Sermon: February 19, 2023, Transfiguration Sunday
Preacher: Rev Ryan Slifka
Scriptures: Matthew 17:1-9
Today is Transfiguration Sunday in the Christian calendar. The final Sunday before the season of Lent. Where we mark—you guessed it—the transfiguration of Jesus. When you hear the story you kinda get why it has its own day in the calendar. Cuz it’s pretty wild.
Jesus, we’re told, takes three of this right-hand disciples—Peter, James and John—with him up a mountain, where they’re all on their lonesome. We’re not sure which mountain, exactly, but we know it’s high up. Think paradise meadows, but less green. Pressing against the clouds, its peak neighbouring heaven. Mountains are holy places, what the ancient Celts would have called thin places. Where heaven and earth intersect. The seen and unseen meet.
Jesus and co are up there, just hanging around. And suddenly Jesus’ appearance completely changes before their eyes, he’s transfigured. His face lights up, bright as the sun, and his clothes a dazzling bleach-white. And if that isn’t strange enough for you… Moses and Elijah just pop up there, too. These two guys are pillars of the Old Testament. Moses went up Mount Sinai to receive the law, and saw God face to face. Elijah, a prophet, encountered God up a mountain in a “still, small voice,” and was eventually taken up by God in a whirlwind. What they have in common is the Book of Malachi: that at the end of the age, the end of time, these two will be there. When you see those two together again, then you’ll know the Day of the Lord is at hand. And there they are. Just casually chatting with Jesus. Who is shimmering white.
Like I said, pretty wild. But all this stuff—the holy mountain, the gleaming appearance, the presence of Moses and Elijah—they’re all there to say one thing: that Jesus is the Messiah. The one sent by God to set the world right. And that his victory is at hand. God’s flooding the whole scene to make this point.
I mean, if I saw something like this—glowing rabbi and two dead guys on a mountain I’d probably flee immediately. But Peter’s reaction is the opposite. “Lord,” he says. “Lord, it’s good to be here. Truth, beauty and goodness are in the air. I mean, it’s clear that you’re the Messiah, and we’re in the presence of God. We might as well set up camp, a tent for you, one for Moses, one for Elijah, and stay. Because when it comes to heaven, this is about as close as we can get.” These guys have just got as close as it gets to God. And so they want to stick around. For as long as they can.
And you can’t really blame them. Because, after all, in the chapter just before this one Jesus said he was going to be crucified. That he was on the way to Jerusalem, where he’d meet suffering and death on a cross. To be raised again three days after. And Peter tried to talk Jesus out of it, “don’t do it, Jesus!” To which Jesus replied, “get behind me, Satan!” Tell us what you really, think of Peter’s idea, Jesus.
“If any want to become my followers,” he said. “Let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” No way around it, Jesus said. For him, suffering, death, the cross, were unavoidable. And anybody who wants to follow him is destined to end up the same way. To paraphrase the late Jesuit Priest and activist Daniel Berrigan, "If you are going to follow [me], you better look good on wood."[i]
So no wonder Peter’s so eager to stick around up here at 1000 feet. Up here it’s all joy and brightness and angel choirs, trouble and pain free. Walkin’ on sunshine. Whereas down there is Jerusalem. Down there is the cross. Maybe if they set up shop up top, maybe they can stay safe, maybe they can avoid the pain, the hurt, the terror that awaits down below.
Now, it’s easy—I’ll admit—to look at this and see Peter as a coward. About half the sermon’s I’ve ever read or heard condemn Peter as a kind of trembling escapist. Preferring the pleasant relaxation of religion, to the hard work of following Jesus down on the ground. “Get down the mountain” and back in the thick of things might be the common point the sermons are trying to make.
But, you know, it’s not just Peter. It’s all of us. Our preference is generally for comfort, safety and security, to discomfort, risk, and uncertainty. Pleasure over pain. Which—hey, who can blame us? Who among us wouldn’t rather spend our days with our heads up in the clouds over our hands nailed to a cross? Peter’s not wrong. It’s good to be up there. Rather than down here. Life is hard. Pain stinks. Problems at work, family conflict, childhood trauma. Depression, anxiety. And a lot of it isn’t of our own making. So who could blame us for wanting some kind of relief?
The problem is that the relief that we seek is so often temporary. I mean, what difference would hanging out on a mountain actually make in the end? Doesn’t change the fact that the rest of life’s a mess. Not only that, but the relief we also seek can be incredibly destructive. I mean, let’s be honest. The reason why we often turn to drinking, using, porn, eating, constantly checking our phones, high-mountain religious experiences—name your poison of choice—It all gives us a retreat from our pain, our suffering, our stress, even the basic discomfort. Which is understandable, natural, even. There’s no doubt that each of us has our own mountaintop dwelling we’d rather retreat to… over the cross we face at the bottom. But it does nothing to change our problems. And it’s likely to destroy us in the process.
