Today is the last Sunday before we enter the liturgical season of Lent. Traditionally, on this last Sunday before we enter 40 days of prayer and repentance – acknowledging that we are broken people living in a broken world – we take a moment to remember what we call the “Transfiguration of our Lord”, an event that I consider to be one of the stranger stories in the gospels.
As we just heard from Matthew’s Gospel, the story begins with Jesus going up on a mountain with his inner circle of disciples – Peter, James, and John. It’s been a roller coaster of a week for Jesus’ disciples, especially Peter. Immediately before the text, we heard today, Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” and Peter responds with a confession of faith, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God!” Jesus is pleased by this recognition and responds, “Blessed are you, Peter! You are the rock on which I will build my church!”
And then, for the first time, Jesus tells his disciples very plainly what is going to happen to him: He will go to Jerusalem, be handed over to the authorities and killed, and on the third day, he will rise again. And, perhaps understandably, the disciples don’t much like this. Peter tells him, “God forbid it; Jesus, we won’t let this happen to you!” And so suddenly, just a few verses after calling Peter the Rock of the church, Jesus changes his tune and says, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me!” And he starts to teach his disciples that if anyone wants to follow him, that person must lay down their life – and take up their cross.
The disciples are speechless. They’ve just confessed that Jesus is the Messiah – and now he’s telling them he’s going to and die? This is not what they signed on for!
So when Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up the mountain, I imagine they are feeling a sense of relief after a rough week! At last – a little time alone to rest! After all, Jesus had a habit of going up on the mountain to be alone and pray. And after the confusing events of the last few days, I imagine they were quite ready for a day of rest and relaxation and prayer, thank you very much.
Of course, we heard the text this morning; we know that’s not how things go. No, instead, just as the disciples are sitting down and getting comfortable, they look up to see Jesus transformed before their eyes – his face and his clothes shining like the sun! And it’s not just him anymore, either, there’s Moses, and Elijah, and then a bright shining cloud comes overhead, and out of this cloud, they hear the voice of God speak! Holy smokes, folks! No wonder the disciples drop to the ground in fear. So much for a relaxing spiritual retreat!
This experience knocks the wind out of the disciples, but they do catch on pretty quickly. They recognize that this is God in action, something special, something extraordinary. Peter has just confessed that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and now we hear the very voice of God affirming what Peter has said, “Yes, this is my Son! Listen to him!” Before they crumple in fear, the disciples are overcome with awe. They watch as, for just a moment, the veil between heaven and earth is pulled back, and they can see with their eyes what they have already begun to recognize with their hearts: their friend Jesus, a humble, ordinary man from Galilee, bathed in the very light of God, in all the glory of God’s own Son. They see for just a minute the hidden work of God in human history, in their own lives. Is it any surprise that Peter says, “Hey, yes, this is good! Let’s stay here, Jesus, we’ll build you a tent – and one for Moses, and Elijah, too, if they’d like. But this light, this moment…this is one we should capture. This is somewhere we should stay.”
It could be that Peter just really liked it up there on the mountain. Sounds like he’d make a good Taoseño. And who can blame him, really, for wanting to continue to bask in the light of God? But I wonder if there isn’t a little more going on. I wonder if doesn’t have the events of the last week still ringing in his head. Jesus told them that he was on his way to suffer and die in Jerusalem…teaching his disciples must lay down their lives and take up their own crosses. And with all this rolling around in the back of his mind, I wonder if Peter isn’t saying, “Jesus, let’s stop time and stay on this mountain, in this moment. All this talk of suffering and death and crosses…let’s leave all that behind us. We don’t have to do things that way. We can stay here. We can avoid all that pain, and suffering, can’t we? Can’t we?
Again, we know how the story ends. Even in our Scripture today, as we hear Jesus and the disciples slowly walk back down that mountain, we know they are headed back into a world of suffering and heartache that ultimately leads to Calvary.
For even as Peter and the voice from heaven declare that Jesus is the Son of God, Jesus reminds his disciples that he is also the Son of Man, the Human One, who will suffer and die. Even as the disciples bask in the joy of Jesus’ presence, they are about to experience the despair of seeing their Lord seized by the authorities, crucified, and buried. And as much as they may want to avoid this pain, to save Jesus from his coming suffering – and to save themselves from that suffering, as well – they are powerless to do so. Even Jesus himself will pray in the Garden of Gethsemane, “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me. Yet not my will, by the, will be done.” The disciples cannot…even Jesus cannot avoid this suffering.
And neither can we. We know that all too well, don’t we? How many times have we looked into the eyes of tragedy or grief and said, “O God, please let it be possible for this cup to pass me by!” And yet…it can’t. No matter how much we may shake our fists at the sky – and I will be the first to admit that I have done my fair share of fist-shaking – we live in a world where joy and suffering are inseparable. Where weeping and shouts of joy are intermingled.
