There are three times in the gospels that Jesus is declared God’s Son—at his baptism, at the Transfiguration, and at the cross. At his baptism, Jesus hears the voice of God declare that he is God’s Son, and so his ministry begins in earnest with him knowing what he is about and who is he—his destiny to fulfill, if you will. At the Transfiguration, the disciples are revealed who Jesus is and they like Jesus come to better understand who he is, what he is about, and what it means for them. And then at the cross, the centurion declares that Jesus is truly God’s son, and so it is now clear to even those who aren’t closely intimate with Jesus who he is, what he’s about, and what it means not just for his closest followers, but for all people. These are important declarations, pronouncements if you, and they’re meant for us to understand the whole depth and breadth of God’s love made real in Jesus. It knows no bounds. Keep this in mind today as we go forward and look more closely at the Transfiguration and its meaning for our own lives.
Let us pray. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.
I don’t have to tell many, or even most of you that I enjoy a good conversation. But let’s be honest for a moment. Not all conversations are created equal. Sometimes we approach conversations like we’re waiting in line at a busy deli, eager for our turn to order our cold cuts—or cheese for you warped people who find compressed curdled milk yummy. We listen with one ear, while the other is busy rehearsing our response. It’s like we’re playing a game of conversational chess, plotting our next move while our opponent speaks. We often just wait for our turn, rather than truly listening. It’s like we’re holding our breath, waiting for the perfect moment to jump in with our thoughts or stories.
But what if there’s more to a good conversation than just waiting for our chance to talk? What if conversation is less about speaking and more about listening? It would seem that might well be the case. In fact, just look at the way we’re put together. We have two ears and one mouth for a reason. It’s almost as if God’s saying he wants us to listen twice as much as we speak. Even our anatomy is telling us itself more important to listen more than we speak.
Today’s gospel presents a stark, graphic, and radiant image for us. Echoes of the ancient past resonate. Elijah, the fiery herald, and Moses, the custodian of the law, stand beside Jesus, their presence a puzzling blast from the past the present right before the very eyes of Peter, James, and John. We’re told Peter, so overcome with what’s going on before him, says, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” You have to think of him blurting this out without thinking, stunned as they all were by what they were seeing. Yet he had to say something…He couldn’t just be silent…So he says something ridiculous.
Peter’s speechlessness comes about because of the overwhelming awe and reverence inspired by the glory revealed before him. Yet Peter isn’t special. We’re all like Peter in one way or another when we’re confronted with something we can’t wrap our minds around, let alone the glory of God. How many times have you heard something so incredible, seen something so crazy that you say something stupid—or are just left attempting to speak but can’t. It seems the innate response in the face of something we simply can’t wrap our minds around is to try to make sense about it through talking about it. And so Peter’s speechlessness here in the presence of Elijah, Moses, and Jesus is nothing more that the human incapacity, our own incapacity to fully comprehend the majesty of God’s presence. It also underscores our storied history of inappropriately responding to God’s communication with us through the ages—namely, through the law and the prophets. God’s declaration from the cloud, “This is my son, the beloved; listen to him!” drives that home, and what’s more, elevates listening to Jesus, the embodiment of God’s revelation and ultimate fulfillment of the law and the prophets.
Elijah, the voice crying out in the wilderness, embodies the prophetic witness—a crystal clear call to confront injustice, embrace righteousness, and champion the cause of the marginalized. Yet, in the noise of life’s demands, have we silenced his voice? Have we turned a deaf ear to the cries of the oppressed, the marginalized, and the downtrodden? How often have we made our own pronouncements on all matters of social and moral ills? Just obey the law and you’ll won’t get in trouble. God helps those who help themselves. Get a job and stop asking for a handout.
Moses, bearer of the tablets inscribed with God’s law, embodies the essence of the good order and holiness. In the cloud of light, he’s a beacon illuminating the path of righteousness. But amidst the clamor of self-righteousness and legalism, have we distorted its sacred intent? Have we wielded the law as a weapon of condemnation rather than a catalyst for compassion? “For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one,” St. James tells us, “has become accountable for all of it.” In other words, whoever insists that righteousness, that holiness, that a good life comes from keeping God happy or not making God mad by following the Bible as a guidebook, or perhaps better put, a rulebook, forfeits all the advantages of the free life in Christ for the obligations of the slave life of the law. “For if righteousness comes through the law,” St. Paul tells us, “then Christ died for nothing.” Either you adhere to the free gift of life with God in Jesus, relying not on your own understanding and strength, or you are bound to keep the whole law—not merely the laws that you deem agreeable. I hope the legalists out there relying on the law aren’t wearing a cotton-polyester blend jerseys with the chiefs or 49ers logos emblazoned on them. Or planning to have any shrimp cocktail tonight while watching athletes run back and forth carrying a ball made out of sacrilegious pigskin.
