Summary: When we worship, we look and listen to Jesus, who transcends time to embody the Law and the Prophets with a word of consolation.
A neighbor invited a woman to visit her neighbor's church. On the outside, the church building looked humble and drab. The white paint on the clapboard exterior was peeling, probably a reflection on the average age of the congregation and their modest resources. When she stepped inside that Russian Orthodox sanctuary, however, she was stunned. The icons were breathtaking, with images almost leaping off the walls. One icon portrayed our scripture text, of Jesus transfigured and speaking with Moses and Elijah. She saw gold everywhere, with scores of devotional candles. When her friend switched on the lights, the sanctuary began to sparkle and shine.
The woman said, "Before I stepped into that place, I had no clue what I was about to see. It was like stepping into a dream while staying wide awake."
Is there any better way to understand the story of the Transfiguration?
Was it a dream? The Gospel accounts are elusive. At the end of Matthew's version of the story, Jesus calls it a vision. The moment was profoundly visual. Peter, James and John saw something spectacular. Their eyes were flooded with light. Jesus was shining. Their friend was obviously more than they expected. The vision could not be captured in words, only described.
Moses and Elijah appeared. If they had been mysteriously hidden, now they were visible. And not only seen but identified, even though it had been hundreds of years since they had lived on earth. For the moment, time collapsed. The two men from Israel's history who had been transported into God's eternity1 were now present on that mountain, at that moment, with Jesus.
In one of her books, Madeleine L'Engle describes the moment:
Suddenly they saw him the way he was,
the way he really was all the time,
although they had never seen it before,
the glory which blinds the everyday eye and so becomes invisible.
This is how he was, radiant, brilliant, carrying joy
like a flaming sun in his hands.
This is the way he was - is - from the beginning,
and we cannot bear it.
So he manned himself, came manifest to us;
and there on the mountain they saw him,
really saw him, saw his light.2
Then the heavy cloud -- a cloud filled with light -- rolled in to cover all of them. It arrived suddenly and mysteriously, without warning. The energy within that cloud suggested it was full of God's holy presence. Just like the ancient cloud that Moses entered on another mountain to commune with God and be instructed.3 It was overwhelming, consuming, beyond rational thought or control. Peter, James and John could not comprehend what they were seeing. Who could?
Peter, at least, tried to manage the moment as any mere mortal might. He suggested building three temporary tents for worship, although there's no evidence he had brought the materials to do so. As another version of the story declares, he had no clue what he was saying.4
To be fair, who would? It's like the tourist who visits a magnificent cathedral and then buys a stack of postcards from the gift shop. He has no intention of mailing them nor corresponding with anybody. He simply wants to affirm that he was there. In that place, in that moment.
Yet this dreamlike moment was not only seen; it was heard. From within the cloud, there was a deep resonance that formed into words they could understand. Matthew wants us to hear the same voice that called all things into being. He invites us to hear the voice that thundered when Jesus was baptized and the sky was ripped open. The words were identical: "This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased."5 At the Jordan River, that message was given to Jesus alone. Now it was disclosed to Peter, James and John, as well as to us in the church that came later.
As with the lady who entered her friend's modest-looking Orthodox church, what they expected turned out to be something far more. Their friend, the carpenter from Nazareth, was a holy man. The presence of Moses, the recipient of God's Law, conveyed that Jesus was aligned with that Law. The presence of Elijah, the most powerful of God's prophets, conveyed that Jesus was aligned with the prophets. But even more, God's spoken words confirmed that was particularly identified as God's Son. All of us are God's children, of course, but Jesus is at the head of the line. He is first. It's his line. And God says, "Listen to him."
Matthew understands Jesus as a teacher. In the first gospel, Jesus teaches five extended lessons,6 analogous to the five books of Moses in the Torah. When he speaks, nobody has anything to add. Like Moses, Jesus repeatedly climbs a mountain as a place of divine revelation. The divine command to listen to him is an affirmation of his exclusive authority. It is reinforced when Matthew tells us, "When they raised their eyes, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone."7 There is nobody else to see, no other voice to hear.
In 1934, as the dark forces of Nazism rolled across Europe, a group of clear-minded and courageous Christians huddled to affirm the truth that the Nazis did not want to hear: "Jesus Christ, as he is attested for us in Holy Scripture, is the one Word of God which we have to hear and which we have to trust and obey in life and in death."8 There is nobody greater than the Christ. There can be no capitulation to an inferior authority. There is no one else to whom we must make an account or find the fullness of life. Life is found only in Jesus Christ alone. This is what we hear on the mountain of Transfiguration. It confirms what we saw.
This is one of the big stories of scripture. The Transfiguration is an expansive moment, a mysterious revelation and an astounding vision. It cannot be reduced to a simple lesson, any more than Peter might have captured it by constructing three tents. The event calls us to worship a God who is greater than our understanding. We praise the Lord even when our comprehension is incomplete and our tendency is to make enormous events into something far smaller. On a day like this, the church can sing "Holy, Holy, Holy" and lean back in awe.
And yet, as the vision dissipates, Matthew gives us a crucial detail that brings the story close to us all. As the heavenly cloud began to lift, Jesus approached Peter, James, and John and touched them. The Greek word for touch suggests a rousing, a nudging, as if they were tempted to remain in a dream. Why touch them? Was it a shaking awake? A blessing? An expression of comfort? Perhaps all the above. The Christ was not a ghost nor apparition. He reached out with physical touch.
To clarify his intent, Jesus offered the affirmation that recurs in the Gospel stories: don't be afraid. He said it to the disciples in the fishing boat as he walked toward them on the water.9 The Risen Christ will say it again to the women who visited his tomb on Easter morning.10 He will say it to anybody tempted to think they have no value and do not count.11 Don't be afraid. This invitation is the heart of the Gospel of God.
There is much that we could fear: moments we can't explain, sights greater than we can manage, voices that demand more from us than we wish. At the end of the account, Jesus speaks of his death and his resurrection. What? How could someone so great be allowed to die? And how would he be raised back to life? These are profound mysteries, even greater than the provisional answers that we try to provide.
Yet he is pointing to the greater truth: in the God of glory, there is more. There is always more:
In Christ, there is always something more. So, he says to us, "Don't be afraid." And then, he comes close and puts his hand on our shoulders. It almost seems like a dream, but it is real. Oh yes, it's very real. We can live in the light of his glory without fear. That is why we worship Jesus our Lord.