The Gospel for this last Sunday of the season of Epiphany is always the same: Jesus transfigured in glory, flanked by Moses and Elijah — the embodiments of the Law and the Prophets. All the accounts of the Transfiguration recall that Jesus was speaking with these representatives of the Old Testament.
But only Luke recounts for us the content of their sacred conversation: Jesus’ departure — literally, his “exodus.” But this lofty conversation and transfigured glory proves to be too much for the all-too human disciples who are struggling with sleep — mixed in, I’m sure, with more than a little terror.
So Peter speaks for all us mere mortals who are overwhelmed by divinity when he manages to blurt out, “Master, it is good for us to be here.”
In the last week or so I’ve been thinking about transformation and Transfiguration, and what might be the difference between the two. Here are some examples.
Some of our children and grandchildren have played with toys called Transformers, where a simple twist changes the shape of the toy into something different. And we employ electrical transformers all the time to increase or lower voltages. These simple changes fail to rise to the status of a real Transfiguration.
Caterpillars are transformed into butterflies; so is that a Transfiguration? The insect doesn’t think so, but if people witnessing that marvel want to call it a Transfiguration, I would not want to tell them that they are wrong.
I think it’s the human element that can make or embody a Transfiguration. Consider the first reading from last Sunday, the conclusion of the Joseph story. His brothers had sold him into slavery, but Joseph now is viceroy to Pharaoh.
That was at least a transformation. Joseph goes on to invoke Divine Providence: “God sent me ahead of you to ensure that you will have descendants on earth, and to preserve you all, a great band of survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God.” From the point of view of Joseph’s brothers, their experience is transfigured.
I’m considering what it’s like for us, Jesus’ disciples, to be Transfigured. You might be recalling events in your lives, times of setbacks and failure, which over time became the pathways to new and fuller life. When you recall those painful episodes in God’s light, they are truly Transfigured.
Our Hymnal includes two settings of the hymn “How firm a foundation.” Many of us have sung the third verse so much we can follow it by heart: When through the deep waters I call thee to go the rivers of woe shall not thee overflow. for I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
Let’s take a closer look at what Peter says in the middle of the Transfiguration. First, he blurts out in wonder: “Master, it is good for us to be here.” So far, so good. When you and I sense a strong spiritual presence, we know it’s good.
But then Peter rambles on. “Let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” The evangelist then inserts a shrewd editorial comment: “not knowing what he said,” as if he had to give us the quote, but we ought to know what Peter is like by now.
We’re like Peter when we want to freeze-dry some powerful spiritual moment and thaw it out to help us when we feel our souls are dry and lifeless. This is our tendency — to make monuments out of fluid states of inner bliss. It can be hard to let go of the joy and ecstasy — we want to cling to them. But only when we let them go can we free up our spirits for more spiritual consolation.
The English poet William Blake wrote a short verse about this:
He who binds to himself a joy
Does the wingéd Life destroy.
He who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sunrise.
As it happens, over the centuries the institutional church has not resisted the temptation to follow the second part of Peter’s little speech, and memorialize the fleeting moment of Transfiguration by building a church on Mt. Tabor. I hope that pilgrims who kneel in that Franciscan church do find consolation — but they’re not going to find Moses and Elijah flanking Jesus the Christ.
As we prepare for the solemn joy of Lent that begins in three days, I pray that we resolve to renew our hearts to receive whatever our loving God gives to us in our spirits — whether it challenges our faith or consoles our spirit. And let’s not forget William Blake’s succinct guidance.
