Another excerpt from my Advent sermon series “Christmas on Mount Mystic” looking at the magic and mystery of the manger in light of the awe and wonder of the the Transfiguration. My fictional character Amanda who is experiencing her own wondrous encounters with God’s glory on a holiday retreat on Mt. Mystic, this time contending with the CLOUD in this strange story. Enjoy!

Amanda’s Journal Entry 4

“And they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice…” (Luke 9:34-35)

My short visit with Professor Wise left me feeling much warmer and relaxed. I spent a long, lazy afternoon between naps and reading and snacking. What a burden lifted to let myself be part of God’s Big Story, a beloved character in His plot, and no longer the author of my own.

Professor Wise seemed to have taken the cold bitter air with her down the mountain when she left. Then the December weather decided to turn dramatically and got downright strange. The temperature shot up from subzero to mid 50s in a matter of an hour, and I decided to take advantage and go for a late afternoon walk. 

As I meandered through the maze of tall pines, suddenly a thick and ominous cloud rolled in over the mountain, and suddenly I was in the middle of a mid-December lightning storm. No rain, thankfully. But the cloud that enveloped me seemed to have a personality of its own— and perhaps an agenda, too. 

Expecting rain any minute, I began making my way back to the cabin. But the cloud overtook the mountain like a  blanket of thick fog, and I could no longer see where I was going. I soon lost all sense of direction. Then the wind picked up, the lightning flashes came quicker, and the thunder claps grew louder. Fear and dread came over me as I took shelter in a little cleft in the mountain. 

There was something about this weather that seemed almost supernatural. The lightning and thunder seemed to be charged with a kind of spiritual energy; a dangerous and divine electricity. Huddled inside the small cavern, my Bible dropped out of my pocked and landed on the ground. Reaching down to pick it up, I found it open to Exodus 19 where I began to read:

God said to Moses, “Go to the people. For the next two days get these people ready (i.e., “consecrate them”) to meet the Holy God.… Post boundaries for the people all around, telling them, ‘Warning! Don’t climb the mountain. Don’t even touch its edge. Whoever touches the mountain dies—a certain death. …“A long blast from the horn will signal that it’s safe to climb the mountain.” Moses went down the mountain to the people and prepared them for the holy meeting. On the third day at daybreak, there were loud claps of thunder, flashes of lightning, a thick cloud covering the mountain, and an ear-piercing trumpet blast. Everyone in the camp shuddered in fear. Moses led the people out of the camp to meet God” (Exodus 19 MSG).

As I read these words, I peeked out of the cave to see and hear all the sights and sounds of Sinai on display before me on Mount Mystic. Thankfully the relentless lightning flashes lit up the mountain enough for me to spot the porch light of the cabin shining from behind, or within, the dark cloud brooding over the mountain. 

I was forced with a decision: I could remain here in this cold dark cave, or I could make my way back toward home which would require entering that dark and foreboding Cloud. I could remain relatively safe in the uncomfortable darkness of this cave, or I could move toward the comfort and light of the warm cabin hidden inside that terrifying Cloud. Someone has said the night is darkest just before the dawn. While I don’t know if meteorologists would agree, I think every train engineer knows that you have to go all the way into a tunnel before you can begin to make your way to the bright light on the other side. But how do you know if there is a light at the end if you never risk entering the darkness? 

The words of Jesus took on new meaning for me on the mountain as I walked out of the cave and into the storm.  Resolute, I fixed my eyes on the flickering porch light that “shines in the darkness, a light that the darkness cannot overcome” (John 1:5). I continued wondering what could explain this strange weather event? What was it about that Cloud over the cabin that both terrified me and drew me in at the same time? The cloud seemed both threatening and protective at the same time—as if it shielded me from the glorious terror of the dangerous electricity within. Yet, the warmth and comfort of Eli’s home lie behind that Cloud as well. How unfortunate that the way back home often requires passing through a bit of terror and uncertainty. I pressed on up the mountain, eyes fixed on the porch light hiding within the cloud, and was “afraid as [I] entered the cloud” (Luke 9:34). 

My dread slowly turned toward despair as I got turned around and lost my way halfway up mountain. The wind howled and the thundered rumbled. I didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. The Cloud danced and swirled a kind of tornadic dirge. I was about to give up, sit down, curl up in a ball and cry when I heard a voice from within the Cloud. Faint at first, but getter nearer. It was the most wonderful sound:

“Amanda! Amanda! Are you out there?” It was Uncle Eli’s voice. “Amanda, where are you?” 

