Unspeakable (Reflections on the Feast of the Transfiguration, Year C)

Okay. It’s time again for that really bizarre tale which always ends the Epiphany season—the story of the Transfiguration (Luke 9:28-43a). Here’s Jesus with his buds James, John, and Peter up on a mountaintop. He prays, and suddenly his clothes become dazzling white like he’s in a commercial for New Tide with Bleach. Then two dead holy guys appear with him. Peter offers to pitch tents for all of them on the mountain (which is silly since dead holy guys don’t really need shelter), and then the whole scene gets covered by a talking cloud.

Just plain weird. I won’t even attempt to give a rational explanation of this yarn. I think it’s better we just take the story at face value and pick out of it what we can. As I look at this scripture this year, what strikes me in Luke’s version is actually what isn’t said. Check out the conversation which happens before this tale takes place back in verses 21 and 22. Here Jesus tells the disciples that he’s going to suffer and be crucified. How do they respond? The Bible doesn’t say. In Matthew and Mark’s gospels, Peter gets his shorts in a knot and rebukes Jesus for saying that he has to die. In Luke, however, the disciples are all silent on the subject. Didn’t they hear? Or are they just too afraid to ask?

In case the disciples missed what Jesus said in verses 22-3, Moses and Elijah bring the subject up again when they appear with Jesus during this miraculous mountaintop experience (v. 31). None of the three disciples on the mountain ever comment on it. Peter offers to pitch some tents, but he never says to Jesus, “Uhh, Boss..? We’re not sure we heard right. Did Elijah just say that you were going to Jerusalem to depart? What does that mean, exactly?”

That’s so like the disciples. It’s also so like us, don’t you think? Here these boys are having a wonderful worship experience in which they really seem to get to know the glory of Jesus. In fact, we might even interpret what Jesus says up in verse 27 as a promise that some of them would really get to see God’s glory in Christ. But they don’t seem to understand that this glory is only transient, and that they’ll have to come down the mountain and deal with the real dirty business of the world.

I also find it interesting that even after they’ve had their mountaintop moment, they don’t seem to want to talk about it (v.36). What are they afraid of?

The compilers of the Revised Common Lectionary link the story of the Transfiguration with the tale which immediately succeeds it of Jesus healing a boy with some kind of seizure disorder. The boy’s dad says that he took his son to the disciples, but they couldn’t cure the lad. This gets Jesus in one of his rare irritated moods. He accuses the powerless disciples of being “faithless and perverse” (v.41). Could it be that they actually had the ability to heal this child, but simply lacked the confidence or trust to do it?

If we read on beyond the assigned lectionary for this Sunday, there is a third reference in Luke chapter 9 to Jesus’ impending passion (vv.43b-45). This time Luke clearly tells us that the disciples didn’t understand this and were afraid to speak of it.

For me, I guess, the disciples in this chapter seem to resemble members of an old, established congregation who really love the worship experience, but just can’t seem to wrap their brains around the call to witness to a hurting world. They want to pitch that tent in the garden with Jesus, but they just don’t want to talk about it or deal with any of the aspects of the faith which might be troublesome or confusing. They’re ready to talk your ears off about petty things and personal gripes (see verses 46-50), but they can’t open up about how they experience Jesus, and they are afraid to take the leap of faith necessary to do a mission of healing for their community.

This is the challenge as we come down the mountain and set our faces with Jesus towards Jerusalem--towards the realities of sickness, injustice and hurt in this world. As we enter the holy season of Lent, will we open our mouths to speak our own faith? Will we be willing to tackle the tragedies of hunger and want that so cripple this planet? Can we believe that we have the power to cure within us?

But here’s the good news: Jesus used these poor, simple, dim-witted, pusillanimous boobs to bring his light to the world. It can be done even by the most simple, tongue-tied, confused, and shy among us. If we’ve known Christ’s glory even for a second, we can remember it for eternity and move forward in its promise.

Thanks for reading. God’s peace to you.