Tell No One
Matthew 17:1-9

February 3, 2008


The Transfiguration story is often touted as literally a mountain-top experience for the human soul. Sometimes mountain-top experiences aren’t what they are cracked up to be.

There was that Saskatchewan farmer Charlie who sold his six sections of flat land and moved to western Alberta to retire. He got around well and became a familiar and friendly face in the streets of his new small town. Nevertheless, the locals were all proud of “their mountains” and knowing that the farmer had never seen anything like them before, wondered why he never commented on the mountains. His silence began to bother them, so one day one of them asked him what he thought of “their mountains.” Pretty impressive, aren’t they?

Charlie looked toward the snow-capped peaks of the mountains, the bright blue sky, and thought for a long moment. “Well, I suppose they’re all right. But they do kind of spoil the view, don’t they?” Remember Pontius Pilate’s almost absent-minded question directed to no one in particular at Jesus’ trial, “What is truth?” Pilate and a few others would probably have to ask here, “What is a view?”

For some old no longer talked about reason, this surreal story of the Transfiguration is placed right at the juncture of the end of Christmas and Epiphany and the beginning of Lent. Nothing fits chronologically, but I figure that this experience atop Mount Tabor is intended to convey a hint about how the religious life proceeds and the obstacles you and I always seem to encounter. The incident appears to be fairy-tale-ish, but it engages us in a way we cannot ignore.

People wonder two things after reading or hearing this read - what actually happened to Jesus up there and does it matter; and what was Peter’s problem, and is it still ours?

I am not afraid to admit that I read and really enjoy the Harry Potter novels. J. K. Rowling’s language and terminology is full of puns and references that I doubt few younger readers pick up on. One of the more difficult classes that Harry and Ron and Hermione must take at Hogwarts School of Wizardry is called Transfiguration. It involves learning the skills to change one thing into another, say, a teacup into a rat or a flower into a candle, or simply making a snail vanish into nothing, disappear. You know, handy stuff like that.

The Greek word here in Matthew 17 is the same one literature buffs will recognize as “metamorphosis” - actually changing one’s body into something else, like Franz Kafka’s novel of the same name about Gregor Samsa who woke up one morning to discover that he had changed into a giant beetle. Yet, despite Hogwarts and Kafka and all, the evangelists did not mean that Jesus changed into something else. Jesus was fully human and somehow beyond our comprehension also fully divine. He did not become on Mount Tabor something he wasn’t already. The only real difference is in the eyes of Peter, James and John who saw Jesus as they had not been able to see him before. It was there that they could see that Jesus was more than human. They were the ones who were changed in a manner of speaking.

Julia Ward Howe’s third verse of the Battle Hymn of the Republic has a line that sounds right for what has happened here. “In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, with a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me.” The Transfiguration is mostly about you and me.

What happened is always a little fuzzy and how else could it be? Human beings heard the excited, even babbling reports from the three disciples, and these were passed down by word of mouth for a generation or so, but how do you put into words something like this.

The three men followed Jesus up a mountain as they had a number of times before, no plans were offered, probably going up there to pray in some solitude and peace. Then light that was more than sun light enveloped them, and the light was coming from Jesus, dazzling white his clothes. With no sequence of time there were Moses and Elijah standing there, talking with Jesus. How did they even know who they were? There is no record of what they were talking to Jesus about, for the disciples couldn’t overhear the angelic conversation. Perhaps Moses and Elijah were encouraging Jesus for what was about to come, Luke says, but Matthew says nothing.

Peter wanted to erect some tents or structures for each of them, but again, in no time at all a bright cloud appeared. I haven’t seen too many bright clouds in my day, sort of an oxymoron. But this cloud wasn’t for the eyes, it was for the ears. A voice: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased. Listen to him.” Voices like that warrant hitting the ground as quickly as you can. It was the touch of Jesus and his voice that told them to get up and not to be afraid. When they did rise to their feet, they saw no one except Jesus. Going down the mountain, they did listen when Jesus spoke, “Tell no one about this vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.” So much for evangelism. Yet, come to think of it, did they really wait, did they really tell no one? How do we even know about that day?

For a moment, back up on the mountain those booths/tabernacles/dwellings/tents/memorials/chapels for Jesus, Moses and Elijah have remained a puzzle, but the cloud and the voice squelch the idea. Why did Peter think these Holy Three needed shelter? They did not need protection from the elements for they were beyond that need. It was Peter who wanted to protect and preserve the holiness, the divine presence now before him, and probably he wouldn’t have minded staying up on Mount Tabor to be a servant and soak in all that angelic conversation. Peter did not get the point that Jesus had not changed suddenly into this splendid glorious divine being; the divinity in Jesus was visible and tangible just as much in his teaching and healing and standing up for the outcastes and oppressed and the decadent sinners of society. No one should blame Peter, however, for wanting to do that, to stay in the midst of the transfiguration forever if possible; that’s as close to heaven on earth as one might get. No one should let Peter get away with it. He couldn’t, you and I can’t, anyway.

We want the church to be perfect, and in fact, we insist upon it. The church is supposed to be different, better, holier, generous and loving of all people. That’s certainly our goal and ideal except for all the people who are the church. Did you know that there could actually be a hypocrite sitting next to you; a real sinner who is oblivious to his or her real sin? Just look at ‘em sitting there! It is amazing to me how so many secular critics of Christianity, the church, and religious faith in general point to this one fact of hypocritical pew sitters as clear and unimpeachable proof that faith is bankrupt and inauthentic. I imagine those critics wear the real wings in the human household.

We’re guilty, guilty as can be. Yet, I have never known the church in any age to be perfectly loving, completely gracious and giving, unshakably driven by a spirit of justice for all people. The church is always a church of sinners who are seeking forgiveness, redemption, love and are on the journey of faith seeking understanding. I prefer living with sinners, for they are like me, my peers. If there is a church whose people believe they can live on the mountain-top in perfect love, all they have to do is wait a bit. Sin will catch up with you as time goes by.

You can’t hold on to that experience of being transfigured, of being in the presence of God, for very long, because we’re human, not divine. The best thing we can do is savour that unrepeatable moment. Christian Coon, a United Methodist minister in Deerfield, Illinois, wrote of one simple moment on the mountain. (The Christian Century, January 29, 2008, p. 20)

Reverend Coon was visiting a couple in his church who had just moved out of their home of 40 years into an apartment. Jim was suffering from Alzheimer’s, so he tried to talk about things Jim remembered. His wife mentioned that he loved his records, but she had been unable to hook up the stereo. Reverend Coon was able to fiddle around and get it all connected and she found a vinyl record and placed it on the turntable. Benny Goodman’s clarinet came out of the speakers and Jim was transformed, listening intently to the clarinet, horns and piano. Mostly he was beaming - transfigured maybe? - closing his eyes and swaying back and forth.

Reverend Coon admitted, “I wanted to build a shelter for Jim and his wife so they could permanently live in that moment, but the record ended. Jim’s foretaste (of the glory and existence of God) was enough for him on that day.”

“In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, with a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me.”

Preached by Robert Kitchen
Knox-Metropolitan United Church
Regina, Saskatchewan