So what does make a difference, then? Back to the text.
As Peter’s rolling out the canvas and the sleeping bags, it says, a bright cloud “overshadows” him and James and John. And it’s not just airy mountain mist. Clouds are often signs of the presence of God, especially in the Old Testament. God’s presence led the way for the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt in fire by night and by way of a cloud by day. We heard a very similar episode to this one read earlier with Moses on a mountain with a cloud, too.
And then, from the cloud, a voice. “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!” The guy that told them he was headed for the cross and they need to take up their own—again, this guy’s the Messiah for sure. Heed what he says!
Honestly, though, this does nothing to assuage Peter’s fears about heading down the mountain. Because as soon as the voice booms out, all three of them dive for the dirt. They fall to the ground it says. And it says they’re overcome by fear. They’re “sore afraid,” as it says in the King James Version. Same when the shepherds meet the angels at Christmas. “Sore afraid.” I mean, I guess just reiterating “face your fears” louder and harder doesn’t seem to work. Even when God’s the one saying it! We need more than that, clearly.
So all three of them, Peter and James and John are cowering, faces buried in the ground. And as they’re doing this Jesus... he quietly sidles on in. He comes, it says and he touches them. Hand on the shoulder, the head, I don’t know. But he reaches down to each of them.
And he says “Get up, and do not be afraid.” But when the three of them look up, it says, they see no one but Jesus, all alone. The gleaming robe, the blindingly bright face. Moses and Elijah. The cloud and the voice, it’s all gone. And all that’s left is plain old Jesus. His touch, and his words. “Get up, and do not be afraid.” And with this, the three of them peel themselves off the ground. They find their feet, and head back down the mountain. Back to the world of the cross.
So what makes the difference? A simple touch from Jesus’ hand. And simple words from Jesus’ mouth—get up, don’t be afraid. What makes the difference? It’s not the booming voice. No thunder, no fire, no earthquake. No, it's the still, small voice of a compassionate Savior who they can touch and see. I mean, it’s no accident that “get up” is the same one used for resurrection. Just as Jesus earlier cured disease and death with a touch, his Words raise Peter and John and James out of fear and death, and he goes with them down to the world again. Get up, don’t be afraid.
They don’t have to be afraid, because Jesus goes with them. They don’t have to hide up in the heavens, but he brings heaven down. This is what makes them stand, what casts their fears. What gives them the courage to head back down. To face reality, no matter how hard, no matter how painful or difficult it may be. What makes the difference is Emmanuel... God who is with them, and for them. One who promises to carry them through the cross to Easter Sunday. Get up, don’t be afraid.
We’re afraid. Life is hard, suffering stinks. We’ll do anything to escape discomfort, displeasure. Pain. Understandable as it may be, we know we can only hide away so long, and our hiding spaces are just as likely to hurt us even more. The bad news is that these are the lives we’ve got. This is the world we’ve got. One we’ve gotta face.
But the good news is that we can face it all on account of Jesus. In the face of Jesus the light that’s normally inaccessible God, has shone. The voice that’s often draped in silence has spoken. We have a God who isn’t just up there looking down on us, too vague and abstract to get involved, but One who reaches down, who comes down to us, comes down the mountain with us, in order to raise us up. I mean, it’s no coincidence that this is the final reading before we enter Lent. Because Lent’s where we’re we learn to fear no evil though we daily walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
The good news is that in Jesus Christ the unshakeable power of divine love has come down to you in your suffering, you in your sin, you in your cowardice, pain and your shame. He’s come down to you, is putting a hand on you saying to you right here, right now: “Get up, and don’t be afraid”!
Because God is with you, and for you, you can abandon the tent, you can leave your many escape plans behind. You can quit ducking for cover in substances, and all the other distracting avoidances that are keeping you pinned down. Instead, you can get up and not be afraid. Because God is with you, you can make your way down the mountain, and embrace the cross of daily existence. Because “we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.” “Get up, and don’t be afraid”!
What’s got you running and hiding away? What’s your method of escape? Who or what are you hiding from, and where, what do you use to hide? Where are you unable to go?
Whatever the case is—let these words be to you both Jesus’ hand on your shoulder, and his divine voice ringing in your ear. Hear him when he says! “Get up, and do not be afraid.” Get up, and do not be afraid! GET UP, and do not be afraid. It’s time to head back down the mountain. You can head back down the mountain. Because God is with you where ever you need to go.
Get up. And do not be afraid. Head down, and live already.
AMEN.
[i] Quoted in “A Man of Peace: Recalling the life and legacy of Daniel Berrigan,” America Magazine,