We, like the disciples, cannot ascend to the mountaintop without eventually descending back into the world below – a world of sickness, of suffering, and ultimately, a world of the cross. There’s no either/or. Jesus is both the Glorious Son of God and the Crucified Son of Man. The Christian life contains both the mountain top and the cross. We who know, who have known the joy of Christ’s presence will also experience the pain of Christ’s absence. For us as for the disciples, the life we live will always be both/and.
And yet. And yet, while Jesus’ transfiguration reminds us there is nothing we can do to avoid life’s suffering, it also shows us that there is nothing we can do to escape the light, That there is no place so dark that God’s light does not shine. Peter wants to construct three tents, three tabernacles because he knows his Hebrew Bible; he remembers that in the wilderness, the tabernacle was where the Spirit, the presence of God could be found. And yet, when this fantastic vision is over when Peter looks up and sees Jesus without his heavenly companions, or his divine glow, he is looking at the greatest tabernacle, a tabernacle that only God could construct. He is looking into the eyes of Jesus, the one called Emmanuel – ‘God with us’. Yes, the disciples descend the mountain into what will soon become the crushing reality of the world below. But they do so accompany by Jesus, the abiding presence of God with us.
And as Jesus shows us on the road to Calvary and crucifixion and death, God’s presence can, and will, and does endure, even in the deepest of suffering and despair – even in death. Emmanuel, God-with-us, Jesus our Lord and Savior hanging on the cross declares to us there is no place God doesn’t go, no suffering that God does not endure. That there is no moment too dark, no pain too deep, no place too destitute, no person too “far gone”, no heart too broken for
God’s light to break through and shine in all its joy and glory. This world has the ability to break us, in body and in soul, and yet our broken selves and our broken world are never beyond God’s redemption.
To be sure, we don’t always see that light. We can’t always feel it when we’re in the depths of despair. The disciples couldn’t see that light when Jesus was seized by the authorities, and Peter denied him, and they locked themselves in a room for three days of fear. I don’t know that Jesus could even feel that light it in the Garden of Gethsemane. But still, it persists, ready to break forth through the cracks when we least expect it. God’s light shines on us even when we feel like we are drowning in the depths of hell because even there Jesus, Emmanuel, God-with-us has gone, and does go, and will go. We cannot escape the one who looks not only at Jesus but also at us and says, “Look, this is my Child – my Son, my Daughter – with you I am well-pleased!”
Friends, if I understand this text, this is what the Transfiguration shows us. The curtain is pulled back for just a moment, and we see Jesus as he really is – a Christ who is both/and. Christ who is both glorious divinity and ordinary humanity. Christ who is present with us both in our greatest joy and in our deepest suffering. Christ whose glory and majesty are beyond our comprehension – the Creator of the heavens and the earth, the one before whom all mortal flesh falls silent with awe. And Christ who at the same time the one who is as intimately near to us as our very breath, who comes to us and touches us, and says “Come. Get up. You don’t need to be afraid.”
I love the way this story ends – Jesus reaching out and touching the disciples who are cowering in fear. It is at the same time so intimate…and so ordinary. They’ve just witnessed one of the greatest displays of Christ’s Glory in the gospels: they’ve seen the dazzling light, heard a voice from the heavens, Old Testament heroes long-dead have suddenly appeared – leaving the disciples astonished and terrified. And then Jesus reaches out to these disciples shaking in fear…and touches them.
Out of everything that Peter, James and John witness and experience that day on the mountain, in the end, it is only this touch, the familiar and comforting presence of Jesus’ hand on their shoulders, that ultimately gets through to them. Only this simple touch gives them the courage to stand back up and continue on this journey with Jesus, only this touch summons from within them the strength to head back down the mountain into the broken world below.
Of course, it’s the touch that gets through to them. After all, as my friend and mentor Rev. Patrick Willson, writes reflecting on this text, “Does anything banish our fears more perfectly that a simple, human touch?”
The good news, friends, is, that that’s how God is. That’s who God is. In the transfiguration, the ‘Both/And’ God revealed in Jesus Christ pulls back that veil to show the disciples – and us – for just a minute, that God’s glory and magnificence and power unsurpassable and measureless, and beyond our human comprehension.
And yet. And yet, as it turns out, there is one thing that surpasses God’s glory and power and majesty. And that is God’s willingness to shed all of that glory so that we might know God’s love and gentleness, and presence with us – Emmanuel – in our everyday lives. The God who made the heavens and earth comes to us – to every last one of us – in a simple hand reaching out to us. Thanks be to God.