There is something about mountains – something mystical, divine, heavenly and earthly. I grew up always seeing mountains at the edges of my horizon, visible through my mother’s kitchen window curtains, bits of blue ridge at sunset. I am not as much of a hiker as my sister is, or as I would like to be, but when I do hike, those moments on mountaintops are moments when, for me at least, the world stops spinning for a bit. Look out over the valleys, so far away from the roads and the noise and the obligations of everyday, and so close to the heavens. At night, seeing the stars so bright you feel like you could walk right into the forest of them. And when we come back down again, some of that peace and starlight comes with us, that glimpse of eternity, into the glory of all creation, the agelessness of the cosmos – a feeling that there is no chasm between this world and the next.
And so here we are this morning, up on the mountaintop with Moses first, and then witnessing along with Peter and James and John this glimpse of eternity, this bright shining glory of Jesus’ Transfiguration, before we begin the walk down the mountain and into Lent.
This morning’s story from the Gospel tells us many things, and three stand out to me. Listen again to some of this:
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him.
This morning’s Gospel is an extraordinary moment in the story of Jesus’ life and the lives of his followers. And even though we are reading it alongside the Exodus passage, when God tells Moses to “come up to me on the mountain,” and even though today’s Psalm draws this picture of God enthroned high upon Zion, “high above all peoples,” enthroned upon the cherubim, today, Transfiguration Sunday, is really a day not about going up the mountain, leaving the roads and the noise and the obligations behind – it’s about the divine meeting us halfway. It’s the connection between mortal and immortal, between earthly endings and God’s beginnings. It is that moment that we experience every Eucharist, every Easter, in every time we lose a loved one, and even at the grave, we sing Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.
Setting aside Jesus’ shining face and dazzling clothes, this story is about God in Jesus, coming down to us, joining us in our human lives. It’s about, yes, Christ shining like an angel, with Moses and Elijah appearing along with him, and the voice of God, once again, calling down from the heavens and frightening the disciples – but it’s also about Jesus, reaching our to touch the shoulders of his friends, tell them, “Get up – do not be afraid.” I am here, Messiah, Son of God, divine. And I am here, your friend, your teacher, your companion on the road.
The second thing that the story tells us is don’t get too comfortable:
Peter – I often bless his heart in this sermon, in this season – says, “this is great! Let’s build some houses! One for you, Moses, one for you, Elijah, one for you Jesus – let’s just settle in and be filled with this joy every day on top of this mountain.”
But no, we can’t build houses for Moses and Elijah and Jesus. Not yet. Because we aren’t staying on the mountaintop. They’re called mountaintop moments for a reason – these glorious, otherworldly experiences. The Transfiguration, this moment when the disciples see Jesus as he truly is, Jesus revealed. This is a moment of Epiphany – this is a gift to Peter and James and John, a gift to us, to see the light that will be. And it’s also and invitation to carry light and that promise when we come back down the mountain to get the work done in the valley in the meantime.
For there’s more to do – there was more to do for Jesus and his friends, and there’s more to do for us – more teaching, more preaching, more healing, more reconciliation. There’s heartbreak to come – in the next several weeks, we will go through the wilderness of Lent, the triumph of Palm Sunday, the arrest and the Crucifixion, and after that, Resurrection and Life. Transfiguration is a gift – it is strength for the journey, hope for the times that seem impossible, and light for the darkest moments.
And thinking of that, the third bit that I bring from this is that Christ Transfigured is the World Transfigured.
Seeing Christ revealed in his humanity and his divinity, seeing both the human and the sacred exist together in the life and person of Jesus, we are able to see the human and the sacred exist together in the life of the world. In experiencing the glory of Christ’s promise, we can go back down the mountain into the valley to see the world differently. We ask and can ask, where do we see the sacred in each other? When do we catch glimpses of eternity, of divine light, in our everyday worlds, our everyday work and the people we see everyday? Where do we see the world anew – when does Transfiguration happen down in the valley?
Lent is always an opportunity to move through the world in a different way. We give up something, or we take on something. We practice Lent in so many ways that help us re-focus ourselves on Christ, to re-focus ourselves on giving rather than receiving, on simplicity rather than consumption, using our time better, taking better care of our bodies and our health, reconnecting with friends and family, volunteering in our communities, turning off screens or social media, reading more, praying more.
So I invite you, as well, to walk into this year’s season of Lent through the doorway of Transfiguration. Spend some time on this mountaintop, experiencing the glory of God and the compassion of Jesus in this holy space, in the words that we’ve hear today, in music we sing and in prayers we say, and in the Eucharist, and then as you walk through the valley of these coming 40 days, let’s look for the Transfigurations around us. Let’s carry light with us. Let’s do the work that Transfigures the world – work that is good and healing and reconciling, and work that reminds of the sacredness of each other, the sacredness of this earth we walk in, the sacredness of shared meals and bread broken and time with family and time spent in prayer with God. Take time this Lent to walk with each other, knowing that God is among us, walking with us, working through us and loving all of us.
Amen.
