Well, not Firefly shiny. Actually shiny. Wait, I guess he’s Firefly shiny, too? I give up. Jesus gets glowy. There. That’s good and unambiguous.
Matthew 17:1-9; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Psalm 2; Exodus 24:12-18
It would have made a lot more sense if the Transfiguration happened earlier. Maybe if it happened at Jesus’ baptism. Wouldn’t that be a sight? It’d make the whole crowd, and likely the whole nation, realize exactly who Jesus is. Shining whiter than light itself, his face as bright as the sun, with the giver of the Law and the greatest Prophet at his right and left. It would have been a lot more convincing than a dove. It would have solidified Jesus’ place as king, and possibly led to what everyone expected the Messiah to do — lead a rebellion ousting the Romans and restoring Israel’s place as God’s Nation.
But what makes sense to us wasn’t what God did. After seeing Jesus in his glory on the mountaintop, on the way down he told Peter, James, and John not to tell anyone what happened until after the resurrection. The world wasn’t yet ready for Jesus to come in glory, because Jesus wasn’t coming to conquer … well, actually he was, but he wasn’t coming to conquer the Romans.
The people of Israel wanted that kind of Savior. One who would show up and fight. One who would take up arms against the Romans. But that wasn’t God’s plan. Just like the kings of earth conspiring against God in Psalm 2, the people had their plots. Even though they weren’t actively fighting against God, they still had a preconception of Messiah that didn’t include betrayal, crucifixion, and death.
Of course, while we may not view it quite the same way, we still have our own ideas about how God works. We impose our morality on Him. We decide what God would do or what He wouldn’t. We try and put him in whatever box we like best. We say, with the kings in Psalm 2, “We want things our way!”
And yet what does God do? He laughs! He rebukes the ones who are trying to fight him; He terrifies them with the threat of retribution — yet His response is not violence, He simply says, “The king is over there.” Then the Psalmist adds a warning, “Serve the Lord with fear and rejoice with trembling.” How many of us are actually afraid of God? I sure am. Yes, I preach all the time about how much God loves us — but He made the whole universe. He is dangerous, but He is love.
That’s why the Psalmist doesn’t leave us there. We aren’t left with “serve the Lord with fear and rejoice with trembling.” Instead, the Psalm ends, “Blessed are all who take refuge in Him.” But we can’t forget that God is dangerous. There’s a tension we’re left with, one that the Church recently has forgotten. We’re supposed to have the “fear of God” in us — as well as love.
Which brings us back to the transfiguration. I think I prefer Mark’s account of the transfiguration, for one reason — when Peter suggested building three booths for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah to hang out in, Mark tells us that “he did not know what to say, [he] was so frightened.” Because at the moment of the transfiguration, Jesus showed himself as the Son of God. Not as Jesus the carpenter, not as a teacher, not as a prophet — but the Word made flesh. I’d be so frightened I wouldn’t know what to say either.
So that makes what’s coming up all the more amazing. Remember what Jesus said as they were coming down the mountain? “Don’t tell anyone what you have seen, until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.” In the chapter before in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus had just finished saying that his purpose was to “go to Jerusalem, suffer many things at the hands of the elders, chief priests, and teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.”
The transfiguration and, like it, Transfiguration Sunday are transition points. The transfiguration is the shift of Jesus ministry toward the cross. Instead of roaming the countryside teaching, he now sets his sights toward Jerusalem and the cross. Transfiguration marks a shift from Jesus’ teachings into our Lenten journey, where we spend time in realizing our sin only to see it nailed to the cross on Good Friday, our penalty paid by one who doesn’t deserve it.