I began to yell back. “Here I am!”

“Follow my voice deeper into the Cloud,” he urged. 

“But I’m scared,” I countered. “Is it safe to enter the Cloud, Eli?”

“Because I am calling you, it is safe enough. Follow my voice further up and further in,” he said in a calm and reassuring tone. 

So I walked on, following his voice, ever deeper into the impenetrable darkness. Hope swelled when I saw the porch light up ahead. The light grew brighter as Eli’s voice grew louder and clearer, until I was finally pulled into the cabin by Uncle Eli’s outstretched hand. He wrapped me in a warm blanket and prepared a cup of hot cocoa. Then we sat down by the fire to chat. 

I will never forget the things he shared with me this night. We chatted for hours in that warm sanctuary covered by the Cloud outside, and it would take many journals to try to capture all the wisdom and revelation I was given this night. But one revelation stands out above the rest. 

Uncle Eli pulled out his well worn Bible and taught me about the Shekinah Glory of the God’s manifest presence. It was so dazzling and dangerous, that God would hide the fullness of His glory behind a cloud. Only Moses was allowed to enter the cloud to speak face to face with God. Moses’ face would be radiating God’s glory when he returned to the people, so he wore a veil over his face lest the people be blinded by the light—or worse!

Uncle Eli asked me. “Do you remember when Moses said to God, “Show me your glory?”

Pulling the cobwebs off my Sunday school memory bank, I said, “Um, doesn’t God say, ‘No one can see my face and live?’” 

“That’s right,” Eli said, “but God mercifully also gave Moses a glimpse of the backside of his glory.” Flipping through the pages of his Bible Uncle Eli landed on the passage, handed it to me and asked me to read it aloud:

“And the Lord said, “I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you … But you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live … When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen.” (Exodus 33:19-23)

A long and pregnant silence followed my reading of the passage. I thought about the cleft in the rock I was standing in just moments earlier. I thought about Moses catching a glimpse of the backside of God’s glory, and wondered what it would mean for a mortal to see his frontside, to glimpse his face and gaze into His eyes. As if reading my mind, Uncle Eli then said: 

“Dear niece, in the fullness of time God came again to His people. No longer cloaked in a terrifying tornado, this time His presence dwelled in a teething toddler. His radiant glory, instead of flashes of lightning across the eastern sky, now shone from the eyes of a humble baby in a manger.”

As Uncle Eli spoke, I stared into the fireplace, watching the dancing flames—red, orange, yellow and blue—pulling together these mind-blowing threads of the biblical story—from Moses on the mountain to Jesus in the manger.  Glory both delightful yet dangerous. The Cloud that terrifies and obscures, yet protects and shields. The flames seemed choreographed to the sound of Uncle Eli’s voice. They swirled and swelled, the wood crackled and popped, as Eli brought his lesson to a roaring crescendo.

“You see, dear niece, in Christ God has again caused all His goodness to pass in front of us. And while Moses only saw the backside of God’s glory, we see seen His frontside in the face of Jesus who is “the radiance of God’s glory and  the exact representation of His being” (Heb 1:3). In Christ, the veil is removed and we behold the fullness of God’s glory. We don’t need to hide in caves, or enter a dark and terrifying Cloud. For in Bethlehem the Cloud became flesh.” 

As these words settled into my soul, Uncle Eli suddenly asked me to go get him a glass of water from the kitchen. When I returned to the living room, he was gone. But not before scratching out a few additional Scriptures for me to ponder: 

“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14)

“We are not like Moses, who would put a veil over his face to prevent the Israelites from seeing the end of what was passing away… But whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away… “And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate (and reflect) the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”

…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 Corinthians 3:13, 16-18; 4:6)

One thing was for certain: from this day forward, I would never think about God’s glory in the same way again. Or clouds, for that matter! My eyes landed on Uncle Eli’s original letter on the coffee table, now with tattered corners and hot cocoa stains, and I read again the words:

The clouds often grow thick at this altitude and completely envelope the mountain; we hope you find strange comfort from the cloud. If you happen to hear voices, don’t be afraid; we suggest you listen to the voice.

Oh, I am most definitely listening. 

The Cloud finally lifted as my head hit the pillow, giving way to a clear starlit night. As I drifted off to sleep, my eyes beheld a uniquely bright start through the skylight window above. That night, above my deep and dreamless sleep, a not-so-silent Star would go by and be waiting to teach me one more lesson before heading home on Christmas Eve.