Matthew 17:1-9 is the story of the transfiguration. The source is Mark.
The biblical connection of this story is Moses ascending Mount Sinai in Exodus 24 and the story of Elijah, who also received a revelation on Mount Sinai. They personify the Law and Prophets. The uniqueness of this miracle is that Jesus does not perform it. It comes from outside him.[1]
The text becomes a crucial step in the way Matthew reveals the identity and mission of Jesus. His description of the Transfiguration offers a tantalizing glimpse into the true nature of the Messiah. Jesus and the disciples have been traveling throughout Galilee and have made the bold turn at Caesarea Philippi that will eventually lead to Jerusalem and the passion of Jesus, death and resurrection. While the mission of following Jesus started out with the promise of faith for the disciples, it has since devolved into misunderstanding and fear. Just who Jesus is and what it means to follow him seems an ever more fleeting notion for the disciples to grasp. Yet, throughout the Galilean ministry, and now in the journey to Jerusalem, they have received many opportunities to see who Jesus is and to hear who he is calling them to be. In a broader outline of the gospel, this tradition about the Transfiguration falls into chapters where Jesus predicts for his disciples no less than three times his suffering death on the cross and his resurrection. The Transfiguration occurs amid these predictions, therefore, in order to offer an important revelation of the authority of Jesus both in relationship to the tradition (Elijah and Moses), and to God ("This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!"). The story serves as a signal flare during the clouded vision of the disciples. Yet, as the gospel unfolds, they continue to misunderstand who Jesus really is and where Jesus is really going.
Only after repeated emphasis on the gritty reality of the mission of Jesus does the astounding, uplifting event of the Transfiguration occur. The only unambiguous fact about the transfiguration is that it is clearly a “mountaintop” experience. The Father of Jesus blesses all who are present with this moment of glory.
Six days later, after the incident at which Jesus asked the disciples who people say the Son of Man is in 16:13-27, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, tradition says Mount Tabor, though some scholars favor Mount Hermon, by themselves. 2 And he was transfigured (μετεμορφώθη, displaying the transforming purpose of God) before them, and his face shone like the sun, generating his own light, and his clothes became dazzling white. Such brightness is symbolic of divine presence. In the time of Jesus and the disciples, the common thought was that the earth was larger than the sun. The philosopher Anaxagoras thought the sun was just a few times bigger than his country, Greece. The mathematician and astronomer Ptolemy calculated that it was bigger than Earth but estimated that it was just 150 times larger. It was not until the year 1672 that two astronomers calculated the true size of the solar system. Today we know that the sun’s volume is 1.3 million times bigger than Earth’s volume. The sun is powerful, big, and able to affect our daily lives. What I am thinking about here is that Jesus seemed small to many of his contemporaries. When three disciples had a vision of Jesus on the mountain, they thought they were doing great honor to him by equating him to Moses and Elijah. Yet, they slowly learned that Jesus was so much more than they imagined. In fact, following Paul in Colossians 1:15-20, he is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of al creation. The Father created all things through the Son, even economic and political powers, which to many of us seem so dominating and too often oppressive. This Jesus is before all things we see. In fact, he holds it all together. He is the first to rise from the dead, God giving him first place in everything. Let us be clear. The fullness of God happily dwelt in him. Through Christ, God reconciled the divided, violent, warring political and economic and economic order and even the estrangement and alienation that occurs in intimate relationships. To reconcile in a way that respects difference is a challenging task. God has done so by making peace through the blood of the cross. Yes, Jesus is larger than any of us might imagine. Too many of us have appreciated Jesus, but have failed to understand his size, power, and effect. That which one day everyone will see, these disciples have the privilege of seeing in advance. 3 Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Moses and Elijah, according to Exodus 33 and I Kings 18, had direct communication with God. The passage quotes from Psalm 2:7, a hymn sung at the time of the enthronement of the king in Jerusalem. In other words, in this story, Jesus is king, Moses represents the Law, and Elijah represents the prophets. God the Father affirms the ministry of the Son. They represent the testimony of all Scripture‑‑both the Law and the Prophets‑‑about Jesus' true messianic identity. In addition, Moses' presence calls to mind the mountaintop transfiguration he experienced in Exodus 34:29‑35. The face of Moses also "shone" with a dazzling light after a voice from the clouds that covered the mountaintop addressed him. The similarity between the experience of Moses and transfiguration of Jesus receives an affirmation in II Corinthians 3:7-4:6. The apostle reminds his readers that, after his experience, Moses constantly “veiled” his face, while for Christians the event of the transfiguration of Jesus is only the first showing of the splendor and radiance