I, for one, have long puzzled over why so many important historical events seem to have taken place right next door to a gift shop! Isn't it uncanny how clever our forbears were in deciding to locate their battles, speeches, discoveries, inventions and other experiences of historic note in close proximity to the vehicles of marketing! Our ancestors were not dumb people!

And nowhere is this symbiotic relationship between history and commerce more true than in the Holy Land, albeit with a special twist. Many of the pivotal events in the life of our Christian faith have been marked not only by nearby gift stores, but by the construction of churches right on top of the spot where the event is believed to have happened. This is why, when you visit Bethlehem, you go into the Church of the Nativity. Down in the bowels of this church is a star-shaped hole through which one may poke their arm and hand to touch the very ground of the cave traditionally associated with the stable where Jesus was born. Of course, it will cost you an American dollar to do it.

The same is true in Jerusalem, at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This church is built upon and around the hill we call Calvary. And there, within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, are to be seen the rocky walls of Golgotha, and a flat rock believed by some to be the very place they laid Jesus' body once removed from the Cross, and several cave-like grottos - each one contending for the title of Jesus' actual tomb. You can spend a lot of American dollars checking out the tombs of Jesus.

But we should not be too quick to criticize these preservers of history. It is, I think, a part of human nature that makes us want to mark intangible experiences with tangible monuments. This is why two children use a jack knife to carve the words "Billy Loves Susie" into the bark of an ancient oak tree. The physical reality of the carving tries to capture the invisible nature of the love between a girl and boy. This is why the class of 2000 will soon be scurrying about, spray painting their identity upon the rocks, bridges and walls of college campuses everywhere. The observable graffiti becomes a physical symbol for the years-long experience of being a community together. And, this is why we wear sweatshirts that say Michigan State even though we now live in Tennessee, and why there is a kind of reverence about us when we slowly drive past the house where we grew up as children long ago.

There is something that compels us to try to transform the wonderful but intangible experiences of life into touchable, visible, quantifiable, empirical representations of the moment. And this is probably why Peter and James and John wanted to build shrines upon the mountain where Jesus was transfigured.

You know the story.

One night, Jesus takes the three disciples with him up onto a high mountain. While there, something incredibly extraordinary occurs. Whatever thin veil it is that separates heaven from earth is suddenly removed! A dazzling white light illuminates Jesus! And in the blinding brilliance of that luminous mountaintop, human apparitions become present. Terrified by this, the trio of Peter, James and John realize that Jesus is having a high level meeting with Moses, the representative of the Law, and Elijah, the representative of the Prophets. And literally overwhelmed by both the weirdness and the wonder of the moment, Peter gushes out, "Let's build three shrines here - one for Jesus, one for Moses, and one for Elijah!"

But just as Peter finishes his proposal to build three shrines, he knows its the wrong thing to say. A thick cloud descends upon the mountaintop, enveloping them all. And as the cool mist of the cloud touches their skin and brings a chill to their bones, a voice resonates from within the fog. "This is my beloved son. Listen to him."

And so the disciples never did build a shrine next to the gift shop on top of the mountain where Jesus was transfigured. Peter and James and John simply went on with their lives, and told the story of what they had seen and heard. And years later, the gospelwriter John described the experience this way:

And - for Peter, James and John - the miraculous experience of that night on the mountain transformed their lives forever. Whenever there was doubt, or hardship, or suffering that came their way through the course of the rest of their lives, they were sustained and strengthened by the memory of that miraculous moment when they saw heaven come to earth, and Jesus proclaimed as the savior of the world.

How can you build a shrine to something like that? Where can you find four walls to put around that kind of experience? How can you explain it, without robbing it of its power? How can you slice it, dice, it, measure it, weigh it, quantify it, analyze it with x-rays, ultrasound, or infrared? How can you make tangible an intangible moment that has the power to transform human lives?

Some truths, you see, cannot be explained. They can only be experienced.

And yet, there are some in our human community today who insist that, unless you can get your hands and your mind around something, it just can't be real.

Wendell Berry is something of a poet/philosopher. Wendell lives up in Kentucky, and his interest these days is on the relationship between religion and science. He writes that science-envy has invaded religion, and that we in the Christian community too easily succumb to wanting our faith to be scientifically provable and empirically measurable. Berry cautions us not to fall for that. He writes, "Life is far more complex than we know, and than we CAN know."

