Text: Luke 9:28-36, (37-45)

If you were to ask Don Ownbey, I’m pretty sure that he’d confirm the magnificence of the mountains of central Idaho. The soaring Sawtooths are the spine of the state. 13 miles north of Sun Valley, as you climb into heart of the range, nestled among the aspen, along the Little Wood River, you’ll find Cathedral Pines, the Idaho Baptist Camp. In different generations, both Don and I learned about Jesus, sensed God’s presence, found faithful community on that sacred ground. My culminating experience in that setting was, as a 16 year old, when I climbed Mount Boulder. That perfect peak rises to over 11,000 feet directly across from the entrance to the campground. I’ll never forget the annual family camp when I climbed the mountain with a small group of friends.

In spite of its towering height, Mount Boulder is not a terribly difficult climb. As I recall, not being much of a mountaineer, I actually wore a pair of loafers. Much of the climb is along an old mining road that traces its origin back to the Idaho gold rush of the late 19th century. The road winds through groves of pine and fir and across meadows dotted with wild flowers. Once off the road, the trail skirts an alpine lake and then turns steeply upward to the rocky outcropping that is the peak of the mountain.

The sweeping view from the summit is quite literally breathtaking. It’s not only the elevation that takes one’s breath away. You can see for miles around – looking north toward the other peaks of the Sawtooth range and the dense forests of the Frank Church Wilderness; then, turning toward the south to the foothills below and the high desert beyond. There, at the summit of the world, there was little question as to what is meant by a “mountain top experience.” On that peak, we drank in the glory of God, the majesty of God’s creation, the vastness of God’s vision, the power of God’s life. We sat in silence; then we prayed; we sang “How Great Thou Art;” we shared our wonder at what God had made; then, more silence. We were a small, makeshift community of tiny individuals, bonded by our minor mountain climbing achievement, our Baptist roots and our sense of awe.

Today’s text tells the tale of the Transfiguration. It has become tradition to use this story to mark the transition in the liturgical calendar from Epiphany to Lent. It is both a celebration of the glory of God, made manifest in Jesus, and a foreshadowing of the difficult days ahead. There are parallels in today’s text to last Sunday’s. If you recall, we considered the contrast of Jesus’ meditating on the mountain and working on the plain. Remember, in the gospel of Luke, one goes to the mountain to commune with God and to the plain to do God’s work.

In this scene, Jesus has again gone up the mountain to pray. He has taken with him the three who seem to have been singled out to provide leadership to the growing Jesus movement. On this mountain, on this night, wondrous things occur as Jesus prays. The bone weary disciples can barely hold their eyes open when suddenly Jesus’ appearance is transfigured. His face shines with intense light and his rough peasant’s dress gleams, dazzling white. Before they can say a word, Jesus is seen talking to two men, who appear to be Moses and Elijah. The report is that they are discussing Jesus’ impending death. Finally, Peter manages to suggest that they build a booth for each of the three holy men and remain there in ecstasy on this holy mountain, surrounded by the glory of God.

Again there is a sudden shift and the scene is overshadowed by a cloud, a cloud that seems to pulsate with power, that seems to hold all light in its intense darkness, that seems itself to be the glory of God. It is the Shekina, the cloud of presence, one time-honored way that God comes to God’s people. Is it a voice, is it telepathy, is it amazing empathy? They all hear or sense or know in their inner being these words: “This is my son, my chosen one: listen to him.” Before anyone can utter a word or think a thought, the vision has gone, disappeared in a flash. They descend the mountain in silence, awed by what they have seen and heard, anxious to preserve the wonder of the experience, speechless behind the glory of God.

Whatever the source of this ancient tale, the writer of Luke believes it is vital for his audience to understand how Jesus is with God and God with Jesus. The point here is that God is working God’s will through Jesus and Jesus is committed to seeking, knowing and doing God’s will. Is there a word for us in this ancient account of a mountain top experience? In line with what we discussed last week, there is, in Luke’s gospel, always a dynamism between God’s glory and God’s work. That is, there is never an opportunity, in following Jesus, to choose one over the other. Like my friends and I, it’s an amazing thing to find your self on a mountain top. Like Peter, it’s not surprising to find that you’d like to stay there and bask in glory.

Ancient religion and culture has created and told story after story about finding God or the gods on mountains. There is long standing linkage between mountain tops and the foot of heaven. Heights are holy and greatly to be desired. I suppose that some of us are cut out to be holy ones, gurus, monks and mountain dwellers. People like this are honored, valued, revered in many religions, including Christianity. It is central to many traditions that giving one’s life to seeking out and living immersed in the holy is highly desirable, perhaps ultimately desirable, but clearly this is not Jesus’ way.

