Jesus took with him Peter and James and John and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, his clothes became dazzling bright…And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, “It is good for us to be here; let us set up three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them anymore, but only Jesus. Mark 9:2-8
Frequently, when meeting families to plan a funeral for a loved one, they tell me how grateful they were, to have been together, and present, at the death of their kin. I was not there when my mother died. There was a void associated with that death. But I was there for my father’s death, along with my brothers. When people tell me about those moments, soon after a medical professional has made the final declaration of death, I can hear in their words some of the emotions I felt on November 29. Now what? What has all this meant? How will I remember him? What is his legacy?
Perhaps you have felt something similar. When my mother died only my father was there. I remember calling him from Ottawa, hearing his deeply emotional words, “How can I go on from here?” When my mother’s parents died, she attempted to keep their memories alive by keeping their belongings close by. We had a large home, so the contents from mom’s Seaforth Street house were transported to our west end home. Our basement consisted of those items our mom remembered from her childhood. She may not have “known what to say”, but she knew what to do.
In our Transfiguration story today, we are given a foretaste of what will be resurrection stories. Disciples come to the top of a mountain, their experience Jesus as Divine, timeless, eternal, and then…the moment is over. There is grief, much like the grief of a death, that experience may not be replicated, it’s over, how to make it last? In that “how to make it last?” moment we are, like Peter, rendered speechless. Plenty of situations in life render us speechless. Perhaps they began early in life when we heard the scary pronouncements:
You have failed the exam.
Later, there are moments of deeper, more traumatic fear:
You've been fired.
There's been an accident.
Your child seems to have an unknown disease.
These test results do not look good.
Your mother has died.
In these situations, we are face to face with separation, loss, losing what was life itself and wondering how to go forward. How are we supposed to feel when everything in our body seems numb? What are we supposed to say or do when all our tongue can do is stammer? Usually, we are expected to say or do something, either someone else expects us to say or do something or we put that pressure on ourselves. We feel we must say or do something. In hindsight we judge ourselves harshly for what we did say, what we did, what we failed to do.
Peter, on the mountaintop, seeing Jesus turn dazzling white before him in this weird event we call the Transfiguration, Peter probably realized only later that he really did not know what to say. Of course, his experience is described not in suffering or painful terms at all. Apparently, it was a dramatic and almost mystical experience, but he was terrified all the same. Peter had a vision. He saw Jesus turn glistening white before him, and he saw two of the Jewish heroes standing talking with Jesus. Moses stood for the law in the Jewish tradition; Elijah stood for the prophets. The two of them together with Jesus meant that Jesus was the fulfillment of both the law and the prophets. Peter knew this too, deep inside.
The reason for this vision had come only a few days before. Eight days before this Transfiguration was the first time Jesus had told his disciples that he would have to suffer a great deal and then die--not the expectation for a messiah at all. The sequence of these events is the same in the gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. They all agree on this. As soon as Peter confesses Jesus as the Messiah, Jesus begins to talk about his upcoming suffering and death, not about his glory at all; and then Jesus takes his most trusted disciples--Peter and James and John--to the top of a mountain where he is transfigured before them. Then a cloud appears and overshadows them.
The disciples don't want to hear about suffering. They refuse to admit its possibility. That's part of the reason Peter wants to make three dwellings on the mountain, three places to stay and dwell on this marvelous experience. But it is the wrong thing to say. The reason for the Transfiguration is to empower Jesus and the disciples with the strength and vision to enter this way through suffering together. Following the Transfiguration, Jesus sets his face to Jerusalem where he knows he will suffer and die. The event leaves Peter, at least, not knowing what to say, and he is terrified when he enters the cloud.
Into that violent transfiguration, however, God speaks this Jesus Transfiguration. It is a sign to us, yes, but it is also an example. We, too, are to be transfigured in the face of suffering or of great violence. Remember: the very placement of this event in the Bible, the Transfiguration, is quite deliberate. It is meant to offer us a vision, even a lesson, about our own suffering and death. Suffering will not be the last word. The Transfiguration means that there is hope. There will be situations in life which render us speechless, situations of personal loss or of world drama. Sometimes there is no completely right thing to say in the midst of suffering and pain.
But even without the right words, we can be a presence. When someone we love is about to die, we can be present. Being present means being who you really are in the midst of the illness or suffering around you. Being present means being attentive. Sometimes people don't even remember what we said or they remember something totally different from what we remember saying. But they remember our presence.
Peter did not know what to say for he was terrified. We have known Peter at our bedside before, not offering us much except foolish talk. We have been Peter before at someone else's bedside, sticking our foot in our mouth, being so terrified that we did not know what to say. In either case, we have known the fear of suffering, whether it's been our own suffering or that of someone dear to us. Jesus and his disciples have known it too. For them, God provided this mystical event where Jesus is transformed if only for an instant by the presence of Moses and Elijah with him.
Yes, Jesus was transformed by God, but it was God working through the presence of Moses and Elijah. I believe that Jesus, about to enter suffering, was being comforted by the very real presence of Moses and Elijah. Jesus was remembering the stories and scriptures and divine life that had comforted him before and which he would need even more powerfully to comfort him again. Jesus needed the presence of those who had come before him. Jesus needed the presence of others who had suffered in the presence of God. And in that presence, Jesus was transfigured.
Such a transfiguration awaits us too. If we are the comforters, the transfiguration will come as we acknowledge openly and honestly our own suffering, our own confusion, even our own terror. If we are the afflicted, the transfiguration awaits us when we seek the presence of those who have traveled this way of suffering before us. Today, our transfiguration comes as we seek the presence of Jesus himself. This Jesus will change us into his likeness. Separation is real, but presence is stronger. Being open, being present, being in the moment, with each other, is our calling.
Making tents of others’ belongings will not fill the void. Only presence can move us in this way. Bob, a member of Brunswick Street United, was sitting by the bed of his dear wife Betty as she was dying. Being terrified about what to say he opened himself to the Spirit, and in that moment, words came in a prayer, “God, let her go, but return her to me as a morning dove, that I may be with her, never far from her love.” Then, Betty died. I happened to call Bob moments after that prayer. It filled Bob with some peace, knowing their relationship would continue. No tent would fill that void, no “holding on” would be sufficient, in fact it would only mask the pain. The voice, the presence, the peace, that came in that transfigured moment will last Bob a lifetime. We too will have, have had, these moments. I thank God for God’s presence, filling our fear with reassurance, Good News, and hope-filled life. Thanks be to God. Amen.