It was a long journey up that mountain. The disciples, Peter, James, and John, were already worn out before the journey had even begun. Not long before Jesus had given them the authority to heal and sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God. And out they had gone, away from their teacher for the first time, putting into practice the things he had taught them. They’d come back amazed at the power with which he’d filled them and testifying that he truly was the Messiah of God. He had spoken harshly to them following that proclamation, declaring “those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.” They had been confused by his words, but none could contest the wonder they had seen as his followers and now in themselves, filled with his own authority. So when he got them up that morning, eight days after those strange words were spoken, they followed silently, though their eyes were heavy and their pace slow with exhaustion.
Step after long step they traveled up the mountain, away from the crowds, the rest of the twelve, the familiarity of the path they’d been on. When they reached the peak of the mountain, Jesus drew away from them to pray. And Peter, James, and John sat nearby, fighting sleep and watching their teacher in prayer.
Until all at once the thing they did not know they were waiting for took place. For suddenly, right in front of them, the appearance of his face changed and his clothes became dazzling white. And with him were two other men. And though Peter, James, and John had never seen them before, they recognized them instantly. They were Moses and Elijah, the great heroes of the stories of old. Moses who led God’s people from slavery to freedom and Elijah, the great prophet, the one whom all the stories proclaimed would announce the coming Messiah. Here they were, standing and conversing with the one whom the disciples themselves had just proclaimed as Messiah. What an declarative affirmation of the truth of their beliefs.
Peter, always the first to speak, could not contain his enthusiasm any longer. “Master, it is good for us to be here! Let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah!” But just as Peter was speaking, suddenly a cloud overshadowed them. And the same lifelong study of Torah that revealed to them the identities of the two strangers filled them with terror at the appearance of the cloud. For clouds in the Old Testament are always proof of the power and the presence of God.
And confirming their fears, from the midst of the cloud came a voice. A voice that boomed over the horizons and whispered in the wind. A voice that was felt as much as it was heard. A voice that declared, just as it had several months, several miles, a seeming lifetime away, on the valley floor of the Jordan River, as Jesus had come dripping from the waters of baptism and knelt by the water to pray, “this is my Son, my Chosen. Listen to him!”
It is, certainly, an amazing story. A story to be awed at, amazed by, wondered in. Jesus, the Messiah, resplendent in white, flanked by the heroes of old, claimed and identified by a voice from a cloud as the Son of the Most High God. A story to be awed by, but not a story that changes us. Transfiguration is powerful, but as the disciples will soon display, it is not what transforms us. Transformation instead happens in the beautifully mundane corners of our lives.
After the cloud departed, Moses and Elijah disappeared, and Jesus’ face and clothes returned to normal, Jesus and the disciples too returned to normal. They headed back down the mountain, back to where the crowds were waiting, back to their normal lives, and none of them spoke to anyone about what they had seen.
As they stood once again in an ordinary town, among an ordinary crowd, they were suddenly approached by an ordinary man with a too-familiar story. The man had a son, his only child, and the child was possessed by a demon. Suddenly the demon would seize up on the child, causing the boy to shriek, convulse, and foam at the mouth. “I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.”
And Jesus, just down the mountain from the moment of his transfiguration, his feet still dusty from the path, his clothing still damp from the mist of the cloud that had enfolded them, his body still weary from the journey, his eyes still bright from the encounter, rebuked the unclean spirit with a word, healed the boy, and handed him back to his father. With that action, Jesus demonstrated that his work was not done, and his actions set his face toward Jerusalem.
It is easy to get caught up in the wonder of the transfiguration. To marvel like Peter, James, and John did at the glorious display of heroes and saints, clouds and fanfare, dazzling displays and magical transformations. It is so easy to get caught up in the splendor of it all, to think that such splendor is what God has in store for us, and to gasp, like Peter did, let us build tents and stay here. Transfigurations do not always take this form, but you can certainly imagine your own transfiguration experiences. A worship service that moved you, a retreat that spoke to your soul, a beautiful piece of music, a powerful sermon, a transforming prayer. A place of peace where you knew beyond knowledge that God was with you. Those moments, as Peter, James, and John discovered, are beautiful but they are fleeting. Because for every mountain top experience, there is on the other side of it a valley. A valley with another town, another crowd, another person longing to be healed.
We live in a culture that glorifies the mountaintops. That promises us that if we are good enough, strong enough, smart enough, faithful enough, that we can have a life that is nothing but mountaintops. That mountaintop experiences are what God wants for us. But this story, or series of stories, promises us a different truth. A truth that is not glorious, but it is powerfully, gracefully, and confidently real. This series of stories assures us that while God may be revealed to us on mountaintops, it is in the valleys that God heals. We do not have to go to mountaintops to see God’s presence, for it is in fact in the dark, deep, achingly familiar parts of life that we experience transformational healing. Peter, James, and John were awed on the mountaintop. But it was in the valley a young boy was brought back to himself, a father’s broken heart was mended, and the disciples learned a power that was greater than themselves. Jesus brought them up the mountain top for clarity, so that their hearts would ring with the declaration of Jesus as God’s son, the chosen, and in the valleys they would be transformed.
So marvel on the mountaintops, brothers and sisters. Stand in awe of God’s glory, revel in God’s majesty. But do not be afraid of the valleys. For it is in the valleys that God’s healing is revealed. Amen.
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