Our New Testament reading is Matthew 17:1-9. Listen for
what God is telling you.
Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John
and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. 2 And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone
like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. 3 Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking
with him. 4 Then
Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one
for Elijah.” 5 While he
was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the
cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to
him!” 6 When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and
were overcome by fear. 7 But Jesus
came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” 8 And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus
himself alone.9 As they were coming down the mountain,
Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man
has been raised from the dead.”
This is the word of God
for the people of God. Thanks be to God.
Once upon a time, I climbed a mountain. It was a nice day,
not too hot or too cold. Light-sweatshirt weather. I had several water bottles
in my backpack, a good pair of worn-in shoes, and two friends going with me. We
worked together in that national park.
I’ve never
been a very fast-moving person, so I fell behind the others periodically. That
was normal for me and not distressing. I might lose sight of them for a moment,
but as I came up to a clearer spot, they would come into view again. Sometimes
I’d catch up and we’d walk and talk for a while. There wasn’t much of a path, just
a general idea of the direction of the peak.
This
mountain had a series of basically very large stairsteps. Taller than a person
in places. When we got to those, it was much harder to keep my friends in sight
because these ledges blocked my view. But eventually I would spot them. Until I
didn’t. One stair-step too far between us, or maybe one too many water breaks
on my part, and I didn’t know where they were. Which meant I didn’t know where
I was, in a way. I had been following them, if somewhat windingly, and when
you’re not following someone things can change pretty quickly from a fun little
hike to a disorienting and potentially upsetting experience. I tried to figure
out how far up I was, which is really hard when you’re on the mountain. I
picked up my pace hoping to catch up, but with increasingly uneven terrain I
knew there were too many rocks and rises blocking my view. I decided to go on—I
knew which way was up, after all, and I didn’t know of any clear and present
dangers on that mountain. I might never have the chance to get to the peak
again. So, periodically yelling for my friends and to keep bears away, I went
slowly up and up. The soil was gravelly and loose, so I slipped a few times.
Once I grabbed a small tree to pull myself up and it moved with me! The closer
I got to the top, the less willing I was to turn around.
I got there
eventually. I took some pictures, I think. Drank some water. Rested for a bit
before heading back down. It was pretty cool, I could see a lot, a couple
smaller rises and trails I had been on before, the hotel where I worked and the
building I lived in, the one road out of the park. But, as interesting and
different as it was, I never would have wanted to stay. The mountaintop is a
lonely place; there’s not much to do except look around.
In the time and place where the
Bible was written, mountains were considered a literal bridge between heaven
and earth, which meant a way to get direct access to the gods. People went
there for mystical experiences and rites of passage. You’ve probably heard of
Mount Olympus, where all the Greek gods like Zeus and Hera lived. If they came
down, it was atypical and noteworthy. Divine folks did not deign to mix with
the lowly mortals unless there was a reason.
So it makes
some sense that mountaintops figure prominently in our two stories today, with
Moses and Jesus. That was how the readers’ worldview thought of divine
encounters. But in both cases, something is so different from Zeus and Hera and
their friends and foes. Namely, God is saying in both cases, “I don’t want to
stay here. This mountaintop is a lonely place. There’s not much to do except
look around.” God is saying, “I would rather be with people. This mountain is
not for me.”
In the
Moses story, God has been communicating with the people of Israel mostly through
him, through Moses. But now God writes down the ten commandments, which begins
the process of, in a sense, cutting out the middle-man. With this law, God’s
people can begin to handle their own relationship with God. It’s still in a
somewhat limited sense, but later God will put the law in their hearts, and
then God will send Jesus, and then…well, then Jesus will go up on another
mountain.
