Today’s Gospel reading from Mark about the Transfiguration is the perfect story for where we find ourselves in the church calendar, poised as we are between Epiphany and Lent. The repeated images and themes in these seasons and texts simultaneously draw our gaze behind and ahead. From this mountaintop, we, along with the disciples, are reminded of where we’ve come from as well as where we’re going.
First, where we’ve come from: The season of Epiphany began with the brightness of the star, leading the magi to find the infant Jesus. From there, we heard the story of the baptism of Jesus. Immersed in the Jordan River by John, as he came up from the water, the heavens were torn apart and the Spirit descended like a dove on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’
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| Transfiguration, by Kelly Latimore |
Here on the mountaintop at the transfiguration it is Jesus who shines, himself a display of the glory of God. And here again the voice from the cloud declares Jesus’ identity: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” In the same way that Jesus’ baptism marked the beginning of his ministry of teaching and healing, the transfiguration marked a turning point as well. From this mountain, Jesus is headed for Jerusalem and the cross.
Yes, as we look ahead to Jerusalem, another mountain awaits - the mountain of Calvary. On that mountain, Jesus is talking not with Moses and Elijah, but with two criminals who are crucified with him, one on his right, and one on his left.
On that mountain, no one wants to set up tents and stay awhile. Instead, the disciples scatter. Instead, it is the Roman soldiers and the women who had followed from a distance who bear witness to his death.
On that mountain, it is the beloved Son who cries out in a loud voice - and he is in anguish that he has been forsaken. On that mountain, the clouds that appear overhead are not bright, but rather blanket the land in darkness.
Even so, the glory of God is on display on that mountain as it was at the transfiguration, only it looks quite different than what we expect. On that mountain, God uses a cross - an instrument of torture and death - as a way to bring life and salvation. On that mountain, Jesus opens his arms to all.
In the verses preceding the transfiguration story, we hear that Jesus “began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” Does anyone recall how this part of the story ends? To put it mildly, the disciples are not a fan of this game plan. Peter, bless his heart, pulls Jesus aside to rebuke him - to which Jesus responds with his own rebuke: “Get behind me, Satan!”
Even after this episode, we hear of two more times that Jesus tries to lay everything out for the disciples, but they don’t seem to fully grasp it. Certainly, if you had to choose, the transfiguration version of Jesus is easier to get behind - safe from danger and suffering, dazzling with the glory of God, sharing a mountaintop with giants in the faith like Moses and Elijah. Like the disciples, we find it hard to even imagine how God could choose pain and suffering and sorrow when the alternative is so much better.
When we see the glory of God on display as it was on the mountain at the transfiguration, we can certainly celebrate God’s power and goodness - but not because this version of Jesus is so much better than the crucified one. Instead, we understand that the kind of glory that dazzles is impossible to understand apart from the kind of glory that suffers with.
This is why Jesus gives the instructions he does, as the four of them trek down the mountain. They are to “tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.” This vision of dazzling glory cannot tell the whole story. It is not complete apart from the death and resurrection of Jesus.
It is tempting to search for the dazzling, awe-inspiring versions of God’s glory in our own lives, too. It is often easier to point to times of success, blessing, or joy as the places we can see God best. What difference does it make, then, to know that God’s glory is also revealed through ordinary means, like water, bread, and wine, and present in moments of heartbreak and suffering? What difference does it make that the voice we’re instructed to listen to is not a voice that demands success or perfection, but one that calls us beloved, too, and offers grace?
Peter, James, and John are not expected to be divine. They are not expected to also stand in the tradition of the prophets, or to always have the right answers, or to never be terrified. They are simply invited to witness God’s glory in all the ways it is displayed, and to listen to the one who has called them to follow.
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