, and within a few hours, he became confident in his
role. He would dangle on the ropes, laugh at the creatures below, and to
impress the crowd, swing higher and higher. But one time, he lost his grip and
fell into the lion enclosure. Scrambling to his feet, he saw a large, full-maned
lion approaching. Just as he was about to scream, the lion muttered, “Be quiet,
you fool, or we’ll both lose our jobs.”
Do you ever wonder what’s real anymore? We live in a world filled with virtual
reality and fake news, computer simulations and social media façades.
Consider the violent riots that rocked the UK, fueled by a false rumor that
claimed three young girls were murdered by a Muslim migrant. The
ramifications of what is true and what is false are immense.
Today, we delve into one of the most challenging and mysterious narratives in
the New Testament. It’s a story that defies easy interpretation. How do we
explain it? Let’s start with what we know. Jesus is with his closest
disciples—Peter, James, and John—as they begin a long climb up a windy
mountain at dusk to find a place to pray.
They find the perfect spot for solitude, away from the madding crowd. It had
been a long day, and they could have easily drifted off to sleep. All you could
hear was their breathing—or perhaps the breath of God blowing into them.
Suddenly, their eyes were opened to a stunning moment of revelation. The veil
is pulled back, and they see the glory of Jesus. Light erupts, and there is a
shimmering Jesus in earnest conversation with Moses and Elijah. The disciples
recoil in terror or amazement. Another world was breaking into theirs—or was
it?
Is it real or fake news? Is it a record of the superstition, pietistic faith, and
imagination of early Christians, or are we truly catching a glimpse of another

world and the real identity of Jesus? We don’t know much about the historical
Jesus. Was he tall or short, witty and charming, or stern and otherworldly?
Was he loved by his family, or was he a stranger to them?
Was the real Jesus of history different from the Christ of faith, whom we
worship and read about in the Gospels? Over a century ago, Albert Schweitzer
wrote The Quest for the Historical Jesus and observed that the Jesus
described in books often resembles their authors. These descriptions, he said,
are like looking down a dark well, hoping to see Jesus, only to see a reflection
of themselves—perhaps kind, gentle, wise.
For a moment on that mountain, the curtain was pulled back, and the disciples
saw the glory of Jesus. He was far greater than any scaled-down, human-sized
version. He was quite at home with the heroes of faith like Moses and Elijah. It
seemed as if the door between this world and the other was cracked open,
allowing them to experience God’s glory. The Celtic Christian tradition calls
such places “thin places,” where heaven and earth touch.
One such place is the beautiful and rugged island of Iona, where the
boundaries between holy and ordinary, this world and the other, collapse into
sacred moments. The Bible is full of such moments: Moses at the burning bush
or on Mount Sinai, Jacob’s ladder, Job hearing the voice out of the whirlwind,
Ezekiel’s vision of living creatures, and the Shekinah presence of God hidden
in a cloud.
The Bible is a book of encounters where people meet God and are never the
same again. Sarah, who struggled with infertility, gave birth to Isaac. Elijah, in
deep depression, was fed by ravens, experiencing the overwhelming love of
God.
Some of you have had unforgettable experiences where it seemed as if
another world broke into yours. A member of one of my churches, Richard
Coffin, was the General Secretary of the Canadian Baptist Federation. After he
passed away, we visited his wife, Jeannie, who was still deep in grief. She
shared a fascinating event that brought her immense comfort.
It was early spring, and she looked out into her backyard, where flowers were
defiantly blooming after a harsh winter. From her family room, she could see
the rhododendrons, azaleas, cherry blossoms, and her clothesline stretching
across the yard. One afternoon, she noticed two beautiful goldfinches playfully
dancing around the clothesline. As she watched, she felt an overwhelming
sense of God’s presence, as if Richard was saying to her through those birds,

“I’m okay, my dear. Life is good where I am.” In a flash, they were gone. We
cannot speak of certainties in these encounters, only of the sense of God’s
presence.
There are times when it seems another world breaks into ours—through our
imaginations, dreams, unconscious thoughts, prayerful reading of scripture,
worship, music, and prayer. Can we dare to believe these are God’s gifts to us,
intimations of another world?
The Transfiguration was a gift to the disciples. It was as real to them as life
itself, as real as the mountain and the trees around them. That experience
gave them the courage to face persecution and death in the cruelest ways
imaginable. It was a prefiguring of a new world, where they would converse
with Moses and Elijah, and perhaps with loved ones long gone. The disciples
were convinced they had glimpsed another world.
Peter, overcome by the glory of it all, wanted to build tents and stay on the
mountain forever. It’s always a temptation to remain in a high place of spiritual
and emotional experience. It’s much more mundane, tiring, and challenging to
enter into people’s lives, to see need, feel pain, and respond in practical ways.
Jesus did not stay on that distant mountain retreat. He descended to the valley,
where he encountered a desperate father carrying a limp body shattered by
disease—the man’s only son. Jesus healed that epileptic child.
In his earthly journey, Jesus was scattering the seeds of the Kingdom of God,
where love reigns, and there is justice, peace, and relief for the suffering. One
day, we will see that Kingdom in its fullness. The disciples believed in Jesus, in
who he was, and what he was all about.
Is it any wonder that he would become the focus and center of their lives, and
they would die for the truth they came to understand, centered around Jesus
Christ?
There is a striking image from Allen Wheelis that captures what such
commitment might look like. He uses the circus as an example. In the big top,
a man hangs by his teeth, twisting, spinning, spotlights playing over him, drums
beginning to roll. He’s on the verge of falling, with no net to catch him, but in
those remaining moments, he might yet achieve something remarkable—some
glittering stunt, a movement of breathtaking beauty. Any turning away to watch
the dancing bears below is a betrayal of the dangling man. Hold fast, stay with
him.

Isn’t that an appropriate and challenging image for us? All around us, there are
distractions—sideshows with enticing attractions, versions of dancing bears,
the allure of power or pleasure, the grip of wealth and money. They come and
go, but then there’s the main show.
The main show is all about Jesus Christ and his unfinished work around the
world. Jesus descends from the glory of the mountain to the deprivation and
misery of the valley, where there is lostness, despair, and unimaginable need.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer called Jesus the “man for others.” The disciples were
convinced that Jesus was the real deal—there was nothing fake about the love
he proclaimed because he lived it. They believed without reservation that he
was a man come from God and worthy of our highest allegiance.
Jesus is the main show. He is the “man for others.” And he invites us to walk in
his way.