Peter,
John, and James are with him. They’re not prepared at all for what happens up
there. No one would be, really. So when Peter makes a somewhat bizarre
statement, surely part of it is just the awkwardness of not knowing what to
say. “It is good for us to be here! We should set up some sort of structure!” Maybe
he also wanted something to do with his hands. At any rate, Moses and Elijah
had appeared, Jesus was all lit up, so they were already pretty flustered when
something even more crazy happened—a voice from heaven! “This is my son, the
beloved, with whom I am well pleased. Listen to him.” It makes you want to pay
extra attention to the next thing Jesus says, doesn’t it? So what are his next
words? “Get up, and do not be afraid.” He says this while touching Peter’s
shoulder. So this God, this mountaintop God who likes to dress up as a cloud or
fire or blinding light, who speaks from heaven and makes people quake with
fear—this same God is the one who touches us with a human hand and reminds us
we don’t have to be afraid. It’s the same God who dwells with us, who is always
moving to guide us. Even in cloud form in Exodus, God didn’t stay on the
mountain.
So if this
flashy mountaintop God is not the center or the extent of who God is, why do
it? Why put on the show? Maybe God just thinks it’s fun to freak us out
sometimes. But probably it’s something more than that. I think God gives us
dazzling moments where God’s presence is obvious in order to sustain us through
the times we can’t be sure. This is going on in both stories. In Exodus,
several chapters before and after this scene are the type that some people skip
over. I don’t know who those people might be, but I hear it happens sometimes.
Before Moses goes up the mountain, it’s legal minutiae about how the community
should be run, how the people of God should live and work together. Afterward,
it’s detailed building instructions for the temple! So detailed! Down to the
type of wood to use and the measurements of the curtains. And in between, in
the middle of all that mundane material, we have this transfigurative
experience. Isn’t that how it goes? Doesn’t God usually catch us off guard when
we think life is just utterly normal? It’s less about topography and more about
divine moments amid the mundane ones.
And, in Matthew, the worse than
mundane. Immediately before this scene, Jesus asked what people were saying about
him, which led to Peter’s confession that he is the Messiah, which led to Jesus
telling them that he was going to suffer and die. Maybe they went on the hike
just to be distracted and to get away from the other guys’ gloomy reactions.
Anything to get their minds off such terrible news. That’s not what you want to
hear about your leader or anyone you love. It doesn’t make sense! And after the
transfiguration, right on the way back down the mountain, they encounter a man
and his son, who is possessed by demons. The father says, “He often falls into
the fire and often into the water.” So this boy is burned, maybe even
disfigured. Worse than mundane. Not long after that, the momentum starts to build
more quickly for Jesus’ crucifixion. There’s no turning back and no denying
that he meant it and knew what he was talking about when he said he would
“undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and
scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.” And in between, in the
middle of all that anxious, fearful, sad, unsettling material that doesn’t make
sense, we have this transfigurative experience. Isn’t that how it goes? Doesn’t
God usually find us when we need God most? Not always, from our perspective.
Sometimes we just don’t feel God’s presence even when that’s what we most want.
But sometimes, these mountaintop moments happen in the lowlands, the wadis, at
sea level, in the Marianas Trench, the deepest part of the ocean. It’s not
about topography. It’s about God being utterly obvious—flashy, loud,
unmistakable—at times we don’t choose or understand. Times when God is
preparing us for endurance through mundane boring ol’ life. Or when we have
just gotten bad news, like the apostles, and are about to see it unfold while
we can do nothing. God knows when we really need a transfiguration.
Regardless of where those needs
align in our lives, liturgically, we’re in the situation of Peter, James, and
John. The season of Lent starts on Wednesday. We’re standing on a great big
peak, looking down on the time that we set aside to remember the really
terrible, hurtful things about Jesus’ death. Things that almost everyone
struggles to accept, understand, or even believe. We’re supposed to leave this
high place and go down there. Here is the good news on this particular day,
which may be the best news of all. God has already left the mountain. Oh, God
is with us up here, most certainly, but God also knows the depths of every
valley. God lives there, in the lowlands, where the light does not touch. God
went first, so it is safe for us. When we look out at everything Lent means for
us and crumple to the rocky ground, God reaches out to us with human hands and
says, “Get up. Don’t be afraid.”
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