Have you ever noticed how difficult it is not to turn your head at a flash of light? Just think about how light is used to draw our attention to something – to get us to notice something. Bright lights illuminate signs. Light chases light from bulb to bulb on other signs. And then there are the searchlights in front of shopping malls and automobile dealerships. Advertisers and businesses use light to say, “Look here right now! You may not normally expect to see anything of importance here, or you may have missed it before, but look here, right now, and you won’t be disappointed!”
On the Mount of Transfiguration, the Father used light in a similar way. The light of Jesus’ transfiguration drew the disciples’ attention to him in a new way. There on the mountain, the Father showed Jesus in a different light than the disciples had ever seen him before. Their friend was not just a carpenter, not just a teacher, not just a rabbi, not just someone who could heal people of their diseases. He was much, much more. “Look here!” the light emanating from Jesus demanded. The Father’s voice proclaimed, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him!”
This morning, God uses the light that shone from Jesus once again. In this light that shines from the Word, the Father once again draws our attention to Jesus to enlighten us. “He’s more than you’ve imagined!” the light exclaims. “Listen to him!” the Father decrees.
As Matthew tells it, the disciples had been following Jesus from town to town all around Galilee and beyond, finding the reality of faith in unlikely people – and finding fury and hatred from his enemies. They knew that Jesus was something special – and yet, it was for them like the strange story of the two-stage healing of the blind man at Bethsaida. When Jesus first touched the man, he could see, but only people who looked more like trees walking around, and it was only after Jesus touched him a second time that his sight was fully returned. The disciples saw, but what they saw didn’t always make sense.
Take what happened just six days before the transfiguration. As they were scrambling around Caesarea Philippi, Jesus and his disciples talked about who the people thought Jesus was. And then Jesus asked them point-blank, “But who do you say that I am?” To which Peter famously replied, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
But Peter’s understanding of what it meant to be “the Christ” was severely flawed and very limited in scope. When Jesus in the next few verses describes how he must go to Jerusalem, where He will be killed and then be raised from the dead, Peter tries to stop Jesus right then and there. “Far be it from you, Lord!” Peter cries. “This shall never happen to you.” As far as Peter was concerned, what Jesus was telling them just didn’t make sense.
So now, six days later, Jesus took Peter, James, and John up a mountain. I’m sure they thought they were ascending for prayer. They’d done that many times before. It wasn’t at all unusual. They’d probably even become used to it, thought it was going to be just another ordinary trip.
And for a while that day, it was ordinary – until. Until the extraordinary happened. Until Jesus’ face shone like the sun and His clothes became as white as light. Until Moses and Elijah arrived to talk with him. Until that cloud enshrouded them and added even more to their fear. Until a voice came from the cloud: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him!” Then, just as suddenly as it all happened, it was over. No shining face, no dazzlingly white clothes, no visitors, no voice, only Jesus.
This incredible vision and voice let them know that Jesus was far more than they imagined or understood. “Listen to him,” the voice commanded. They had been startled from the stupor of the ordinary, but what now? What did it all mean? It would be some time before they could know. His light had shined in their darkened understanding, but what did it mean? Jesus was obviously more than they ever imagined. But who – or what – was He?
It’s interesting that even as the disciples saw Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah, Peter felt that he needed to start talking, too. Matthew writes: “And Peter said to Jesus, ‘Lord, it is good that we are here. If you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.’” It’s almost like Peter wanted to stop time right then and there. It’s almost like Peter was thinking that it can’t get any better than this, so let’s just stay here on the top of this mountain and forget all that talk about going to Jerusalem and dying. It’s almost like Peter saw that moment as being the greatest point in Jesus’ life – and the greatest point in the life of those three disciples – and he didn’t want it to end.
When you stop to think about it, Peter and the other two disciples have us at a serious disadvantage. They were there, and we were not. They saw the light and felt the fear and suffered the confusion and heard the voice. The transfiguration left enough of an impression on the disciples and the Early Church that it finds its way into all four Gospels. Yet it was so overwhelming that they found it difficult to put into words. In Matthew, the transfiguration itself occupies only five verses. In Mark, only six verses, and in Luke only seven. In John, only an indirect reference that consists of only half of one verse, as he alludes to that overwhelming experience: “We have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.”
To have been there must have been spectacular and awe-inspiring. What wouldn’t you give to be able to travel in a time machine to see what they saw and hear what they heard on that mountain? How could you experience such an event and not be changed – transformed – yourself?
On the other hand, as we read the story today, we have a distinct advantage over what the disciples were able to recognize that day. We know what the transfiguration means.
We know that there on the mountain the disciples were treated to a glimpse of what was to come. By peeling back a corner of the plain brown wrapper of Jesus’ human nature to give just a glimpse of the glory that would be his forever after his cross and resurrection, the Father showed the three disciples whom it was they were called to follow.
Which begs a question: If we already know that Jesus is the eternal Son, crucified and risen from the dead, reigning now in glory, why do we need this account?
You could say that we need this account simply because it happened. That just because it happened should be reason enough for it to be included in the Gospels. And yet that isn’t quite satisfying. That the transfiguration is remembered as a pivotal event in Jesus’ ministry should be enough to clue us in that something important is being proclaimed here.
First, we need this account because it is one of those flashing lights that catch our attention. It’s a very brief story, yet like the flash of a distant light on a dark night it demands that we look here and see. And when we look – even if we’ve looked here before – Jesus, briefly robed in brilliant light and face shining like the sun, calls us to consider again more fully who He really is.
The danger, even for those who put their faith in Christ, is that we become so accustomed to hearing about Jesus and hearing his Word that it all becomes routine. Familiarity then breeds indifference to His Word and disobedience to His will. And when faith in Jesus becomes routine, we miss the transformation that God intends for us. So again today we see Jesus transfigured – the eternal Son of the eternal Father, the brightness of his glory beyond our imagination.
Second, we need this account because we need to hear again the Father’s words, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him!” We need to hear the Father’s admonition to hear and believe that the crucified Messiah is our only hope—that in his death and resurrection is our life. We need to hear that only in following Jesus is there ever real life. We need to hear from Him that to pursue any way other than the way of the cross is to lose forever the hope of life.
For us, people who too easily grow indifferent to Jesus and his Word, the story of Jesus’ transfiguration is a flash of light that draws our attention again to the truth of who He is. He is the light of God’s mercy, the glorified Son, the one to whom we must listen and in whom we must follow. Follow from that mountain top … to Jerusalem … to the tomb … and ultimately to the resurrection of the dead and the life everlasting.
Note: This sermon has been freely adapted from a text that originally appeared in Concordia Pulpit Resources.
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