March 2, 2025
The story of the Transfiguration of Jesus as we read it in the scriptures is not as clear-cut as it ought to be. It begins with a desire to pray. And it seems that this was not just casual prayer, not just a grace before eating or a ritual prayer spoken by memory. This was a genuine desire for clarity and guidance. We see this because the Bible tells us that Jesus chose just a few of his disciples—three exactly (Peter, James, and John)—and he took them up a mountain, away from all that was going on. It’s obvious they needed to feel closer to God by distancing themselves from the world.
This makes sense in context, too. Luke tells us that just before this, the crowds had been pressing in on Jesus and following him, and he had just fed thousands of them with just five loaves and two fish. And so he asked his disciples who exactly these crowds thought he was. “The jury is still out,” they told him; “Some say you’re John the Baptist, others say you’re Elijah, and still others think you’re another prophet back from the dead.”
“But who do you say that I am?” he asked them.
“You’re the Anointed One—Messiah—of God,” Peter said.
And so he began to teach them what this meant, how it wasn’t going to mean worldly honor and glory, but the cross and suffering.
And it’s a week after the beginning of this new teaching that they climb the mountain to pray. And as they’re praying, Jesus begins to change. His face starts to shine and his clothes begin to glow. But Luke doesn’t tell us how the disciples responded with worship or with amazement. No, he tells us that they were weighed down with sleep.
And when they came to their senses, what they saw was this dazzling new Jesus together with Moses and Elijah—the embodiment of the law and the prophets. And as Moses and Elijah began to fade from you, Peter, without thinking, said, “Let’s build three shelters to keep you here!” Maybe he wanted to bring others up to witness what they were seeing. Maybe he wanted to keep Moses and Elijah there on the mountain longer so that they could answer his questions. Who knows? Probably not even he knew.
But then a cloud engulfed them all, and a voice came from the cloud, saying, “This is my Son, my Chosen One. Listen to what he says.”
And then the voice was silent and the clouds cleared, and they were alone on the mountain: Jesus, Peter, James, and John. No lawgiver, no prophet, no cloud, no voice of God. They were just as they had been. But the clarity they came to pray for had indeed been given: Jesus was the Son of God, the fulfillment of all the scriptures.
But the question remains: What was going on with the three disciples? Were they still burdened with sleep? Had their heads stirred? Why did Peter want to turn them into shrines? One thing is clear: They were afraid. Was it the fear of God, or was it just the fear of fog?
I think a lot of us approach religion like this. We are not always clear-headed. We are sometimes bored or listless when we come to church or open our Bibles. We have our own schemes to get closer to God, or to preserve our mountaintop experiences. We long to hear the voice of God, but we’re not always willing to follow God’s will. We are sometimes afraid, but we’re not sure of what.
The Bible acknowledges the human condition—especially the human condition when it comes to faith. Faith isn’t knowledge, but it requires our trust. And if our trust falters, God doesn’t abandon us to our fear, to our doubt, to our mistakes. In Jesus Christ, God has come to us and stays by our side.
And that’s part of today’s story, too. The disciples were as imperfect as we are. What should’ve been a glorious report of the transfiguration of the Savior ends up being a confusing jumble of blurred priorities and spiritual blindness.
But with all the glories of Messiah and all the shortcomings of Peter, James, and John, when the clouds cleared, it was Jesus alone who held them together—not the dazzling Jesus surrounded by Moses and Elijah, but Jesus in his threadbare simplicity—the Jesus who had led them up the mountain, and the Jesus who would accompany them back into the valley.
And here we are today, called from the chaos of the world, where we’re too often torn between conflicting voices out there beyond these walls, into the refuge of the church. And though we support each other through the confusion, and through prayer and preaching I try to enlighten our darkness, we are no less clouded than those three disciples on the mountaintop.
But when everything is cleared away, we are faced with the simple presence of our Lord and his words, this is my body, this is my blood, remember me in this way. Because of the bread and the cup, we know that he is with us on the mountaintop and in the valley. And he is with us not just when the truth stands obvious before us, but also when all is mystery.