You see, although science has given us wonderfully important understandings of some of the intricate mechanics of the mysteries of the universe, and humankind has indeed benefited from its discoveries, science has yet to even scratch the surface of vast dimensions of life lived by human beings. Wendell Berry notes that, as he takes pen in hand to write his poetry, he can look out his window and drink in the wonder of the swollen river winding down from the blue mountains in the distance. He can observe ducks and geese and all manner of songbirds flitting back and forth from new budded tree to new budded tree. He can drink in the sheer beauty of the changes of the seasons - the sounds, the sights, the smells, the colors, and although he has looked out this same window nearly every day for too many years to count, the picture is always new, and it constantly stirs up something life-giving within his heart.

It stirs up joy.

How do you explain joy? Can you touch it? Can you squeeze some into a test tube, or make a slide and put it under a microscope to study? What is the etiology of joy, and where is the scientific researcher who can explain it?

Evolutionary theory does indeed help us grasp the biological processes involved in the ongoing unfolding of creation, but for all the brilliant minds that advance that field, where is the one who can explain why, when you hold a newborn baby in your arms, you know you're holding a precious person born in the image of God? And how can it be that science cannot grasp this fundamental fact of divine identity which forms the very basis for human rights, and freedom, and dignity? Why, even little children seem to understand this. Without any training at all, even kids seem to know that people are more than the cells that comprise them.

You see, there is a quality of life that can't be enshrined, either by monuments, or by science, or by intellect. Love. Sorrow. Hope. Despair. Joy. Wonder. Creativity. Forgiveness. Sacrifice. Devotion. Vocation. Fairness. Altruism. These are the things that are most important to us as human beings. And yet they are all intangible. All untouchable. All far beyond the reach of the scientific method. All beyond the capacity of intellect. All unenshrinable!

With all due respect to the many blessings of scientific inquiry, I believe faith is more important than science. For faith takes up, as Wendell Berry says, "the preciousness of lives and experiences." Faith releases us into the much larger world that lies beyond the tiny slice of reality that is the dwelling place of science. It is faith that comes to assist us in dealing with the pain caused by the loss of a loved one. It is faith that gives strength to enslaved people so they rise up and proclaim, "Enough is enough!" It is faith that guides us over the rickety bridge we must cross to forgive an enemy. It is faith that gives a person the courage to stand up in a meeting and say, "My name is Bill, and I am an alcoholic." It is faith that makes us believe every human life is precious, and that drives us to achieve justice for all. It is faith that engages our heart with our eyes so that, when we see hungry people, poor people, taken-advantage-of people, we know we have to help! Faith brings us into the world beyond tangible shrines or factual analysis. Faith brings us into the world of the miraculous.

Tom Long tells the story of a Presbyterian Church he once served. One day, they added to the staff a new custodian - a decrepit fellow who needed the job at the church far more than the church needed him in the job. He didn't dress very well, didn't relate very well, didn't fit in very well, didn't really reflect the character and quality of the church very well. But he needed the job, and performed it adequately.

One day, Marge - the church office manager - became very sick. She was rushed to the hospital. Tests were run. Marge, it turned out, was very seriously ill. In fact, she was dying. She didn't have very much time left.

Upon hearing that devastating news, the church staff gathered for prayer. One minister prayed that God would grant Marge courage to face the reality of the moment. Another asked God to give Marge the gift of peace that passes all understanding. The secretaries prayed that God would comfort Marge's family as they faced her death, and that Marge would be spared a painful end. And then it was the custodian's turn to pray.

Raising his face toward heaven and, in a voice much too loud for prayer, the custodian intoned, "Lord, we need you to heal Marge. She is just so very important to us. Why without her, this place would come grinding to a halt! And she's so important to her family, and to so many other people! God, you just gotta reach your hand right down into that hospital room right now and touch Marge's body, and make her well. And I claim it in the name of Jesus!"

Tom Long says this was no ordinary Presbyterian prayer. The look on the faces of the rest of the staff was embarrassment at the very best.

Yet, a few days later, Marge came home from the hospital. Completely well.

Now, we may not be able to fully understand the mystery of prayer. But Tom Long says, "Who is to say that the prayer of this simple janitor was not the very instrument by which God introduced a miracle into the world? We cannot explain it. All we know is that a woman who was dying is now perfectly well."

And I dare say, there are many of us in the congregation today who ourselves can testify to wondrous moments in our own lives and experience when that thin veil separating heaven from earth seems to have been lifted, and the glory of God became apparent to our own eyes. When a healing occurred. When a relationship was reconciled. When a calling was heard. When strength-beyond-ourselves was received. When an evil was overcome by good. When forgiveness was found. When love overcame hate. When a prodigal son - or daughter - came home.

Oh, the world is overflowing with the miraculous love of God!

And you can't build a shrine to contain it, a science to explain it, or a mind to retain it!

You can only be willing to go and discover it, by following Jesus.