Jeremy L. Berg

This Sunday my sermon explored the ancient visitors who joined Jesus and the disciples on the Mount of Transfiguration — Moses and Elijah. In my fictional account of Mount Mystic, our friend Amanda also had her own unexpected visitor show up. Here’s the scripture and Amanda’s next journal entry.

Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. (Luke 9:30-31)

Amanda’s Journal Entry 3

I awoke to find a cold front had settled in on the mountain overnight, and the temperatures had dropped below zero. Frost on the windows had spread sparkling, snowflake-y tentacles across the glass. On the coldest days, the morning sun always seems a bit brighter and the sky a bit bluer. I decided this would be a lazy inside day, curled up on the couch in my jammies. I started my morning by brewing some coffee and rekindling the fire. 

The previous night I had drifted off to sleep while reading a copy of A Christmas Carol by Dickens I found on the coffee table. That night I didn’t sleep well, subconsciously expecting to be awoken by a chiming clock and three spirits ready to lead me on an inner journey. I was relieved to wake up to the bright sunshine of Mt. Mystic rather than the gloomy darkness and shadowy streets of Dickens’ 19th century London. 

But my relief was short lived. 

Instead of a clock chiming, I heard the doorbell ringing. Hmmm…who could that be? In no mood for visitors and still in my pajamas, I shuffled to the door and peeked through the hole. It can’t be! What in the world?! I opened the door, no doubt with my jaw suspended near the floor, and exclaimed, 

“Professor Wise!? What in the world are you doing here?” 

She responded, “Your Uncle Eli lined this all up, said you would be here and I should pay a visit while I’m in the area. I hear you’re here to do some soul searching and re-entering, is that right?” 

“Well, yes. But I wasn’t expecting visitors; its more of a solo retreat with God. I’m not even dressed, for goodness sake.”

“Don’t worry about that!” Professor said with a wave of the hand.  “It’s just me—and this is the same way you dressed for my classes back in college, sweatpants and a t-shirt?”

“Fair point; these are actually the very same sweatpants from 20 years ago!” And we both laughed hard.

Professor Wise had a profound impact on me in college, when I was sorting through all the uncertainties of my life and future. I spent many hours on the old, broken in green couch in her book-lined office on campus. She listened patiently. Nodded empathetically. Offered wisdom generously. She had a knack for seeing through all the cloudy uncertainty that typically hangs over those college years, and could put her finger on the most essential thing—the central truth about the world and my place in it. 

Professor Wise skipped over the small talk and jumped right in as if the past 20 years hadn’t passed and I was that same anxious 20 year old on her couch. “I can’t stay long and really just came by to pass along one simple message—a reminder of sorts based on what Eli shared with me about your current struggle.” 

“I’m all ears,” I said. “But first let me get you some coffee and one of these delicious scones Aunt Sophia left  me.” 

With scone crumbs dancing on her upper lip,  Professor Wise spent the next 30 minutes helping me rediscover my unique place in this vast universe, reminding me that I am far more than the sum of all my daily tasks. My personal story is caught up in a far bigger Story—a Story that began long before I arrived and will continue unfolding long after I am gone. 

“This world tells you to make something of yourself,” she offered, “Grab life by the horns. Make something of yourself.  Seize the day! You be you. You are the master of your own fate, the captain of your own soul, and other such ego-driven sentiments. But don’t you see how heavy a burden that places on a person? Why, its nothing short of asking you to be the all-knowing, all-powerful god of your own mini-universe—providing for your kids, meeting your husband’s needs, trying to control all your circumstances and secure your own future! And we wonder why we feel so exhausted?” 

I nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of an invisible divine pen I was trying to hold in my faltering fingertips—spilling ink all over the blank pages of a life story I was never designed to control or preserve. What a fool’s errand! Trying to be the author my own story, shamelessly ripping the divine pen out of God’s own hand, and trying to write a story where I am the main character and God often stands stage left, only making occasional curtain calls when I’m in a pinch.I nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of an invisible divine pen I was trying to hold in my faltering fingertips—spilling ink all over the blank pages of a life story I was never designed to control or preserve. What a fool’s errand! Trying to be the author my own story, shamelessly ripping the divine pen out of God’s own hand, and trying to write a story where I am the main character and God often stands stage left, only making occasional curtain calls when I’m in a pinch. 

Professor Wise moved in closer, and with eyes wide and compassionate, she said in a serious whisper: “Amanda, you don’t have to carry that heavy burden. Release yourself into the capable hands of the Author and Perfecter of your faith. You are part of a much larger story—a story that began long before you arrived and will continue long after you are gone. Let yourself be swept up into that Great Drama, surrender to your unique role within it, and I think all the rest of the pieces of your life will begin to fall into their proper place. And you will begin to recover your soul as well.”  

And just like that she was on her way out the door. As I waved goodbye and closed the door, my mind was lost in deep thought, pondering her words. As I plopped back onto the couch by the fireplace and reached for the last scone, it suddenly dawned on me: There was no vehicle in the driveway when she arrived or when she left.  Befuddled and scratching my head, I reached for Uncle Eli’s letter on the coffee table and read again the words: 

You may have unexpected visitors show up at your door and we hope you will welcome them in.

I shook my head and chuckled. After putting another log on the fire, I picked up Dicken’s story once again to read about Ebenezer Scrooge’s next strange visitor, and to wait for my own.