The Last Sunday after the Epiphany
February 3, 2008
Matthew 17:1-9
~The Rev. Dr. Kris Lewis

Six days later (after Peter had acknowledged Jesus as the Christ, the Son of the Living God), Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white...suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, "This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!"

It’s such a cliché to say that time flies, but…doesn’t it? Partly it’s age, I think—the older we get, the faster time seems to go. And partly it’s our culture—we live in a world that demands us to hurry up, where time doesn’t just fly, it’s propelled. And in our liturgical calendar this year, our perception that time is rushing past is exacerbated because Easter comes early. So it is today that on the first Sunday in February we find ourselves observing the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, poised on the edge of Lent.

Two weeks ago I talked about what I saw as the purpose of the season of Epiphany—to show us just WHO Jesus is. And I talked about the way that the gospel texts read during Epiphany seemed to be chosen to do just that, a series of epiphanies focusing more on who Jesus was and is and less on his teaching and healing, revealing Jesus as the messiah, the anointed one, the one for whom the people of Israel, indeed, all of creation had been straining. Today, the last Sunday in Epiphany we get the last and the greatest of those epiphanies—the transfiguration.

This story should be a familiar one because we hear a version of it every year on the Last Sunday after the Epiphany. Jesus takes three of his disciples and ascends to the top of a mountain. Once there, Jesus’ appearance is transfigured—transformed—his face shining like the sun and his clothes a dazzling white. Not only is Jesus transfigured, but he is also joined by the presence of Moses and Elijah on the mountaintop with him, and a cloud descends, and the voice of God says, “This is my Son the Beloved; listen to him!”

It’s hard to imagine a sign that could’ve made it more clear to James and Peter and John just who Jesus was. And without a doubt the three disciples were awe-struck, terrified even by their experience, moved and perhaps transformed themselves. Even if this experience did not erase all their questions, their doubts, it must have sustained them on some level, and it must have prepared them for that day when they encountered the resurrected Jesus.

Last year when I preached on the Last Sunday after the Epiphany I suggested that the transfiguration story was used every year at this time so that we, like Peter and James and John might be ourselves transformed, that we might have this glimpse of glory, this foretaste of the resurrection to sustain us as we move through the dark days of Lent. I still think that this is the case, but this year I want to take that notion a step farther. To do that we need to again enter the narrative world of Matthew and examine the text more closely.

The editors of our lectionary have done a little sleight of hand with opening of today’s gospel. In an attempt to be helpful, to clue us into the context in which this event took place they’ve inserted a phrase to let us know that Peter had just acknowledged Jesus as the messiah (Six days after Peter had acknowledged Jesus as the Christ, the Son of the Living God). That’s an important piece of the story, but in drawing our attention to that one piece of the narrative they’ve taken our attention away from another piece that I think is equally if not more important. So if we go back to Matthew and we read the passages leading up to today’s gospel (Matthew 16:13-28 to be exact) we see that after Peter affirms Jesus as Messiah in response to Jesus’ question, “Who do you think that I am?” Jesus goes on to prepare his disciples for what is to come—his suffering, death, and resurrection. And then he says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” It was actually six days after this statement that Jesus took James and Peter and John to the mountaintop.

For me, adding this piece of the story back in makes what Jesus is trying to do when he takes the three disciples up on the mountain more clear and at the same time more poignant. It is an affirmation of his identity as the messiah, which Peter had just named, to be sure, but it is far more than that. This revelation is also a response to the further questions and doubts that came about when Jesus spoke of his own impending fate. It’s a response to the inevitability of not only Jesus having to take up his own cross but also those who want to follow him having to take up their crosses as well. It’s a dramatic affirmation that no matter what happens, GOD is with them. Jesus is with them. And all will be well.

Jesus was equipping his disciples for what was to come when he took them to that mountaintop. Having a clear vision of who he was as they faced the cross was meant to make that cross easier to bear. And so it is with us. As we make the journey through Lent, accompanying Jesus on his way to his suffering on the cross, we are asked to examine our own lives, our hearts, our consciences; we’re asked to face up to our faults, to seek forgiveness. We are asked to acknowledge not only Jesus’ suffering, but also our own so that we may be truly prepared to enter into the joy of the resurrection at Easter. But just as it might have for the disciples, this journey can feel dark, lonely and painful. As we approach the cross on Good Friday it easy for us, like the disciples to feel that we have been abandoned in our suffering, left to face it on our own.

But today’s gospel, placed in its full context, tells us that we are not left on our own. Jesus tells his disciples that they must take up their cross—a notion that whether it is taken literally or metaphorically is one that implies suffering and loss—one that implies a great cost for discipleship. But then he takes them to the mountaintop where they come face to face with God, with Jesus revealed in all his glory, a strong affirmation that even as they pay that cost God will be with them.

We may never have a mountaintop experience like James and Peter and John, but we can be assured that God will be with us, too, in all the messiness that is life. Even as Jesus goes to his suffering on the cross, he does not abandon us to our suffering; he does not ask us to face that suffering on our own. Rather as the Son of God, he is right there with us, holding us up, sustaining us on the journey—the journey we make through Lent each year, but even more, the journey we make through life.

Two weeks ago I challenged each of us to look for the epiphanies in our lives—the places where we find Jesus. As we enter into Lent, I hope that we will continue to do that. And I hope that we find Jesus revealed to us not only on the mountaintop but everywhere in the world around and that in so finding him, we might experience his sustaining presence in all that we must face.

AMEN