of the glory of God that the resurrection will bring. The vision blends elements of the resurrection appearance tradition (e.g., the whiteness of his clothes, compare to 16:5) with Old Testament messianic imagery evoking Moses and Elijah. Some scholars would see this story as a misplaced appearance of the risen Lord read back into the ministry of Jesus. Yet, the presence of Moses and Elijah seems a little out of place if that were the case. More than that, Mark shows himself to be a good theologian and has good reason to place a narrative that reveals the identity and mission of Jesus. Jesus brings to its climax the work of the prophets who have proclaimed the word of the Lord. Jesus fulfills, brings to its desired conclusion, the entire story of Israel, who was to be a light to the nations. God formed the nation of Israel for a purpose. Israel was to be the vehicle of the redemption God wanted to offer the world. Israel was to be a witness among the nations of that longed-for redemption. Israel was to be a model of redemption. Israel existed for the sake of the redemption of the world. Jesus brings the story of Israel to fulfillment. He is the suffering servant of Isaiah 53. Yet, such a message of salvation and redemption would not be possible without the ministry of Moses, Elijah, and the ministry of the kings of Israel.[2] 4 Then (ἀποκριθεὶς, meaning "answered" or "said," denoting an abrupt breaking in to an established conversation, an interjection of something new into the discussion). Peter interrupts the conversation and said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings (σκηνάς) here, (suggesting the Feast of Booths) one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Many people think of the suggestion as wrong-headed and foolish. Yet, in Amos 9:11-12, booths of David refer to the dwellings that armies of David would use when on a successful campaign. Is the booths Peter suggests temporary housing for some messianic army God will send, an army headed by Jesus, Moses and Elijah? The word Mark uses here refers primarily to those structures built during the Jewish holiday of Sukkot‑‑the festival of booths. Originally, an agricultural celebration of the harvest, by the day of Jesus Sukkot had taken on significant eschatological meaning. Gathering under the shelter of the Sukkot symbolized the gathering together of all the righteous in their heavenly tents. Yet, while this heavenly "sukkot" was eternal, those constructed by observant Jews on earth were intentionally temporary, lean‑to type constructions. A traditional sukkot could have four walls. More often, they had only three, or even two and a half. The roof was supposed to give only minimal shelter from the elements. Ideally, the stars, the lights of heaven, should be visible through the roof in several places. If we factor in all of this, Peter may have realized the transient nature of the occurrence. Desirous to do something to commemorate the event, he proposed building temporary shelter in which they could dwell. He must know that regardless of the power of this vision, the mission of Jesus will not find its completion on the mountain. We as readers know it will find its completion in Golgotha. Yet, Peter may have wished to sustain the magic of this moment. If Peter listened, he would have heard the prediction of the passion of Jesus must precede the glorification of Jesus. 5 While he was still speaking, in images from Jewish eschatology, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, as in 1:11 at the baptism of Jesus, in the words of Psalm 2:7, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with only Matthew adding, with him I am well pleased. The voice from heaven confirms the confession of faith by Peter. The other times the heavens opened was the baptism in Matthew 3:13-17. These pivotal incidents represent God’s validation of Jesus as the bearer of divine revelation, both in his teaching and in his person. In both episodes, the voice from heaven echoes the text of Psalm 2:7, in which God utters the ancient adoption formula over heirs to the throne of the Davidic dynasty — “You are my son; today I have begotten you.” The use of the title “my Beloved” also may involve the biblical memory of Isaac and the near sacrifice of this son in Genesis 22. The heavenly voice speaks to the disciples, who have now become witnesses, a command, listen to him!” We as readers have someone new to whom to listen other than the Law and the Prophets, even if this new person is in conversation with them. Disciples are to live their lives bound by this obedience. The divine voice becomes another affirmation of the role of Jesus as Messiah. The entire event serves to demonstrate the authority of Jesus and his messianic identity. I have approached this text as if it relates a visionary type of experience within the ministry of Jesus.[3] An understanding of the eschatological future as revelation of the divine glory determines what New Testament authors say about the future of Jesus Christ. If we view the tradition as something that took place in the earthly history of Jesus and not as an account that originally belonged to the stories of the resurrection, then we may see it as an anticipatory manifestation of the glorifying that Jesus experienced at his resurrection.[4] 6 When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. 7 But Jesus came, usually people approach Jesus, and touched them, usually in reference to his healing and raising people from the dead saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” 8 And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. As quickly as the vision comes on, it has vanished.
