Transfiguration and the Eve of Lent

For seven weeks, since January 8th, we have been watching with growing awareness as this man Jesus has made his away throughout Galilee.

It began at the river Jordan at Jesus’ baptism when the voice from heaven proclaimed him God’s Son. He set off onto dusty paths going from town to town, preaching, and when the occasion arose he healed too, and cast out spirits of evil that had invaded or taken over people’s minds.

Although he sought to keep his mission quiet, those who he healed went out to tell all the world. Time and time again he would ask people to remain quiet for a time, but how could they? They went out and spoke so much that before long the whole region was ablaze with word about this man Jesus who proclaimed the Kingdom of Heaven and healed.

Last week we read about how the crowds were so thick around his home in Capernaum that no one could pass through.

Jesus’ ministry has been steadily gaining in momentum, and the people of the region have been growing exponentially in awareness that God was beginning a new thing in their midst.

But in these days of rising action, tension has also been on the rise, for Jesus has also come under growing suspicion by the Pharisees and scribes of Israel’s spiritual elite.

At first they merely watched this phenomenon in action, then they began to ask him questions as traps, finally they have begun questioning in their hearts whether they wouldn’t be better off without this healer and hero to the people alive.

So, through these seven weeks Jesus has been gaining in momentum, the crowds have been growing in awareness, the Pharisees and scribes have been cultivating ever more suspicion. And the disciples, they are slowly beginning to realize the significance of this man. His words are not merely good. He is also a man of action, they are finding. And they are starting to wonder how far all of this might go.

For Mark, the Evangelist, our Gospel passage on this day is the turning point of the Gospel. At his baptism revelation of Jesus’ identity came from the outside, through God’s words, “This is my Son, the beloved. With him I am well pleased.” In each of his healings he has been revealed as God’s Son through himself, but through his deeds, what he can do. Now the circle is complete, and as reaction and expectation turn from excitement to sorrow, Jesus is revealed as God made flesh from within himself. He is transfigured. The Greek word is metamorphosis.

There before James and John and Peter his likeness is changed, revealed as pure glory, and in that moment when the Kingdom of Heaven compacts onto daily life, two figures from the past, Elijah and Moses speak with Jesus as though to pass on to him the best of what they represent—law and prophets from the Old Age—for him to take with him and renew. And putting no finer point on it is God the Father who says finally, “This is my Son… listen to him.”

Do you remember the movie “Dances with Wolves” with Kevin Costner playing a civil war lieutenant who goes out West and discovers beauty and truth in the life of the Native American? I happen to own that movie and there is always a place halfway through when I have a sincere desire just to hit stop and leave the story right there. Have it be the ending. He’s met the Indians. They trust him. He’s learning how to live. He’s becoming stronger and more human for being more closely tied to honest people and to the land. Conflict from his fellow soldiers has not yet overly interfered. All is well. It would be wonderful for the story to end right there.

So it would seem that this would be the perfect time to close this Gospel book and leave the story of Jesus. He has grown in name and deed. Powerful acts are transforming the people and region of Galilee. The disciples are growing in understanding. The religious leaders haven’t yet done any harm.

This would be a fine place to stay, maybe for a long time. And this seems to be Peter’s idea exactly. He wants to build houses and stay on this mountaintop indefinitely.

But in a flash the moment has passed and Jesus has his eyes set on the valley below. The moment that might last forever is gone, and Jesus is already traveling down the mountain speaking about his own death, down to where the tide already is turning, for the crowds are becoming too large, the Pharisees too worried.

It is no coincidence for us that this passage comes just before Lent. Every year this is the passage that brings us to the penultimate height before sending us down into purple days of sacrifice and sorrow.

As we stand with Christ at the precipice, the question is, “will we go with him? —Will we finish this story with him or will we remain on this mountaintop for the next forty days? We have come this far with him, but in a sense we can remain on the mountain for these next 40 days, thinking only about Christ’s glory and forgetting his pain, thinking only about the perfection of eternal life and forgetting the twisted drama of his betrayal, crucifixion and death. But where would that leave us? With Kevin Costner out on a plain forever trapped in a moment… With Jesus arrayed in glory, without suffering perhaps, but without redemption.

Perfect moments are not homes to be lived in, they are lights to be carried. In this case, a light to be carried as tensions rise and death looms ever closer.

This Ash Wednesday we step with Christ back into the fray. And like him who was prepared by Elijah and Moses and his Father, God, so we must be prepared for Lent and during Lent prepare ourselves ever more for Holy Week and that which is to come.

On this mountain we party and glory and praise. On Tuesday night at our Mardi Gras party we celebrate and clap each other on the backs with smiles and joy, but Wednesday and the days ahead we greet with seriousness. We must. With seriousness and sacrifice and simmering joy. For, to reach the destination the road must be traveled. And to reach the next peak of Easter’s great height we must make ourselves ready for the road ahead. Jesus is going on towards Golgotha.

Come, let us follow our Lord.