Mark 9:2-9
February 11, 2024
What if Peter got it right? I’ve
never asked myself that question before. What if Peter got it right? It’s a
question that a commentator on this passage in The Christian Century posed, and
it has stuck with me ever since. What if Peter got it right? Had I not read
this commentary, would I have ever even considered this question? I can’t tell
you how many times I have preached on the transfiguration of Jesus and not once
have I even thought about this option, pondered this possibility, asked that
question. What if Peter got it right with his declaration to build three
dwellings, to stay there on that mountain? What if Peter got it right?
In all honesty, I generally assume
that Peter doesn’t get it right, not only on this high mountain, but at other
times as well. Peter is impulsive. Peter rushes into situations where it would
be better if he watched and waited a little longer. Peter opens his mouth and more
often than not inserts his foot. Peter can be awkward and passionate and
intense. I love Peter. I feel for Peter. I empathize with Peter, but have I
ever once been willing to consider the question, “What if Peter got it right?”
Jesus has taken Peter, James, and
John up a high mountain, just the four of them. We don’t know what the other
disciples are doing during this time or where they might be hanging out. But
Jesus brings just these three. They go up this high mountain, and without any
explanation or forewarning, Jesus is transfigured before them.
What does this transfiguration mean?
What does it look like? The gospel writers give us a description, although I
suspect that words cannot capture what the disciples saw on that high mountain.
Jesus is transfigured. He is changed, transformed. His clothes become dazzling
white, whiter than any laundering or bleach could make them. Before the
disciples could wrap their heads around this strange change of their teacher,
Jesus is no longer standing alone. Moses and Elijah – the Law and the Prophets
– are with him, talking with Jesus, engaging with Jesus. And Peter, not knowing
what to say or do because they three of them were terrified, speaks up and
says,
“Rabbi, it is good for us to be
here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for
Elijah.”
Whatever Peter might have expected
to happen at that moment, he probably didn’t expect what actually did happen. A
cloud overshadowed them, and from that cloud came a voice saying,
“This is my Son, the Beloved; listen
to him!”
And just as suddenly as all this
began, it was over. Jesus was the Jesus they knew once again. His clothes were
just clothes again, minus the dazzling brightness. However he looked while he
was transfigured, all that was done – for now. And he was standing there alone.
Moses and Elijah were gone as well. If they stayed on that high mountain for a
while, catching their breath, and trying to get Jesus to tell them what
happened, we don’t read about it in the text. It would seem that as soon as the
transfiguration of Jesus was over, they made their way back down the mountain.
The only thing we know that Jesus told them at that moment was not to tell
anyone else. Don’t breathe a word of it until after the Son of Man is risen
from the dead.
So, did Peter get it right?
As I said, I’ve never considered
that possibility before. When I read this text and I read Peter’s statement
about the three dwelling places, or tabernacles if we want to stick closer to
the Greek, I just think he’s being impulsive Peter again. He is terrified, and
his fear makes him want to fill the strange space with words. But what’s so
wrong about wanting to stay and see Jesus in his glory? What is so wrong with
wanting to be, just be, in the light of glory, the light of God
that not only surrounded Jesus, but seemed to stream from him as well?
The commentator who asked this
question made the connection between that light and the light of creation. The
light of glory that transfigured Jesus came from the One who said, “Let there
be light!” Peter was right, it was good for them to be there. It was good for
them to witness that light. Maybe Peter being Peter was exactly what was right
at that moment.
Six days earlier, Peter got it right
– just before he got it terribly, terribly wrong. Six days earlier, Jesus asked
the disciples what the people were saying about him. Who did they think he
truly was? The disciples answered, “Well, some folks think that you’re Elijah,
and some think that you’re John the Baptist, or another one of the prophets.”
But Peter said what no one else was saying.
“You are the Messiah.”
Peter got it right. Of course, if
you remember the rest of that story, the minute Jesus begins to tell them what
it really means to be the messiah, that it means suffering, that it means
death, Peter took Jesus aside and told him to knock that kind of talk off!
Peter rebuked Jesus! And then Jesus
rebuked Peter. He rebuked him in the way that he rebuked demons who possessed
people. So, Peter got it very right, but then he got it very, very, very wrong.
But six days later Jesus, Peter,
James, and John go up this high mountain and Jesus and everything else changes.
This was a pivotal moment. This was one of those moments, one of those times,
when looking back on it, there would always be a before and an after. You know
the moments I’m talking about. They can be personal – like the moment you met
your spouse or the moment your children were born. Or they can be collective –
like epic moments in history – when President Kennedy was assassinated or
September 11th. Personal or collective, all these are pivotal
moments. They mark a moment of absolute change, a before and an after.
The transfiguration is one of those
moments. When Jesus and the disciples go back down that mountain, nothing will
ever be the same again. Even when Peter and the other disciples don’t get it
right – and there will be plenty more of those moments to come, this is a
moment of change, of turning. There was a time before they witnessed Jesus’
transfiguration and there is every moment after. There was a time before they
went up that high mountain and saw Jesus change and become illumined and
dazzling with supernatural light, when Moses and Elijah appeared with him and
talked with him, and there is every moment after.
But no matter how wrong Peter and
the other disciples get it after this moment, they cannot unsee what they have
seen. They cannot unknow what they now know – even if that knowledge is not yet
complete.
So, maybe Peter was right to want to
stay in that moment. Maybe Peter’s instinct to settle into the moment was spot
on. It’s just that moments like that cannot last forever, at least not in this
space and time. That moment came to an end, and they went back down the
mountain, but it gave them a glimpse of what was and is to come. It gave them a
fleeting look at the glory of God, the light of light, glowing fiercely at the
edges of what we see.
In our contemporary church calendar,
Transfiguration Sunday is a pivotal Sunday. It marks the end of the season of
Epiphany, the season of light, and the beginning of Lent, the season of
shadows. It’s like the creators of the lectionary want to give us one last,
dramatic, epiphanous burst of light before we move into the somber days of
Lent, before we turn our heads and hearts to the cross.
Needing some inspiration for my
sermon this morning, I did a search of artwork around the transfiguration. I
wanted to see how artists have interpreted this story over the centuries.
Classical artists often depicted Jesus, Moses, and Elijah as surrounded by a
halo of light and hovering off the ground. I guess when you have no sure way to
depict supernatural light, having them hovering is another way to show just how
otherworldly this event was. But my favorite piece of art was not of figures at
all. It was just a circle of light, light that looked like it was moving,
dancing, flickering like flame. It was a burst of light that made me wish I
could reach out and touch it. It looked like light that would illumine
everything around it, that it would make everything clear, at least for a
moment.
And maybe that’s what the
transfiguration was as well. A burst of illuminating light surrounding Jesus,
making everything clear to the disciples, at least for a moment. Maybe Peter
was right to want to stay within the boundaries of that light, but that wasn’t
possible. But maybe, just maybe, even if Peter couldn’t stay there on that high
mountain, basking in that glorious light, maybe he could take a little of that
light with him. Maybe it was that light that carried him through the
increasingly dark times ahead. Maybe it was that light that kept him following
even when he messed up. Maybe it was that light that sparked the flame within
him when those flames of fire descended upon him. Maybe he
carried that light with him into the valleys where the shadows of death waited,
where the outline of the cross loomed ahead. Maybe Peter got it right after
all. Maybe he carried a little of that light with him, and maybe we need to do
the same. May we carry this light of transfiguration into the shadows of Lent,
trusting that the light of glory is there as well, waiting to burst into full
and glorious light, illumining our way and welcoming us home.
Let all of God’s children say,
“Alleluia.” Amen.
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