Matthew 17:1-9

After six days Jesus took with him Peter, James and John the brother of James, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. There he was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light. Just then there appeared before them Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus.

Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.”

While he was still speaking, a bright cloud covered them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!”

When the disciples heard this, they fell facedown to the ground, terrified. But Jesus came and touched them. “Get up,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.” When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus.

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus instructed them, “Don’t tell anyone what you have seen, until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

Now we’ve come to the part of the service where I am supposed to tell you what this passage “really means.” That’s what my job is, right? Use my seven years of formal biblical studies to interpret the scripture so you can know its real meaning. Many good Presbyterians interpret the Bible this way. Theologian and former Seminary Professor, Barbara Brown Taylor describes it well, “give us a passage of scripture and we will put on our thinking caps, doing our best to decipher the symbols, read between the lines and come up with the encoded message that Jesus or Matthew or God has hidden in the passage for us to find.” She says, “the idea seems to be that the story itself is primarily a suitcase for conveying the meaning inside of it.  Discern the content of the story and you do not have to go rummaging around inside of it every time it comes up.  Instead, you can pull the meaning out of it and place it neatly folded in a drawer where you can find it the next time you need it.”

Those of you who have been Christians for a long time have undoubtedly heard many Transfiguration sermons. Perhaps you heard a sermon where the decoded message is that Moses stands for the Law, Elijah stands for the prophets, and Jesus, of course, is the Messiah.  By singling Jesus out as "my Son, the Beloved," God sets the gospel over the law and the prophets. Or maybe you heard a preacher say that this passage shows how it is better to keep your mouth shut in the presence of the holy than to blurt things out as Peter does. Or maybe another year you heard the one about how the purpose of such mountaintop experiences is to strengthen us for the climb back down into the valley of the shadow of death, where our real work remains to be done.  

            But as Barbara points out, while these meanings very well could be right, the Bible itself says none of them. Instead, the Bible tells the story of an extraordinary experience of the divine. It’s a story that on the surface, few of us can relate to, but perhaps we might like to. We’d like an experience of the divine mystery as clear and bright as day. When I talk about preaching, I often use “we” language. “As turn to the text this morning”, for example. It’s because preaching is not the same thing as lecturing. I may be the one speaking, but the Holy Spirit is working through each and every one of you. Maybe she lets your mind wander far from what am I say and toward the very thing you most needed to hear. This is my hope—that an interpretation of the gospel may lead all of us toward an experience of God’s divine ministry. My hope is that we do not look for “the right answer” to keep in our back pocket but for an experience of God’s love; of God’s voice; and of God’s touch. 

Will you pray with me?
Oh divine mystery,
Parent, savior, spirit.
We hope to experience you.
Speak, so that we may hear you.
Touch, so that we may feel you.
Amen. 

            Matthew 17 begins with, “after six days” which leads us to ask, “what happened six days earlier?” Six days earlier, Jesus asked Peter “Who do you say that I am?” and Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” A good answer. He is named the rock Jesus will build his church upon. But that day does not end there. No, it ends with Jesus telling his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life. Peter, horrified and ready to protect his beloved teacher, says, “Never, Lord! This shall never happen to you!” And to this, Jesus said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan!”

            To make matters worse, he tells the disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.” It is a bleak future that Jesus speaks of. Many of us know what bleak futures sound like. They come from the mouth of the doctor who brings news of an unbeatable diagnosis. They come from a partner who says, “I can’t do this anymore.” From a career rejection. From a financial disaster. News of a bleak future is all-consuming. In the wake of this news, it’s hard to see the rest of the world moving on. It’s like you want to scream at people going by, “don’t you know my loved one is dying? How are you laughing and smiling and existing on a day like this?

For the past six days, the disciples have been consumed with thoughts of Jesus’ imminent death. It’s horrifying and seemingly unstoppable future is all they can think about. Author Maryetta Madeline Anschutz writes, “They begin to look for alternatives, desperate for a second opinion, a way to stop time. They want to build a safe sanctuary away from the world, to be content at the moment, saving Jesus and themselves from the heartache to come. They cannot, nor can we.”

It is in this setting of fearful and sorrowful expectation that Peter, James, and John follow Jesus up a high mountain. Verse two says that Jesus was “transfigured before them.” The Greek word is metamorphoō, where our word “metamorphosis” comes from. Metamorphosized into what, exactly? All it says that his face shone like the sun and his clothes became as white as the light and then Moses and Elijah appeared, talking to Jesus. How did they know it was Moses and Elijah? It’s not as if they had any photos to reference. Could Peter, James, and John hear what they were saying? Was Jesus getting advice on what to do next from the prophet and leader? We don’t know.

But Peter recognized what he was seeing. Top of a mountain? Bright light? Moses? The Messiah? This must be the new Mt. Sinai! Except for this time, it’s missing the tabernacle—the place where Moses talked to God face to face in the wilderness. Peter knew enough to believe that Jesus Christ the Son of God speaking to Moses in the Promised Land for the very first time must want a shelter. A booth. A tabernacle. Bless him, he even says, “if you wish…” He’s trying so hard to do the right thing here.

