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            In primitive religions the mountaintop, as the place closest to heaven, was believed to be the residence of the gods.  For mortals the mountain was a sacred place, a place of danger for all but a few, but for these few it was a place of encounter with the divine.  When Moses came down from Mt. Sinai with the tablets of the law in his hand, the skin of his face was radiant with light, because he had been talking with God (Exodus 34:29).  In the Transfiguration story the appearance of Jesus’ countenance was altered, as he prayed on the holy mountain (v. 2). 
            Psychologists speak of “peak experiences,”  but such experiences are rare even for the few persons who have them; they do not last.  The radiance fades, and the seer must come down from the mountain to resume the responsibilities of everyday life. 
            At the end of Jesus’ transfiguration the voice from heaven charges the disciples, “This is my beloved Son with whom I am well pleased; listen to him” (v. 5).  Moses assembles the people at the foot of Mt. Sinai to tell them, “These are the things which the Lord has commanded you to do” (Exodus 35:1). 
            How are we to listen to Christ?  How do we fulfil the Lord’s commands?  How do we translate the mountaintop experience into everyday living?  Paul lists the various gifts which are involved in the life of the Christian community: apostleship, prophecy, teaching, working miracles, healing, helping, administration, speaking in tongues (1 Corinthians 12:28).  No single individual possesses all these gifts, yet each gift has its place in building up the body of Christ. 
            At the annual meeting of Vestry, which we shall be holding next month, I am always reminded of the range of gifts among us which make possible our life together as a Christian parish.  There are gifts of organization and planning, of imagination and creativity, of leadership and initiative, of intellect and insight.  There are those who contribute to the beauty and dignity of our worship.  In the ministry of the parish outside these walls there are the gifts of caring and sympathy, of tact and sensitivity, of patience and compassion. 
            The church itself could not function without the gifts of those who know how to keep the physical plant running and to fix things when they break down.  There are those with the gifts of stewardship, who know how to keep accounts and records, to draw up budgets, and to decide on priorities. 
            This list is already longer than Paul’s, but the point, I hope, is clear: to exist together as a Christian community, we depend on a variety of gifts which cannot possibly be found in a single individual.  As Paul reminds the Corinthians, “There are many parts, yet one body.  The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you,’ nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you’” (1 Corinthians 12:20-21). 
            But in the body which is the church the interdependence of the members and their acceptance of each other’s gifts is not something automatic, as in the physical body.  To acknowledge and appreciate one another is not always easy, for it means recognizing the value of gifts which I personally do not have, and this requires humility.  Actually, it is a great relief to realize that we are not obliged to do everything for the simple reason that we cannot do everything.  This enables us to give others the encouragement and appreciation without which even the most enthusiastic and willing worker may easily lose heart. 
            So let us look around today and try to really see each other, and let us give thanks to God for each other’s gifts.  For in so doing we will grow in that greatest gift which transcends all others, the gift of love, which bears all thing, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things, and which will never pass away (1 Corinthians 13:7-8). 

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