9 As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.” The disciples have their eyes opened. The appearance is over. As they came down the mountain, Jesus ordered them not to tell anyone about the vision until God raises “the Son of Man … from the dead.” The messiahship of Jesus is his secret, and one can publish it only when God fully discloses it from within.[5]
The language used in the church in which I grew up was that we need to invite Jesus into our hearts. I did that as a boy of ten. I have no problem with the language today. Each of us needs such an event in our lives that connects us with what God has revealed in Jesus long ago. However, we need to keep learning who Jesus is. He is not just in my heart, as important as that event is. He is the heart of divine energy that gives life to the universe. Since God has reconciled all things in Christ, we who profess being disciples of Jesus must confess that we have fallen short of this. We have not shown this reconciling power in our congregational lives, in our relationships between various denominations, or in the world. Yet, whenever and wherever we see peace replacing conflict, we know that the power of Christ is at work. Sometimes, we can even be part of this transformation because God calls all Christians to engage in the ministry of reconciliation.
I would like to offer an analogy. The analogy carries with it a risk. I do not know how much the reader hungers for beauty. You know when beauty invades your ordinary experience. It captures your attention. If you have not had that experience, I think it is fair to say that you hope it will happen someday. It may happen with the physical or even spiritual beauty of person. It may happen in nature, of course, but it may also happen with a work of art. In that moment, as transitory as it may be, we will express something like the good fortune we have had to be there, in the presence of such beauty. Such beauty calls out to us. It calls us to recognize the true value and worth of another. We may have some thrill to be in the presence of such beauty. We are likely thankful. Beauty has a way of reaching out, seizing us, and demanding our attention. Such experiences of beauty may well provide a clue to give us a sign or glimpse of what it would be like to allow the beauty of the Lord to reach out, seize us, and demand our attention. If we do, we worship.[6]
Have you had what you would consider a genuine awakening to God?
I am not thinking of conversion. I am thinking of an experience that “in some way” deepened your connection with God. Many Americans think they have had such an experience. About one third of all Americans claim a religious or mystical experience. Some of them felt a union with the divine. Some describe special communications with the dead, divine beings, or visions. Sometimes, light accompanies such visions.[7] An experience like that does not prove that God exists, of course. Yet, it can give assurance to one has received teaching concerning God. Such an experience can give some assurance at a deep and profound level, deeply personal, that one has heard taught is true. William James famously outlined his understanding of the mystical experience. The quality of these experiences at least four defining characteristics. James referred to them as mystical states of consciousness. Ineffability: these experiences are not precisely in ordinary language but only with the language of metaphor: "It was like . . .” Transiency: the experiences are typically brief; they come and go. One does not live in a permanent state of mystical consciousness. Passivity: they receive them rather than achieve them. Though spiritual practices may help create the conditions for such experiences, they are not under the control of the person. Fourth, these experiences are noetic. People who have them say they involve a knowing, and not just strong feelings such as joy or awe or dread or wonder (though they frequently involve one or more of these as well). Mystics are strongly convinced that they know something they did not know before. What they know is not another bit of knowledge or piece of information, but another reality: they have an experiential awareness of the sacred.
Importantly, such experiences are transformative. They transform a person's way of seeing and being. Mystics see the world differently. Rather than seeing the world as "ordinary," they frequently see it as "suchness," as the playful and wondrous dance of the void. Moreover, mystical experiences also transform a person's way of being, leading to freedom from conventional anxieties and inhibitions and to compassion as a way of relating to the world. The Christians I know can often think of such experiences. Yet, they do not rely upon them. Most of Christian life is lived day to day, apart from such high and blissful moments. However, when I read of such experiences, when I reflect upon the few I have had in my life, it reminds me to be alert to every moment. If one can experience God like that, then God is in some sense knowable “right here” and not simply “everywhere.”[8] We need to hold on to time. We need to guard it and watch over it. If we do not give due regard to each moment, it will slip away. In a sense, every moment is sacred. Each moment can have its clarity and meaning. Each moment deserves the weight of our awareness. Each moment has its true and due fulfilment.[9]Overwhelmed with anxiety, we might see a vanity plate on a car that has the word “trust” on it. The ordinary moment can become a revelation.[10] Similar moments occur in worship when we catch some snippet of a phrase, some insight, some vision (which may be extremely difficult or even embarrassing to share with others) and base our lives upon it. Such are the ways of revelation. Such experiences have the intent of genuine transformation.
