The Transfiguration of our Lord

February 6, 2005

Matthew 17:1-9

Pastor Harold Nilsson

It is hard to believe.  Perhaps that is not true for you.  But if we are at all typical of the usual group that gathers in church on a Sunday morning, many of us would confess that faith has not always come easy.  We wonder what we believe, or are troubled by some phrases of the creed, or aren’t sure what to make of all the stories in the Bible.  We keep our deepest doubts to ourselves, and keep on coming back to this place and its people, because there is something about Jesus and the Jesus community that we’re not ready to give up. 

Like Moses gazing at the promised land afar from atop Mt. Nebo, we see something attractive and inviting off there in the distance, although we can’t quite make out the details.  And try as we will, we can’t seem to get any closer.  We’d love to have an untroubled faith, and admire, even envy those who do.  But that’s not our gift, or temperament, or lot, or whatever.  Our faith journey has as many dips in it as a sine wave.

I’ve often wondered if Peter, James and John were the strong ones, or if they had more trouble than the other nine believing in Jesus.  Maybe the nine had taken a day off to go fishing and simply weren’t around when it came time to go up the mountain.  Perhaps Jesus wanted extra time with the management team in order that they might exercise more effective leadership with the rest of the team upon their return.  Perhaps Jesus knew that despite their long conversations, despite their presence at several healings, despite their prayers together, despite the bond they’d formed by facing together the opposition of the Pharisees, Peter, James and John were having trouble believing.  That their faith was weak and thus the future of the movement was vulnerable. 

Whatever the reason, Jesus invited Peter, James and John to climb the mountain with him. On the mountain they saw Jesus in a way that words could barely begin to describe.  And although they clearly heard the words from a cloud, the message contained in the words drove them cowering to the ground.  It is a scary thing to hear a voice and know that it is the voice of God.

Whatever else it was, the Transfiguration was a sign to Peter, James and John that trust placed in Jesus is a well-placed trust.  Strong or weak in faith before their mountain climb, their faith was bolstered that day.  They caught a glimpse of the true identity of this one who had invited them on a journey.  And even if later they wavered, the mountain top day would forever remain in their memories.  Sometimes a bare glimpse of the character of God is enough to get one through another day.

Peter, James and John had a first hand glimpse.  Some of you are privileged to have those first-hand, convincing religious experiences that sustain for months or even a lifetime.  You’ve beheld the view from within, and it carries you beyond all doubt, beyond all fear.  You have yet to encounter any argument, any experience, to cause you to hesitate or detour from the path that you’re walking.  Thanks be to God for those of you in our midst who have had first hand glimpses of glory.  We need you.

Nine of the twelve were elsewhere that day.  They did not see the transformed Jesus nor hear the voice from the cloud.  Yet I find it hard to imagine that they were any less in need of having their trust bolstered.  They too must have wondered by now where this journey would take them, what perils they would face.  In the absence of the first hand glimpse, what did they have to go on?  The story.  The three may or may not have obeyed Jesus’ order not to tell the story until later, but eventually it got out, and became part of the collective memory of the nine and all the rest of us ever since. 

“This is my Son, the Beloved.”  The voice heard on the mountain has been enshrined in the story of the Transfiguration so that we might be carried through those days when we are tempted to lay aside the whole faith enterprise.  We tell the stories because the Spirit creates and renews faith still through them.  We teach our children the stories of Jesus, and Abraham, Moses, David, Jeremiah, and Paul not because we think they should be versed in the great sagas of human history, although we surely do want that for them.  We teach them the  stories because we believe as a community of faith that faith can be birthed and grown in them too.  Stories from the ancient community of meeting God face to face sustain today’s community and its members.

Let me give you an example.  Almost four years ago Shirley and I were touring with others in an area not terribly far from either of the traditional sites of the Mount of Transfiguration, when she suffered a mild stroke.  She was rushed to the Israeli government hospital overlooking the Sea of Galilee on the bluffs above Tiberias.  When it became apparent that she would be hospitalized for several days, our tour group moved on, and I remained at a kibbutz on the south shore of the lake.  Despite the excellent medical care she received and the support we both were given, we were anxious and lonely.  One evening after supper at the kibbutz I walked down to the beach.  The lights of Tiberias were coming on, and I could barely see the white Greek Orthodox Church that marks the site of Capernaum on the north end of the sea.  A fisherman put out from shore in a small boat, and threw a net in the water.  And the story came back.  The story of the disciples out on that very lake when a storm came up, while Jesus remained asleep in the stern.  They woke Jesus.  He rebuked the storm and said, “Peace!  Be still!”  Remembering that Jesus story that I had learned long ago in the Jesus community stilled the storm in my heart that evening.

We tell the stories because through them the Spirit creates and bolsters faith.  The Transfiguration happened for the three, and the nine, and the countless Jesus people ever since. 

But I also wonder: Is it possible that the Transfiguration happened for Jesus’ benefit?  Did he need his faith bolstered?  Was it he, before any others, who needed to hear, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased?”   

Is this unsettling?  A Jesus who needs help with his faith?  Christmas is not that far past, when we sang and spoke once again the Bible’s story that God has come among us as a human being, full of grace and truth.  Jesus was years past childhood at the time of the Transfiguration, but perhaps he still had that child-like need, as we all do, to hear that he was loved and needed.  In its struggle to understand Jesus the early church finally came to the conclusion that Jesus is fully human, and preserved that belief in creeds that we still repeat.  A fully human Jesus is attractive if he understands all that we go through.  Does he fully understand, though, if he doesn’t (or didn’t) struggle with faith?

Unless his psyche was untouched by the arguments with Pharisees, unless the beads of sweat on his brow were applied by a make-up artist, unless his agonized cry from the cross was theater, faith was not a slam dunk for Jesus. 

I find a Jesus who had to wrestle for clarity and trust an attractive Jesus.  He becomes all the more compelling as the source of grace and truth.  He is worth listening to and following.  If God helped him through the difficult moments on his way to Jerusalem and the cross, maybe God will help us make it.  We too can get up off the ground and set aside our fears.