The movement back and forth between the mountain and the plain is the essential dynamism of Jesus’ life and ministry. For him, I believe, these are not different places, not separate realities. The mountain and plain make up one integrated whole. In Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time, Marcus Borg asserts that the two things that make Jesus and, therefore Christianity, unique are his faithful connection to God, his devoted attention to things spiritual and his great compassion for creation, especially those most in need of God’s love and care. The life of the spirit and the life of compassion are inextricably linked in the life and ministry of Jesus - from the mountain to the plain, from the plain to the mountain, in an essential and eternal rhythm of life.
When we encounter God’s glory and allow it to work in our lives, our lives, too, may be transfigured, transformed into something new and wonderful. On Thursday, our FaithZone class looked at this text. I expected them to be stumped by a large and rather obscure word like transfiguration. I was both surprised and pleased that they understood the basic concept of change that is at the heart of the term. Superman and Spiderman aren’t really transfigured because they just change their outfits. Their appearance is not transformed from the inside out as Jesus’ is. According to Connor, a character called Kirby comes closer because he can change his appearance radically to fit the situation. In the end, they understood that transfiguration is a change of heart, a change of will, a change of life that reveals God’s glory. I was particularly moved when Oscar said that what Jesus wants his followers to see and know, to understand and practice, is love, compassion and understanding. Those three are his exact words.
The context for the transfiguration story is that Jesus has been establishing his identity, practicing compassion, building a following, doing God’s work and will. He has been preaching and teaching and healing, he has been praying and sharing and training his disciples. In the passage immediately preceding this one he has tried to explain to them that the path he is faithfully following will inevitably lead to suffering, pain and death for him – and is likely to lead to the same for those who choose to follow him. But they have watched in wonder and growing excitement as his ministry has blossomed. Some of them, at least, are still expecting him to raise the army that will drive out the Romans and restore Israel to the glory of the kingdoms of David and Solomon. This is the Messiah after all, the promised one who not only will raise them up and make them whole but who will also reverse their earthly fortunes. “No,” he says. “That is not God’s way. God’s way is a way of love and compassion and understanding; not a way of power and wealth and domination. God’s glory is in no way earthly glory; it’s not about fame or fortune or how much you have. God’s power is not earthly power; it is not about domination or control or even security. God’s power is love and God’s glory is creation wholly fulfilled.” In the service of such a God, there are the sick and the demon-possessed to be healed, the hungry to be fed, prisoners to be visited, homeless folk who need attention, enmity to be overcome, forgiveness to be offered, souls to be transfigured, sinners to be saved.

In an outstanding commentary on this text, entitled ”Altitude Adjustment,” Heidi Neumark takes the opportunity to reflect on caring for her mother, living with severe Parkinson’s, in addition to all the other cares of active pastoral ministry. From this perspective, she knows why Peter, James and John can hardly hold up their heads. They are exhausted. Following Jesus is demanding work. There is always something new to learn and there are always, always the needy people crowding around them. Jesus has been working with them intensely and urgently because he knows his time with them is limited. He needs them to carry on his work when he’s gone, to be his body - his hands and feet, heart and mind in the work of love, compassion and understanding when he is no longer physically present.

Sometimes they seem to get it. Just prior to the tale of the Transfiguration, he has sent them out on their own, filled with power and authority to preach and teach and heal. The text tells us they have been remarkably successful. And now they are weary. They need, and believe they’ve earned, a day off. But the crowds keeping pressing, following them wherever they flee for rest. 5000 men and maybe another 10,000 women and children are waiting to be fed, and Jesus insists on feeding them. They are not to be sent away hungry.

When they finally do get some time alone with him, it is only to hear his message about the suffering, pain and death that lies ahead for him - and them. Their exhaustion now begins to spread from their bodies to their minds and souls. What have they gotten themselves into? When Jesus and the others return from the mount of Transfiguration, as Jesus insists they must, they are immediately met by the failure of the disciples left behind to heal an epileptic boy. Now they must be deal with Jesus’ disappointment and frustration with them. And still, the work goes on, as it must for the Christ of love, compassion and understanding, the son of the God of glory.
In a sermon in 1965, Martin Luther King, Jr., said “I must confess that I have enjoyed being on this mountaintop and I am tempted to want to stay here and retreat to a more quiet and serene life. But something within reminds me that the valley calls me in spite of all its agonies, dangers, and frustrating moments. I must return to the valley. Something tells me that the ultimate test of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and moments of convenience, but where he stands in moments of challenge and moments of controversy. So I must return to the valley.”
And Heidi Neumark goes on to say that “All the transfigurations I’ve seen…have been down below. There I have seen lives transfigured, demons cast out, children raised up. These are the transformations for which we work and pray and hope, the transfigurations that brighten our days with wonder and joy.” (Heidi Neumark, “Altitude Adjustment,” Christian Century, February 6, 2007, p. 16.) When God bids us listen to Jesus, this is the message that we are likely to hear, the work to which we will be assigned, the ministry to which we will called. From the mountain we will move, not only full of God’s glory, but also full of the love, the compassion and the understanding that go with it, love, compassion and understanding that might yet transfigure the world in which we live. Amen.