|
First
Reading
|
Psalm |
Epistle |
Gospel |
| Exodus 24: 12-18 |
Psalm
99 1–7 |
2 Peter 1:16–21 |
Matthew 17:1–9 |
For the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, the account of the Transfiguration serves as a pivotal turning point as the disciples begin to leave Galilee and journey to Jerusalem. Jesus explicitly attempts to warn the disciples of the great danger ahead. Things are not going to turn out exactly as the disciples had hoped. In the church’s liturgical calendar, the story of the transfiguration is always read the last Sunday that concludes the Epiphany season and right before Ash Wednesday that begins the season of Lent. The transfiguration is not a prophecy, a parable or a collection of some of Jesus’ sayings, and it is difficult to treat it strictly as a mere historical incident. It was recalled as a profoundly spiritual encounter first by the three apostles, but also by the early church community. For Matthew especially, Jesus was interpreted as the new Moses and the account of Moses receiving the Commandments on the summit of Mount Sinai with Joshua his assistant was very much on his mind.
Whatever happened on this mountain overlooking the fields of Galilee, its significance was remembered after the terrifying events of Holy Week and the surprise of Easter. Looking backward, James, John, and Peter understood that they had had a spiritual experience that connected all what lay behind them with their journeys that lay ahead. At the time, they did not comprehend Jesus’ mission, but now in the light of the resurrection, those perplexing words of Jesus were beginning to make more sense.
The transfiguration in and of itself would have been long forgotten if Peter, James and John hadn’t hung on with Jesus in the lowest of valleys. They didn’t deny the frightening contrast of God’s glorious vision of peace and reconciliation among humanity, with the despair, abandonment and the anxiety often experienced in life. I do not think it is a mere coincidence that the Gospel writers Matthew and Mark specifically mention Peter, James, and John as the ones who were also together with Jesus in his hour of deepest agony in the garden of Gethsemane. The spiritual insight of God’s final victory only made sense after the disciples had come down from the mountain and continued the journey that led to the discovery of the risen Christ by Mary Magdala, Salome, and Mary mother of James, and likely a few more unnamed brave women disciples on Easter morning.1
Sometimes we ask, why can’t we be more spiritual? Why don’t we have these exhilarating mountaintop experiences like the disciples? Yet often what we really are asking when we are yearning to be more spiritual, is why can’t we be more at ease, why can’t we be more sure, why can’t we be more comfortable.
The lesson from this great watershed experience is that genuine spiritual enlightenment often occurs as levels of tension are about to be raised and confronted rather than being lowered or denied. If comfort and certainty is what we seek, it is small wonder we are disappointed in the paucity of spiritual nourishment. The search for an easy escape route is usually a search away from God. Mountaintop joys are quickly lost unless they are connected to our tears of weeping over where we are right now. Jesus was very cautious in publicizing his miracles, because he wanted people to recognize the presence of God’s grace among the ordinary, among one’s neighbors and did not urge people to intentionally seek God in a highly- charged, emotional high, separated from reality. This is the reason Lent beckons us to travel the valleys and level ground. This is why Lent often meets us where we truly are.
One of the astounding things that the account of the transfiguration might be telling us is that we already may have been very close to the risen Christ and even been surrounded by God’s glory and the assurance of God’s final victory, but we haven’t been able to process it yet. Great dreams sometimes take years to develop and be recognized for their wonderful potential. In the meantime, the disciples didn’t go it alone, nor do we have to either. They had each other and the Holy Spirit to point the way. Fog lifts when we are on the ground, not when we are up in the clouds. That is why the voice from the mountain tells us to follow Jesus on the way, both on the way up and the way down, and invites us to a Holy Lent this year in Ithaca, in the beginning of February 2008.
And I offer this to you in the name of the Living God, Amen.
1 Cf. Mark 16:1, Matthew 28:1-8, Luke 22:1-11
