| "No, the disciples were not on dope! Theirs was a different kind of high, and a different kind of coming down! As Mark tells the story, Jesus has taken three of his disciples-that inner circle of Peter, James, and John-up a high mountain. Mark doesn't name this mountain, but tradition has long associated the place with Mt. Tabor, some six miles in one direction from Nazareth, Jesus's boyhood home, and some fifteen miles in another direction from Capernaum, Jesus's base of ministry. Tabor is a distinctively steep-sloped, dome-topped mountain that rises dramatically from the plain of the Jezreel Valley and is visible from miles away in every direction. Its broad summit affords sunset views and spectacular vistas that kept drawing our family back to it throughout the year we lived in Israel. Now, in the episode narrated by Mark just prior to this mountaintop experience, Jesus had delivered to his disciples what must have seemed like one of his gloomiest and most depressing sermons-about how both he and his disciples were destined not for earthly glory but rather for being rejected and for bearing crosses. (Mark 8:31-38) Peter hadn't liked that sermon at all. In fact, he'd gotten so angry at Jesus that Jesus had had to rebuke him, calling him none other than "Satan"! But now it is six days later, and atop that mountain, things must have seemed a whole lot better to Peter-and to James and John as well. For right then and there, before their very eyes, the glory for which they had hoped appeared at last to be coming to pass. In a mystic vision of the transcendent that even a Hollywood "special-effects" team would envy, the disciples found themselves glimpsing a larger-than-life splendor, a wholly awesome wonder. For there stood Moses and Elijah, two titans of the distant past, each of whom had been granted-in his own time, on a mountaintop such as this one-a theophany, a full and close encounter with the Living God. And now here these titans were, standing right there and talking with the quite transfigured Jesus, who, among other changed aspects, was arrayed not in his usual simple homespun but in raiment of dazzling white. Jesus, Moses, and Elijah together-this was a veritable summit conference of salvation history. And in this vision, Jesus was clearly the earthly manifestation of God and also the fulfillment of both the teaching given through Moses and the prophecy conveyed by Elijah. In the disciples' God-granted vision, heaven and earth were united, as time merged into eternity and immanence passed into transcendence. For a moment, the universe seemed unified and our human limitations seemed suspended as the fullness of God's glory was revealed. Gary Charles, a Presbyterian minister, suggests that in the midst of this spectacular vision, Peter must have been saying to himself, "This is more like it. Give me ecstasy over suffering any day." (in Brian K. Blount and Gary W. Charles, Preaching Mark in Two Voices [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002], p. 155.) Certainly, Mark tells us explicitly that Peter was getting so caught up in the wonder of the whole experience, that he called out to Jesus, "Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three [shrines], one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." (v. 5) But for the second time in two chapters Mark is showing us that Peter was misconstruing things. He was understanding Jesus's dazzling white robes to be emblematic of the glory given to all of those who serve God. But, as we learn from the imagery used in the book of Revelation (e.g., 6:11; 7:13-14), early Christians thought of white robes as emblematic of the glory given to those who serve God through martyrdom and death. Thus, Jesus's dazzling white robes were a symbol of martyrdom, a symbol meant to confirm the truth of Mark's claim that the way of Jesus leads inevitably to the bearing of a cross. Well, when the errant Peter suggested commemorating the disciples' vision by establishing three worship centers right there on the mountaintop, a cloud suddenly overshadowed the scene, and a voice from that cloud proclaimed, "This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him!" Now, something quite similar to the first part of that announcement was heard by us just seven weeks ago, on Baptism of the Lord Sunday. You'll recall that Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist, a figure whom Mark takes great pains to portray as a new Elijah. And as Jesus emerged from the waters of the Jordan, a voice from heaven proclaimed, in such a way that only Jesus himself could hear it, "You are my Son, the Beloved." (1:11) So here on this mountaintop what had previously been proclaimed privately, only to Jesus himself, albeit in the presence of the one who was the new Elijah-that same announcement was now being proclaimed publicly to these disciples, in the very presence of the old Elijah, the announcement: "This is my Son, the Beloved." And to these words, the voice from the cloud added a commandment: "Listen to him!" Now, in this passage Jesus has spoken nary a word to be listened to, and what Jesus had most recently been teaching his disciples was not at all about a path to glory. Rather it was all about the way of the cross. Peter had not wanted to listen to that; he much preferred to gawk at glory. Yet it was to the way of the cross that the disciples were commanded to listen. Had not that new Elijah, John the Baptist, already been put to death (Mark 6:17-29), and was not Jesus even now on his way to Jerusalem and Calvary? Was it not the essence of discipleship to come down from the high of the mountain in order to take up the weight of the cross? So at the end of this scene of transfiguration, Mark tells us that as the disciples were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them to tell no one about what they had just seen-doubtless lest others, too, construe its glory quite out of the context of suffering. Transfiguration of the Lord Sunday-it's a strange one for all of us who are would-be followers of Jesus. For the church seasons that have stretched from Christmas right up to now have been ones for celebrating the joy of the Epiphany, the joy of God's self-disclosure to the world in the person of Jesus. But come this next Wednesday, we will be confronted by the ashes of death, and we will be asked to bear on our forehead the mark of dust that signals we have come down from the mountain and begun our pilgrimage to Calvary, to Golgotha, to the place of the skull, to the scene of Christ's cross! We've been high, but now we're coming down, coming down to the valley below, to the plain where suffering and pain are principal parts of everyday existence. But who among us wants to come down from mystic visions of glory to those depressing realities -poor schools, deepening unemployment, cataclysmic pandemics, the virtual violence pandered in our media, and the hard-copy violence perpetrated in war? We're with Peter, aren't we! We prefer the transfigured Jesus. Well, in truth, who wouldn't prefer a dazzlingly resplendent "magical Jesus" at whom we could "ooh" and "aah" with adulation, a Jesus "immune from the scars that come when good friends betray, [when] trusted friends deny, [when those in charge] wash their hands of justice"! (Charles in Blount and Charles, p. 156) But that dazzlingly resplendent "magical Jesus" is not the Jesus of history, not the Jesus sent of God, not the Jesus whom we follow. So today we "come down the mountain, to go below where the mobs scream and crosses wait and God's love does not yet rule in every heart," (Ibid.) as we will come to realize more fully this Wednesday, when smudged with ashes we set forth for the place of the skull in the company of our suffering Messiah, our Friend and Savior, who gave up the dazzling light of the heavenly heights to come down to walk with us through life's dark valleys. Let us pray: Amen |
Return to Sermon Archive