The British writer and humorist, Maximillian Beerbohm (1872-1956), has a story called “The Happy Hypocrite.” It is a sort of parable. The main character is a notoriously self-centered individual, named — appropriately enough — Lord George Hell. After many years of overindulgence in pleasures of the flesh, Lord George is a wreck of a man — as can be seen most clearly in his face, which is bloated and unhealthy looking. Something happens one day that changes George’s life forever. He sees a beautiful young woman and falls in love. It is a singularly pure attraction for such a corrupt and degenerate man. With every good intention, he wants to make her his wife — but he knows she would never accept his offer if she knew what he really was like. There is an element of magic to this story. Lord George Hell puts on the mask of a saint to hide his sinner’s face. As far as anyone knows, he is a kind and virtuous man. He courts the young woman and marries her. They live happily together. That is, until a woman shows up from George’s past. The mask does not fool her. She knows the man underneath it (or thinks she does). One day, in the presence of George’s wife, she confronts him and tears off his mask, expecting to reveal the bloated, pockmarked face of the old degenerate. What she reveals is something quite different. The mask was magical in many ways. Behind the mask of a saint is now the face of a true saint — the saint Lord George Hell has become, by wearing the mask.
The movie Life as a House (2001), is the story of a very dysfunctional family. The movie depicts an amazing process of transformation. The relationship between Sam, the rebellious teen, and George, his father, goes through a change as they tear down a shack and build a house together. As they build the house, Sam rebuilds his self-esteem and sense of identity. In the early stages of this transformation, George tells Sam, “Change can be so constant you don’t even feel the difference until there is one. It can be so slow that you do not know your life is better or worse until it is. Or, it can just blow you away, making you something different in an instant.”
9 As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead. Their journey to Jerusalem is an essential part of the glory they witnessed on the mountain. Only when historical events will fulfill the proper conditions, when God will raise the Son of Man from the dead, are the disciples to speak about what they had witnessed with their eyes and ears. They will know the full meaning of the glory revealed in Jesus until he passes through crucifixion, burial, and resurrection. The identity of Jesus as Christ has a goal. The mission of Jesus is to reveal the power of the love of God in defeating the power of sin and death through the cross and resurrection. One cannot contain it in a shrine on a mountaintop. In this sense, we find Mark theologizing about the death of Jesus mentioned in Chapter 8 as “glory.” He views the death of Jesus as triumph. “If we could have had faith to listen, to see, we would have interpreted the passion prediction as foreshadowing glory.” The transfiguration story marks a transition from a Galilean ministry of miracles to a journey toward death in Jerusalem. As such, it manifests the relation between glory and suffering. The transfiguration takes place just after the first teaching of Jesus about suffering and death. Despite the literally dazzling character of this story, nothing in it should be particularly new or shocking for us as readers. Peter rejects the suffering that lies ahead, but he is all too eager to welcome the glory! Such a witness makes a profound theological claim.
We as readers see the glory of revelation in Jesus during his work to bind up the brokenhearted, feed the hungry, and care for the sick. As the disciples and Jesus head down the mountain, they encounter in 9:14-29 a father and his epileptic son. The remaining disciples have attempted to help them, but they have not been able. The father pleads with Jesus to have mercy and help them. Jesus responds by calling out the unclean spirit and raising the child up. The action of Jesus makes the child well. The juxtaposition of the mountaintop moment (revelation, experience) with the healing connects the glory of Jesus with the power to render broken lives whole. One cannot contain such glory in a booth or set it apart from life. The point is to set such glory loose in the world and seek out people and places that call for healing, wholeness, and restored relationship. As the disciples continue to follow Jesus on the way to and through Jerusalem, the cost of this glory will become clear, as will the poignancy of the naive wish of Peter to remain on the mountain. In this transfiguration story, we as readers receive a foretaste of the full revelation of the identity of Jesus as Christ, and the hope for our transformation that such a revelation brings.
Just before this passage, Jesus promised that this generation would not taste death until they saw the kingdom of God. We then have this story of the transfiguration of Jesus, which occurs at the end of the ministry of Jesus in Galilee. It has a connection with the baptism of Jesus, which occurred before the Galilean ministry of Jesus. The question of their seeing the kingdom of God before they die has a preliminary answer in this story. It confirms the story of the passion, the suffering and death of Jesus upon the cross, as the suffering and death of the Son of God. This journey, with all that it implies, is the journey of the Son. It reveals the way of God among us. Luke often mentions Jesus at prayer, a moment that reveals the purpose of the Father in the life of the Son. When the transfiguration of Jesus takes place, the story finds its basis in Exodus 34:29-35, where the face of Moses shined when he received the Ten Commandments on two tablets of stone. However, in this case, the shining of Jesus leads to a statement of who Jesus is, the Son, and that disciples of Jesus are to listen to him. As the story unfolds, they see Moses and Elijah. Scholars are not sure what they signify. They could represent the Law the Prophets. They could represent the distinctiveness and superiority of Jesus over the Law and the Prophets. In Jewish apocalyptic literature, they were persons who would re-appear at the end of time. Luke says he knows that about which they talked: the “departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.” The disciples show some disorientation. Yet, Peter has some awareness of the holy place this mountain had become, and thus suggests three dwellings. However, the departure of Moses and Elijah, and the voice from heaven asserting who Jesus was and that they were to listen to him, are quite significant. Disciples are now followers of Jesus.