So as we gather round the table this morning, may we be awakened to Christ’s presence in our lives in the midst of confusion. And when the clouds clear, may we, too, see nothing else but only Christ.
This makes sense in context, too. Luke tells us that just before this, the crowds had been pressing in on Jesus and following him, and he had just fed thousands of them with just five loaves and two fish. And so he asked his disciples who exactly these crowds thought he was. “The jury is still out,” they told him; “Some say you’re John the Baptist, others say you’re Elijah, and still others think you’re another prophet back from the dead.”
“But who do you say that I am?” he asked them.
“You’re the Anointed One—Messiah—of God,” Peter said.
And so he began to teach them what this meant, how it wasn’t going to mean worldly honor and glory, but the cross and suffering.
And it’s a week after the beginning of this new teaching that they climb the mountain to pray. And as they’re praying, Jesus begins to change. His face starts to shine and his clothes begin to glow. But Luke doesn’t tell us how the disciples responded with worship or with amazement. No, he tells us that they were weighed down with sleep.
And when they came to their senses, what they saw was this dazzling new Jesus together with Moses and Elijah—the embodiment of the law and the prophets. And as Moses and Elijah began to fade from you, Peter, without thinking, said, “Let’s build three shelters to keep you here!” Maybe he wanted to bring others up to witness what they were seeing. Maybe he wanted to keep Moses and Elijah there on the mountain longer so that they could answer his questions. Who knows? Probably not even he knew.
But then a cloud engulfed them all, and a voice came from the cloud, saying, “This is my Son, my Chosen One. Listen to what he says.”
And then the voice was silent and the clouds cleared, and they were alone on the mountain: Jesus, Peter, James, and John. No lawgiver, no prophet, no cloud, no voice of God. They were just as they had been. But the clarity they came to pray for had indeed been given: Jesus was the Son of God, the fulfillment of all the scriptures.
But the question remains: What was going on with the three disciples? Were they still burdened with sleep? Had their heads stirred? Why did Peter want to turn them into shrines? One thing is clear: They were afraid. Was it the fear of God, or was it just the fear of fog?
I think a lot of us approach religion like this. We are not always clear-headed. We are sometimes bored or listless when we come to church or open our Bibles. We have our own schemes to get closer to God, or to preserve our mountaintop experiences. We long to hear the voice of God, but we’re not always willing to follow God’s will. We are sometimes afraid, but we’re not sure of what.
The Bible acknowledges the human condition—especially the human condition when it comes to faith. Faith isn’t knowledge, but it requires our trust. And if our trust falters, God doesn’t abandon us to our fear, to our doubt, to our mistakes. In Jesus Christ, God has come to us and stays by our side.
And that’s part of today’s story, too. The disciples were as imperfect as we are. What should’ve been a glorious report of the transfiguration of the Savior ends up being a confusing jumble of blurred priorities and spiritual blindness.
But with all the glories of Messiah and all the shortcomings of Peter, James, and John, when the clouds cleared, it was Jesus alone who held them together—not the dazzling Jesus surrounded by Moses and Elijah, but Jesus in his threadbare simplicity—the Jesus who had led them up the mountain, and the Jesus who would accompany them back into the valley.
And here we are today, called from the chaos of the world, where we’re too often torn between conflicting voices out there beyond these walls, into the refuge of the church. And though we support each other through the confusion, and through prayer and preaching I try to enlighten our darkness, we are no less clouded than those three disciples on the mountaintop.
But when everything is cleared away, we are faced with the simple presence of our Lord and his words, this is my body, this is my blood, remember me in this way. Because of the bread and the cup, we know that he is with us on the mountaintop and in the valley. And he is with us not just when the truth stands obvious before us, but also when all is mystery.
So as we gather round the table this morning, may we be awakened to Christ’s presence in our lives in the midst of confusion. And when the clouds clear, may we, too, see nothing else but only Christ.
—©2025 Sam Greening
