We all want something beautiful.

It is a holy moment when everything clicks into place, when things make sense while making no sense—like falling in love.  These kinds of moments cannot happen every day because the human body could never bear it.  Given the stories we have heard from Scripture today, humans cannot even look at God without somehow absorbing some amount of God’s radiance that then makes their own faces shine. 

But these are the moments worth returning to because these remind us that the struggle is worth the pain.  These transfiguring moments remind us that life is not all misery.  We need to be reminded that mountaintops exist.  And even if we can’t live on the mountaintop permanently, even if the valley calls out with its brokenness and its needs for healing and endless duties, we need to be reminded that the mountaintop indeed is real and we will go there again. 

Holy moments do not have to be logical, just as beauty defies explanation.  When you see a gorgeous sunset, you don’t want a lecture about how light waves are refracted in the earth’s atmosphere.  The only thing to do is stop, maybe even take a breath, and savor the goodness of life on earth.  It’s not all bad. 

Jesus, on the mountain of his transfiguration, doesn’t try to explain the significance of this moment to the disciples.  He does try to explain to them how he will soon die, but they’re not able to understand him well enough to meet him where he is, so they go up a mountain to pray.  They might as well talk with God.  And Jesus gets a pep talk from the ancestors Moses and Elijah, to speak of Jesus’s departure.

You may have noticed that in this Gospel text, it says “exodus,” which is the Greek word that is used there too—the same word used to describe the exodus of the people of God led by Moses out of slavery in Egypt, the great liberation, the salvation story creating the foundation of Israel.  Moses and Elijah were both faithful men who saw God’s glory, experienced revelation while on mountaintops, died when God decided it was the right time and even came to be associated with traditions that they never died.[1]

It is possible to do great things, to stay busy and righteous, but there must come a time to stop.  Barbara Holmes, in her book “Joy Unspeakable,” quotes Howard Thurman, who says:

“It is good to make an end of movement, to come to a point of rest, a place of pause.  There is some strange magic in activity, in keeping at it, in continuing to be involved in many things that excite the mind and keep the hours swiftly passing.  But it is a deadly magic; one is not wise to trust it with too much confidence.”[2] 

The Gospel lesson could have stopped with the story of the disciples on the mountain, but I wanted to leave in the part about Jesus healing a child with some kind of unclean spirit.  First of all, the story of a man interceding on behalf of his son is a beautiful testimony of the love a parent has for their child. 

But also, this story is where we get to hear Jesus’s absolutely honest assessment of the state of the world: “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and put up with you?”[3]  Jesus still heals the child, and I think the healing part is important because the mountaintop experience and the Transfiguration isn’t just a fun side trip with some disciples. 

I liked the way Celeste Kennel-Shank explained the significance:

“The Transfiguration is a foreshadowing of how Jesus will restore God’s kingdom not through violent overthrow of the oppressors but through transformative nonviolent love.”[4]

A commitment to nonviolence requires a commitment to Sabbath, to restorative self-care, to checking in with your soul and taking time away to get perspective on life.  Jesus is not a perpetual healing machine, and—listen carefully, friends—neither are you.  Taking a pause to reflect on life is essential to the ongoing work of transformative nonviolent love. 

And taking a pause to praise God, even in the midst of tragedy, is a powerful statement of faith.  God, we are gathered here, and we know the world is broken and we don’t know how to fix it, but we trust you, O God.  God, remind us of the stories of our ancestors who have lived through times like this, who persevered in the faith and told the story of your greatness.  God, unite our voices in praising you, and grant us your vision to sustain us. 

The words of Scripture and liturgy in worship give us a framework for moving forward.  Psalm 99 was written in a time when Jerusalem was unimportant, but the faithful still sang praises to God.  New Testament professor Rolf Jacobson mentioned this week in a podcast that the canticle of praise we sing in worship about “the lamb who was slain has begun his reign” was composed in a time when Christianity did not have a great deal of social power, when Christians did not enjoy the kind of religious freedoms that we take for granted. 

We sing praises to God to sustain us through difficult times, to remind us of the good moments, and to humble ourselves before God, as we are ever in need of God’s grace and mercy and healing. 

And to savor the mountaintop moments—when have you experienced a holy moment of clarity?  When did God’s power become evident to you?  Or when did you notice your connection to who God called you to be, to do the thing God created you to do?  Who are the ancestors who invested in you and led you in the right way?  What would you say to them if you could speak to them one more time? 

Take some time to consider this today, to connect with your “why.”  Leave this place with a song sticking in your head, the melody or a phrase.  Later in worship as we prepare for Holy Communion, listen again to the words of the proper preface, which always begins like this: it is our duty and our joy…

Amen.

Pastor Cheryl

[1] Stories referenced in Deuteronomy 34:1–5 and 1 Kings 2:11, Commentary by Troy Troftgruben, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/transfiguration-of-our-lord-3/commentary-on-luke-928-36-37-43a

[2] Barbara Holmes, Joy Unspeakable, page 1.

[3] Luke 9:41. Jesus really said this.

[4] Celeste Kennel-Shank, The Christian Century, March 2025, page 24.