But he’s also trying so hard to hold on to this moment because maybe he thought to himself, “If I build him a shelter, he’ll never want to leave. He’ll never go to Jerusalem and be killed. Maybe if I do all the right things, I can stop the bad things from happening. Maybe I can stop the suffering.” 

But just then, a bright cloud covers all of them and they hear the voice of God resounding from the Heavens, just like at Jesus’ baptism—“This is my Son, the Beloved; with him, I am well pleased.” Only this time, God adds, “listen to him.” It’s a powerful addition but the disciples have never heard the voice God or experienced anything like this before, and they are utterly terrified. They fall to the ground, overwhelmed by it all.

The disciples must have been overwhelmed not only by fear but by hope. Could the future Jesus spoke about be different than the one they had imagined? Is it possible that death may not be the end of the story? The transfiguration offers the disciples the paradox that while there is nothing they can do to save themselves or Jesus from suffering, there is also no way they can shield themselves from the light of God that sheds hope in their darkest moments. The moment of transfiguration is that point at which God says to the world and to each of us that there is nothing we can do to prepare for or stand in the way of joy or sorrow. We cannot build God a monument, and we cannot keep God safe. We also cannot escape the light that God will shed on our path. We cannot escape God, Immanuel among us. God will find us in our homes and in our workplaces. God will find us when our hearts are broken and when we discover joy. God will find us when we run away from God and when we are sitting in the middle of what seems like hell. 

God may find us through bright lights and a booming voice, but God also comforts us with a simple touch. Jesus comes over to the disciples, places a hand on their shoulders and says, “do not be afraid.” Does anything banish our fears more perfectly than a simple, human touch? For John Calvin, this was the great genius of God. God, who made the heavens and the earth and all that is in them; God, whose greatness is so vast that not even the heavens above the heavens can contain it; God, to whom we belong, is so magnificent that God is willing to come among us to reach out, touch us, and still our fears. Particularly in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus is God-with-us and therefore Jesus’ hand on the shoulder of the disciples is nothing less than God’s own touch.

This is the way that God comes into the world: not simply the brilliant cloud of mystery, not only a voice thundering from heaven but also a human hand laid upon a shoulder and the words, “Do not be afraid.” God comes to us quietly, gently, that we may draw near and without fear. God’s glory is majestic and so far beyond our capacity to receive it that we can take just as much of God’s glory as a human hand can hold. 

A beloved college professor of mine said once that, “98% percent of God’s grace is mediated through other people.” I’m not sure how to empirically test that statistic, but the sentiment has had an undeniable impact on my life. In a season when I didn’t know how to feel God’s presence, I learned to see that God was loving through the love of those around me. The friend who made me dinner when I was too weary to cook? The grace of God. The prayer spoken over me by a pastor? The words of God. The affirmation I desperately needed to hear? The joy of God. The hand on my shoulder and enveloping hug? The touch of God.

The phrase “do not be afraid” is found over a hundred times in the Bible, but the reminder to not be afraid of what is to come is profoundly understood by human connection. God’s love stills our fears is felt through something as simple a loving touch. Physical touch is something we Americans are particularly weird about. To many people, the idea of “loving touch” outside of familial relationships seems very strange, if not dangerous in the #MeToo era. Sadly, I think this is because as a culture, we have not done an effective job of practicing consensual, affirming touch. 

But other cultures around the world have vastly different norms about platonic touch. It is not uncommon to see Arab men walking down the sidewalk holding hands. It is a purely platonic gesture, but it is an incredibly important gesture of connection. We were created to be in community with one another and although we are surrounded by people all day long, countless people will go days or weeks without a meaningful touch from another human being. And so, when we pass the peace on Sunday mornings, it might be the only time that someone experiences the touch of another person. It might be the only time that week, that they experience the loving touch of God.

People of Southminster, you are each the bearers of the divine image. You were created from the dust of this earth in the image of the Triune God. You carry that imago dei with you wherever you go. It is the image of God within and upon you that allows you to say, “do not be afraid.” 

When I think of Peter, James, and John, witnesses to the Transfiguration of Jesus, I think of three ordinary people. Afraid of the pain and suffering that they know the future will hold. I think of people who desperately want things to be okay. I think of people just like us—who need the hand of God on their shoulder to quiet their fears. People who will someday need to taste the body and blood of Christ, to remember the love that has the power to overcome fear.

I think Pastor Patrick Wilson puts it best, “Some would say that God is much too much to be contained within the walls of a church. Of course, they are right. Some would remind us that God is so great that neither the earth below nor the heavens above can hold God. Certainly, we must agree with them. God is certainly so great that God can never be contained in something as small as a crumb of bread or a sip of wine. We nod our heads, yes; but we must hasten to add: furthermore, God is so great, so majestic, so glorious, that God deigns to come put God’s on our shoulder and be known in a crumb of bread and a sip of wine, just as much of God as a hand can hold.