Glory
Exodus 24:12-18; Matthew 17:1-9
March 6, 2011
People of the Book often have trouble with words. Here we are again at the end of Epiphany, on the cusp of Lent, and we have to do the Transfiguration. It’s the word that puzzles us, for we don’t quite get the drift of what is happening. It’s a common problem.
I hesitate doing this very often, but there is a good clue in the Greek translation found in our Gospel. The verb used for ‘transfiguration’ is exactly the same word we know as metamorphosis, a word known to us more ominously in the novella of Czech writer Franz Kafka, entitled The Metamorphosis. A traveling salesman, Gregor Samsa, awakens one morning to find himself transformed into a giant horrendous-looking insect. He has been changed from one thing into something completely different, a terrifying experience. This story, published in 1915, is perhaps the first literary parable of the depersonalization of the modern world.
In the Harry Potter novels, students at Hogwarts School of Wizardry have regular classes in “Transfiguration,” in which they learn to change flowers into candles or teacups into rats, useful stuff.
However, my favourite instance is the French play Rhinoceros by Romanian writer Eugène Ionesco in which the principal character awakens to find rhinoceroi galloping down the street. Pretty soon more and more rhinoceroses appear, these being those people who have given in to Nazi brainwashing. At the end, our hero relents to the pressure, sprouts a horn and rumbles off.
That really is not what happens on Mount Tabor at the end of Epiphany, but there are probably more than a few Sunday School alumni and adults who think that Jesus was transfigured into a candle or a beetle or a rhinoceros. Jesus did not change into something or someone else. The disciples who went up with him on to the mountain were dazzled and blinded by the light, but were able to see in that moment who Jesus fully is. He didn’t become something different; instead he became more of what he had always been.
While the first part of this episode receives all the technicolour special effects with guest appearances from two Hall of Famers, Moses and Elijah, it’s how the disciples react to what has happened that is the real centre of the story. Nevertheless, notice how Jesus and friends appear to behave in their dreamy divinity – they just stand around and talk, about God knows what, but they simply talk, ‘visiting’ to use a Canadian expression. There is nothing particularly divine in their actions, except that they were there, although how the disciples knew that it was Moses and Elijah has never been addressed. Must have been those name tags.
Peter, James and John were the fellows Jesus asked to accompany him, and Peter, the first among disciples, was the first to say something. “Aren’t you glad we are here,” Peter manages to say. “Hey, what about us building three booths or chapels or memorials, whatever you want, so you can all stay up here and keep visiting. Naturally, we will be quiet and listen in on all the good stuff you’re talking about; it’s fascinating material.”
Peter could not even finish this rambling, babbling “got to say something” before an even brighter cloud than Jesus’ clothes came along and overshadowed them – light casting a shadow is a different way to say it. A voice emerges out of the cloud, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased. Listen to him.” Matthew reported a similar voice delivering the same message at the moment the Spirit of God was descending like a dove on Jesus after his baptism. A good voice always gets attention.
The three disciples are terrified and hit the ground, filled with awe – which means they had no idea what was going on, except that it probably wasn’t good for them. Jesus came by and touched them, a most human act that gods can seldom approximate. Don’t be afraid, get up and let’s go. And when they opened their eyes at his reassuring voice, all they saw was the normal human Jesus.
Coming down from the mountain top, the chastened trio must have been wondering about their mental health until Jesus whispered, “Don’t tell anyone about this until the Son of Man is raised from the dead.” That could not have made any sense to them at the time, because who was this Son of Man and no one is raised from the dead anyway. Yet he was saying in this secretive way was that something is happening here and what it is ain’t exactly clear, and you are not going crazy, but none of this is going to make sense until it is finally over. So don’t keep babbling about this to your friends,.
If this makes complete sense to you, then you haven’t really understood it. These fellows had been following and listening to Jesus for a good while now, but in many ways they simply saw him as a really smart guy, someone who could change the political nature of the world, probably overthrow the Roman Empire – it’s being done all the time now in the Middle East. On Mount Tabor they did not see him changed, like one of those hideous aliens masquerading as a human being, but they saw him as more than they had ever seen him, so much more that they could not take it in. A glimpse of divinity is what we all say we want to experience, but being human we can’t take too much of it. The real problem is that most of the time we witness the presence of God, but we don’t see it.
Then when we do see it, we want to freeze-frame, somehow preserve for our contemplation that unique glimpse. It is so wonderful that we do not want to leave, although the more we stay the more the holiness of the moment dribbles away and hardens. Like some of the old gospel songs, we want to stay in Glory-Land; yet almost in an instant what we think is glory is no longer glorious and we end up worshiping a dried-out facsimile of the real thing - something to do with victory and glamour, notoriety and fame, but little to do with a life that serves others in need.
Jesus isn’t interested in waiting around for sweet glory, for there’s too much else to do. Let’s go, tapping his disciples on the shoulders, it’s time to go back down to the world where the Gospel needs to be lived out. Glory in the Bible for the most part is not winning an Olympic Gold Medal, but being defeated in the eyes of the world. Glory doesn’t shine so much as it bleeds.
The story of the Transfiguration belongs in the season of Epiphany, because epiphany refers to an appearance, typically, of God. So after Christmas and the Magi we reach the highest point of the knowledge and presence of God. We just can’t stay there. As human beings we will inevitably distort God’s stuff if we try to define it too precisely, and that is a lot of what we see in religious efforts today. Now with Jesus we come down from the mountain-top experience to deal with the harsh realities of Lenten existence, where nothing comes easy and there are injustices and tragedies galore. True glory, the mountain top experience of Christianity, comes at the end of Lent, the resurrection on Easter morning that only makes sense with the crucifixion.
The Biblical story is always about God, but it is also about you and I how try to live like God. If you and I are transfigured today, what have we become? We are the Body of Christ collectively as the church in this local place; into what shape are we transfigured? It’s not that we are changing, as much as we are becoming what as the Body of Christ we are at our best. The fourth verse of that great, but much maligned hymn by Julia Ward Howe, “Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory of the Coming of the Lord,” brings all our recent images together. “In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me….” Jesus’ glory transfigures you and me. What are we going to become? Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! His truth is marching on – down the hill to this conflicted world dying to hear some Good News.
Preached by Robert Kitchen
Knox-Metropolitan United Church
Regina, Saskatchewan