Before the disciples, here on this mountain, in this dazzling array of light, their teacher finds himself between these two great figures from the past—men who spoke for God, in different ways, men whom the people of God had hadn’t heeded faithfully. Yet here they are, with Jesus, and the glory of God streams round about them—from Jesus himself.
In this moment, Jesus shines forth as the fulfillment of both the law and the prophets, as the embodiment of God’s redemptive love. His luminous countenance, a testament to the indescribable union of divinity and humanity, beckons us to behold the glory of God revealed in human form. And in this moment, we hear God’s voice reverberate again through the billowing clouds, piercing the veil of uncertainty with unwavering clarity: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” These words are a revelation, a mystery, a call to attentive listening, a summons to receptive hearts.
This moment is a pivotal encounter with the glory of God. In this moment, the law and the prophets are changed, they’re transfigured by God through Jesus. In this moment, the Holy Spirit descends upon this mountain and does what she always does—changes darkness to light, despair to hope, apathy to inspiration, hate to love, death to life. The Holy Spirit transfigures Jesus before Peter, James, and John when they are confronted with the glory of God, just as she transfigures each and every one of us each and every time we are confronted with the truth of God’s love for us and the significance that love has for us and for the world. When we encounter God’s truth, truly encounter it and behold it for what it is, both in our own lives and in the world around us, we behold God’s glory and are moved to cooperate with the ongoing work of the Holy Spirit, to heed the prophetic call to justice and to gladly keep the law, not out of fear but out of joy. Just as Jeremiah prophesied that God would write his law upon our hearts, the Transfiguration marks the beginning of a continuous process where the Holy Spirit inscribes God’s love and truth within us, daily conforming, daily transforming, daily transfiguring our hearts and minds and lives to the heart, mind, and life of Jesus. Instead of us building a dwelling place for Moses, Elijah, and Jesus, the Holy Spirit makes a dwelling within us, and we become active participants in ongoing Transfiguration as we yield ourselves to her guidance and leading.
We know that what Jesus has done, he did for us. Whatever is true for Jesus is true for us, for God made him to be sin who knew no sin so that we were who were estranged from God by our sinfulness might become the righteousness of god. And so the Transfiguration holds profound implications for us. It’s not just a miraculous event in the life of Jesus, but it means something for us—both the whole body of Christ and individual members within it. As the church, living out the Transfiguration means embracing the transformative power of the Holy Spirit and embodying her radiant and loving presence among ourselves, with other Christians, and in our day-to-day lives with other people. It’s said we only love God as much as we love the person we like the least.
Bearing God’s transfigurative love means we pray for those who hate us and love those who seek to do us harm. Living a life transfigured by the Holy Spirit involves fostering a culture of grace, reconciliation, and unity, where individuals are invited to encounter God’s love in, with, and through us and be transfigured themselves. The Holy Spirit calls us, as a church, beginning here at Emanuel in Fitchburg and stretching to the ends of the earth, to embody the love and unity of Christ, to transcend barriers of race, nationality, and ideology. Through worship, fellowship, and service, we become a tangible expression of God’s kingdom where everyone—regardless of sex or gender, age, education, sexual orientation, or political affiliation—is welcomed and valued as a beloved child of God, where you are embraced as a beloved child of God…
It’s easy to get lost in the collective call of the church, but the Transfiguration means something for each of us individually as well. In a world marked by egotism, polarization, and mistrust, the Transfiguration offers a counter-narrative of unity, love, and reconciliation, brought to fruition through the work of the Holy Spirit. We are reminded i our shared humanity and interconnectedness. We’re not only invited but challenged and demanded to transcend divisive rhetoric and pursue paths of understanding, compassion, and mutual respect. In this, it’s hugely, hugely, hugely critical that we don’t rely on our own understanding, but be guided by Holy Spirit’s wisdom—a wisdom that is refined in the fire of the communion of saints, as part of the church, through the body of Christ, among each and every one of you, brothers and sisters in Christ. We’re each not only invited but challenged and demanded to listen to Jesus, not only with our ears but with their hearts, and to follow him with unwavering devotion and commitment as the Holy Spirit daily empowers us. We must give up our own agenda and embrace humility, compassion, and empathy as guiding principles in our interactions with each other and everyone God’s places on our path. Remember: you’ve never looked upon someone God doesn’t love, nor have you ever seen a person God hasn’t commanded you to love.
The Transfiguration calls us, the church and individuals, to bear witness to the transfigurative glory of God, made real in our lives through the loving obedience of Jesus and the work of the Holy Spirit in our daily lives. When we, like Jesus, are transfigured by the love of God, we become lights shining in the darkness that point others toward the source of true light. As we listen to Jesus and allow his light, lit by the Holy Spirit, to guide our lives, we become channels of his grace. We proclaim the message of reconciliation and hope to all creation—a message that will gloriously transfigure everyone and everything that beholds it.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Rev'd Daniel W. Spigelmyer, Jr. 