“This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him”: a transfiguration reflection

Now I don’t know about you, but when I was growing up, I used to get bored of all the adult conversation going on around me. It goes without saying, I’d want conversation to revolve around what was most important in the world – me! Naturally, the adults in my life didn’t especially enjoy that, so they’d often tell me to stop interrupting… And as frustrating as that was, being told to stop butting in all the time, I must admit that it has taught me a valuable lesson in being able to listen to what others have to say. But perhaps more importantly, it taught me that despite what I might like to think about myself, the whole world actually doesn’t revolve around me. An important lesson for only children, like me.

So, when I read this morning’s gospel reading, I must say, I was most surprised when our cloud-riding God sweeps in and straight up interrupts Peter mid-sentence. But then saying that, I guess God probably gets fed up with boring adult conversation, too. That said, it took me a second or two to realise that God’s the one putting the babbling Peter in his place, and not the other way round. It’s God’s who reminds Peter that the whole world doesn’t revolve around him and that it might do him some good to remember that.

But how’d the disciples end up in this situation? Only moments earlier, they’d gathered with Jesus at the foot of the hill, and, perturbed by the crowd flocking to see him, Jesus took Peter, John, and James up the hill to pray. To get some distance from the crowd – to gain some perspective. While praying to his Father in heaven, the once familiar face of Jesus started changing appearance. The brilliant allure of God’s glory, the glorious light that the prophets of old could not bare to gaze upon – least they die – now radiated from Jesus’ face. Hm, curious. But not curious enough to stir the disciples.

Next, his clothes, undoubtedly dirty and sandy from day after day of walking around in the hot sun gradually transformed into dazzling white garments before the disciples’ eyes. Hm, curious. But again, nothing. Not one reaction from Peter, John, or James.

Suddenly, Moses and Elijah appear and begin discussing with Jesus what would happen to him in the coming weeks, the details of which the disciples were already privy to, Jesus having spoken with them about it a week earlier. Ah, now the cogs start turning for the disciples. Recognising the two men who appear before them, what they were discussing with Jesus, and what they represent it all started to make sense. Pushing through the tiredness, they begin to see Jesus for who he truly is.

Perhaps in a moment of human frailty, a result of being physically and mentally drained, Peter pipes up and as the writer of Luke’s gospel hastens to add, “without knowing what he’s saying” – we’ve all been there before! Peter does what I think any one of us would do in his situation. He saw a need: it was getting dark, Jesus and his prophetic entourage were probably getting cold, hungry, tired. So, addressing Jesus, he says, “Master – how convenient that we’re here! We’d love to help! If you’d like we can set up tents, put the kettle on, arrange some food…” Except God saw right through the disciples’ attempt at interrupting the ‘boring adult conversation.’ Remember, we read that the disciples themselves were struggling to keep their eyes open. Interrupting Peter halfway through his offer to help, God enshrouds the men in a cloud, and with words reminiscent of Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan, God declares in one of his booming voices God, “this is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” If that didn’t put the fear of God in them, I don’t know what would!

But what had the disciples missed? If they’d been listening to Jesus, what would they have heard?

In the passage directly preceding our reading this morning, Jesus tells the disciples, those closest to him, those who’d given up everything to follow him because they’d seen something different at play, something they couldn’t live without, Jesus told these disciples that his journey with them was coming to an end. I think we can all resonate with this feeling of abandonment, when the one whom we love prepares us for their departure. For some of us, the departure of a loved one is more sudden and perhaps comes without warning. I wonder how we might have felt if we were in the place of the disciples: Denial? Surprise? Shock? Or disbelief?

