The Rev. Joseph Farnes
All Saints, Boise
March 2, 2025
Last Sunday after the Epiphany, Year C
As we turn toward Lent, we are always brought to the mountaintop for the story of the Transfiguration. Jesus and a select few of the disciples go up the mountain. The disciples are struggling to keep their eyes open, but they witness Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah, and the whole scene takes on an otherworldly tone. Jesus’ clothes, dazzling white, as if they were made with light itself – and Peter in the earnestness that only he is capable of, says, “Hey Jesus, let’s make three dwelling places, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah!” Luke’s Gospel even adds that Peter did not know what he said. Speak first, think second… if at all. Peter, truly, is the apostle that most reflects the modern day.
And then the cloud appears and descends, a heavenly voice declares that Jesus is the Beloved… listen to him! Peter and James and John are shaken and suddenly the whole scene has disappeared. It’s back to “normal”. It’s Jesus – regular robes. It’s them atop a mountain – no Moses, no Elijah, no cloud.
They say nothing as they descend. They say nothing to the others. They say nothing.
At the foot of the mountain, the everyday life surges up like a wave, and washes away the mountaintop experience, it seems. A crowd gathers around Jesus. A boy needs healing; a spirit has taken hold of him, and the disciples who had not gone up on the mountain with Jesus could do nothing. An exasperated Jesus wonders how much longer he’ll have to do what the disciples cannot. One can scarcely imagine what Jesus would say about modern day disciples who can do what is right, but refuse to.
The Transfiguration is both a mystical experience – a glimpse of divine glory – and also a challenge, a decision-making-moment. The Transfiguration brings us face-to-face with the divine, and then it challenges us to decide; what will we do now, now that we have seen behind the veil and seen the God of glory?
We might want to see behind the veil – but seeing behind the veil, seeing God means that we see the world differently – and we ourselves are changed. We see behind the veil and we see that what we proclaim in our faith – that God is Love, that God is justice, that God is grace and holiness and life and light – and we are shaken to our core.
We are little bitty humans, and God is God. God, who created the vast expanses of the heavens and the structures and laws and principles that guide physics, chemistry, biology. God who sustains all of it, holding all of it in love. God who has watched billions of years of geological development unfold – the Appalachian Mountains that are older than trees, the forward march and the retreat of glaciers – and then this same God watches over our daily lives with infinite loving care.
We are suddenly aware that our small little world is one drop submerged in an unknowable ocean – and closer to us than we are to ourselves is the One who made and sustains all of it. And what will we do, once the veil has been set aside and we catch even a momentary glimpse of such glory?
In the reading from Exodus, Moses comes down from the mountain, and his face is changed. Something – something has changed about him. His face shines, changed by the divine presence. And the crowds are afraid. Who is this, what is this? Even Aaron, the priest, the one who should understand the holy, draws back. Moses calls them and they timidly step forward – and from that day onward, Moses puts on a veil when talking with them, hiding from them a second-hand glimpse of the holy.
And St Paul points out how we keep putting the veil onto the holy. We don’t want to see the whole thing. We don’t want to see the fullness of God’s glory. We want boundaries. We want to know enough – but not enough to be changed. We saw how Moses was changed, and we refuse it. Even as Jesus Christ draws us deeper into God, we resist. The veil is completely set aside in Christ – the one who is fully human, fully God – and yet we still resist.
We want to see the holy, but get to keep what we already want to believe.
We want to see the holy, but keep doing what we already do.
We want to see the holy, but keep judging others and judging ourselves.
We want to see the holy, but keep clinging to paralyzing fear and to keep rejecting the gift of courage.
We want to see the holy, and we see it in Jesus Christ.
We want to see the holy, so we must follow Jesus Christ.
We walk the way of Lent not to be self-hating and sad. We walk the way of Lent to follow Jesus to the cross. We follow during his deepest pain – we who did not get to spend hours and hours talking to him face to face like his disciples who did not understand and who fled from him in his hour of need.
We walk the way of Lent because we’ve seen the glory of Jesus Christ on the mountain, and we want to see the glory of Jesus Christ on the cross as he pours out his love through his blood and life – a love greater than the endless ocean of creation.
We walk the way of Lent to be transformed, transfigured ourselves. To be like Moses talking face-to-face with God, and never put on a veil again. To learn how to sit with God in such glory and abide in love.
We walk the way of Lent to be changed – to be like Jesus himself, to have the strength and courage to do his work with gladness and singleness of heart.
Let us be changed, let us be transformed, let us be transfigured. Amen.