Transfiguration: God Love Shining

Scripture can be found here

There are some moments in the gospels that take us out of the realm of the everyday, even the everyday miracles of healing or casting out demons. This is one such moment.

 

The story starts with the phrase, “Now about eight days after these sayings…” Since we skipped a couple of chapters to get here, we don’t necessarily know what “these sayings” are. But the sayings, together with the passage we’ve just read, are a turning point in this gospel.

 

About eight days before this story takes place, Jesus has told his followers that he will be rejected, and suffer, and die, and then on the third day be raised from the dead. This news must baffle his followers, shake them, possibly even make them angry. By all measurements Jesus’ ministry is a smashing success… he is teaching, preaching, healing, giving hungry people food… and the crowds are getting bigger and bigger. And yet, Jesus shares this shocking prediction.

 

Then he tells them that anyone who wants to follow him must deny themselves, and pick up their own cross, and then follow him.

 

This is not a feel-good moment for Jesus and his closest friends and followers. These sayings of eight days ago bring profound anxiety and questioning, which brings us to today.

 

Today’s passage begins with normalcy—Jesus takes three of his followers on a hike up a mountain to pray. Jesus prays, and talks about prayer, a lot in the gospel of Luke—he’s always trying to get away from the crowds to replenish himself, to re-connect with the Spirit. As I heard once, from a wise woman, “You can’t pour from an empty bucket.” Today, Jesus takes Peter (also known as Simon), and the brothers John and James. These three seem to form an inner circle: the people Jesus is closest to.

 

Very quickly, it’s clear that things are not normal at all. While he is praying, Jesus changes—his face changes, his clothes become dazzling white. Not only that: the men who represent the Law—Moses—and the Prophets—Elijah—appear with Jesus, and have a conversation with him. They appear, the story tells us, in glory, a word that I’ve always found hard to pin down, because it’s some indescribable combination of appearance and reputation and essence. Moses and Elijah are talking to Jesus about what’s coming: his departure, the cross.

 

The three disciples who are closest to Jesus get sleepy while praying—I find that kind of reassuring, because I think that’s a fairly common experience. But the vision before them wakes them right up. Glory. That is what they see.

 

And… here’s where a bit of normalcy reasserts itself into the story, because Peter makes an awkward attempt at holding on to the moment. He speaks, which, in itself, is probably not the thing to do, because… glory! A once-in-a lifetime moment, which he is simply being called to witness. But he can’t quite remain there, speechless.

 

So, as if to keep Elijah and Moses from departing, Peter offers to build three tents or booths—one each for Jesus and his two glorious companions. But even as the words are escaping his lips the whole scene is shadowed in cloud. And Jesus’ companions are terrified.

 

I must admit: I have probably played the role of Peter on multiple occasions. When someone you know, someone you are close to, reveals the deepest truth of who they are—as Jesus does, in this moment—it can be awkward, or unnerving. It may even be frightening. And in such a moment we might have an urge to do something, to say something. This is the most extreme example: Jesus is revealing that he is an intimate a part of God’s plan for humanity, just like Moses and Elijah. Any witness would be on the continuum between overwhelmed and freaked out. Peter’s response is so understandable.

 

But what about when my friend tells me her marriage is in trouble? Or he’s deeply worried about his adult child? Or they understand their gender to be… different than the one they’ve grown up with. Or their sexuality. Or any one of the thousands of complicated, beautiful, scary moments in the life of any given human.

 

To witness such a moment is an incredible privilege. Despite the glory of it all, Jesus is, paradoxically, also being incredibly vulnerable with Peter, John, and James. He is allowing the truest, purest light of who he is to shine forth, literally and figuratively. It is a sacred moment. But it is also a sacred moment when a friend you’ve known for a long time tells you something about themselves you never knew, but which, right now, is crucial for them to share. And what if, in such moments, we just… opened ourselves to the beauty of it?

 

What if Peter had opened his arms wide and lifted his eyes to heaven and whispered “Thank you?” What if, when that friend—or parent, or child, or partner—shared their sacred truth, we simply understood what an honor it is to be their witness?

 

Some of you are like me and Peter, and stumble through such moments. Others of you already know how to do this. But all of us can probably use the reminder: life is filled with holy moments, and we don’t need to do one single thing to manage or control them, thank God.

 

Thank God. So, the shadow of the cloud overcomes Peter and John and James, and in the moment in which they cannot see one single thing, a voice comes to them, clear as a bell: This is my Son, my Chosen One. Listen to him!

 

And then… just as quickly, the cloud is gone. And it’s back to normalcy.

 

Except, nothing is ever “normal” again, following a moment of true revelation. Jesus has revealed something to these three men that they can’t unsee, can’t unknow. In the chapters that follow they will sometimes seem to fight it, other times they will seem to acknowledge it. Eventually they will run from it. But they will still know it, because it has been known, and cannot be un-known. Jesus is God’s beloved. Jesus is God’s chosen One. And it is the calling and the honor of all followers to listen, and listen hard.

 

No pastor in the world wants to talk about war on the day of Transfiguration, the day when the glory and promise of Jesus lifts our eyes and hearts to the heavens with wonder and gratitude. But today we live in a world in which a war is not something simply ‘over there,’ but which has ramifications that are personal, from those of us with relatives in Ukraine and Russia, to those of us who watch in horror as a peaceful democracy stands threatened by one of the world’s three superpowers.

The wise Dr. Maya Angelou once said, “When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.” Two world leaders have shown us who they truly are this week, have revealed the depths of their souls. One has shown his willingness to launch an assault on democracy by bombing densely populated cities from the safety of a palace 500 miles away; by authorizing missiles that land on a children’s cancer hospital, by sending young people to slaughter their cousins, by sending them to their deaths. But another world leader has shown himself ready to face death rather than abandon his people. He has shown his resolve, rallied his country, and transfixed the world with his courage, his calm, and his humanity.

 

For us, here, we can do little more than watch and pray, or perhaps contribute to relief efforts. Nothing is ever “normal” again, after a moment of true revelation, one that opens our hearts to joy and elation or one that reveals the ugliest kind of human brokenness. But on Christ the solid rock, shining with the truth of God’s everlasting love and faithfulness, we stand. The prayer of millions cannot go unheard. Jesus is God’s beloved, chosen One, judge and savior, and we will continue to open our hearts to listen to him.

 

Thanks be to God. Amen.