Having had a week to stew on the news that their close friend, companion, teacher, and guide was soon going to be given over to death, and be raised on the third day, Peter, John, and James are witness to that same conversation playing out again right before their own eyes, only this time with two heavy weights from the Hebrew Scriptures to help them make sense of who Jesus truly is: Moses and Elijah, the one representative of the law given to Israel, and the other representative of the prophets of the Hebrew Bible. Both pointing to Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah, the one to usher in God’s long-awaited Kingdom marked by justice and peace. But a Messiah and a Kingdom that comes as the result of someone having to be put to death? That surely doesn’t fit within their framework. So rather than watching in awe of what’s happening right before their eyes, Peter, likely speaking on behalf of the three disciples, interrupts the official proceedings by way of protestation to show their contempt for the fact that their beloved Jesus is going to be imminently carted off to die. Hm, curious. But oh, how they’ve missed the point!

As far as God’s concerned, that just simply wouldn’t do. So, God intervenes, points out the disciples’ myopia, their short-sightedness, their single-mindedness, their selfishness and calls them to account: “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

Now I don’t know where you get your news media from. But I’m an avid Radio New Zealand National fan. I listen to Morning Report with Suzie Ferguson and Corrin Dan during the week and the smooth, smooth voice of Jim Mora on Sunday mornings. Recently, though, with the coverage of the Wellington protests, with what’s rather quickly turning into World War III in Ukraine, and with the ever-increasing COVID numbers, I find myself, in the car, all alone, verbalising either frustration and anger toward one group or another or else feeling anxious and despairing for the way in which the world is, well, quite frankly, turning to custard. The temptation is to get so caught up in the reality of present-day events – and that’s entirely understandable, because they affect us, our neighbours, our friends and our families. But in so doing, we fall into the same trap the disciples do – we get hooked up on the fact that Jesus has said he’s going to die – yet forget about the promise that on the third day he will be raised to life again. The hope for us in this time and place is that while the world might be on the brink of war, while COVID might be getting the better of us, while… and the list goes on, what we are currently experiencing isn’t the whole story. What our media reports, what our neighbours discuss over the fence, what many of our conversations these days are missing is the good news that on the third day Christ will be raised; that what we’re currently experiencing isn’t the whole story.

The transfiguration of Jesus is just another vapid clickbait news story if, like Peter, John, and James, we keep to ourselves God’s self-revelation in Jesus. What makes the transfiguration event worth recounting each and every year is that the glory and presence of God collides with the brokenness of the world. Demons are cast out. The evil, sin, and death that plague the community gathered at the foot of the hill is wiped away in Jesus’ name. It is no surprise that “all were astounded at the greatness of God,” made known to them in Jesus Christ.

Likewise, we who are in Christ, are called down from our hilltop places of prayer and worship, to enter into the suffering and brokenness of this world and to boldly proclaim the good news that in Christ Jesus there is life and life in abundance. While we may not all be casting out demons, and that’s OK, we are nonetheless called to heal the communities into which God has sent us, by sharing the good news of Christ Jesus, in the way in which we interact with those in our midst. But how might we go about doing that? We first need to listen: “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

So, who are we listening to? The media who tells us the world is ending? Or the God of heaven of earth, who tells us that on the third day Christ will be raised; and that what we’re currently experiencing isn’t the whole story.

If, like me, you find yourselves becoming overwhelmed by what you hear this week, whether that’s on the news media, in conversation with friends and family, or even just stories that you end up replaying to yourself, can I encourage you to remove yourself from the situation you find yourself in – take a leaf out of Jesus and the disciples’ book and get some distance from the crowd – and gain some perspective. Climb a hill or sit in your favourite chair and go to God in prayer. And my prayer is that you would encounter the God made known to us in Jesus Christ, who revealed himself to Moses, Elijah, and those three very lucky disciples that day. For it is when we come before our God in prayer that we start to perceive the world as it is with fresh perspective. It is as we hold situations before God in prayer that we can see light in the midst of deepest darkness. And may we who have encountered this God, boldly descend from that place of prayer, shining the light of hope for others to see that on the third day Christ will be raised; and that what we’re currently experiencing isn’t the whole story. And that through us, others would be “astonished at the greatness of God.”

Kororia ki te Matua, ki te Tamaiti, ki te Wairua Tapu,

Glory to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Brett Reid
Ministry Intern.