I know that we often criticize Peter for saying that he wants to build three dwellings. We cannot stay on the mountain. Yes, I know that – but here is my fear. Too many of us have no mountaintop and do not properly cherish the moments with God that God graciously gives to us. Do you have a sacred place in your home? Where are the mountaintops in our lives? Where do earthbound folk like us stand a better-than-average chance of encountering the living God?
The disciples will know the full meaning of his glory before he has been crucified, buried, and risen. Jesus' mission as the Christ has a purpose, and that purpose is the full manifestation of the power of God's love in the endurance of human suffering and the defeat of the powers of sin and death through the cross and resurrection. Jesus and the disciples ascend the mountain and experience the power of the presence of God. In a sense, the mountain gives them a vision of the direction of the Son. The disciples receive a vision of the divinity of Jesus, as far as they could apprehend at this time. They saw that God dwelled with him in a unique way.[11] As mountains often do, they enable a broader vision of the surroundings. Yet, of course, they will not live in that broader vision. Like streams that begin in the mountains, they must descend to bring fruitfulness to the valley below.[12]
This poem by Robert Frost is a little long, but it is a dialogue between two people, and enlisting someone with dramatic talent to read one side of the conversation could make for an interesting introduction to the sermon. It tells the story of a chance encounter with an old-time New England farmer. Because it was published in 1915, it is now in the public domain.
The Mountain, by Robert Frost
The mountain held the town as in a shadow
I saw so much before I slept there once:
I noticed that I missed stars in the west,
Where its black body cut into the sky.
Near me it seemed: I felt it like a wall
Behind which I was sheltered from a wind.
And yet between the town and it I found,
When I walked forth at dawn to see new things,
Were fields, a river, and beyond, more fields.
The river at the time was fallen away,
And made a widespread brawl on cobble-stones;
But the signs showed what it had done in spring;
Good grass-land gullied out, and in the grass
Ridges of sand, and driftwood stripped of bark.
I crossed the river and swung round the mountain.
And there I met a man who moved so slow
With white-faced oxen in a heavy cart,
It seemed no hand to stop him altogether.
“What town is this?” I asked.
“This? Lunenburg.”
Then I was wrong: the town of my sojourn,
Beyond the bridge, was not that of the mountain,
But only felt at night its shadowy presence.
“Where is your village? Very far from here?”
“There is no village — only scattered farms.
We were but sixty voters last election.
We can’t in nature grow to many more:
That thing takes all the room!” He moved his goad.
The mountain stood there to be pointed at.
Pasture ran up the side a little way,
And then there was a wall of trees with trunks:
After that only tops of trees, and cliffs
Imperfectly concealed among the leaves.
A dry ravine emerged from under boughs
Into the pasture.
“That looks like a path.
Is that the way to reach the top from here? —
Not for this morning, but some other time:
I must be getting back to breakfast now.”
“I don’t advise your trying from this side.
There is no proper path, but those that have
Been up, I understand, have climbed from Ladd’s.
That’s five miles back. You can’t mistake the place:
They logged it there last winter some way up.
I’d take you, but I’m bound the other way.”
“You’ve never climbed it?”
“I’ve been on the sides
Deer-hunting and trout-fishing. There’s a brook
That starts up on it somewhere — I’ve heard say
Right on the top, tip-top — a curious thing.
But what would interest you about the brook,
It’s always cold in summer, warm in winter.
One of the great sights going is to see
It steam in winter like an ox’s breath,
Until the bushes all along its banks
Are inch-deep with the frosty spines and bristles —
You know the kind. Then let the sun shine on it!”
“There ought to be a view around the world
From such a mountain — if it isn’t wooded
Clear to the top.” I saw through leafy screens
Great granite terraces in sun and shadow,
Shelves one could rest a knee on getting up —
With depths behind him sheer a hundred feet;
Or turn and sit on and look out and down,
With little ferns in crevices at his elbow.
“As to that I can’t say. But there’s the spring,
Right on the summit, almost like a fountain.
That ought to be worth seeing.”
“If it’s there.
You never saw it?”
“I guess there’s no doubt
About its being there. I never saw it.
It may not be right on the very top:
It wouldn’t have to be a long way down
To have some head of water from above,
And a good distance down might not be noticed
By anyone who’d come a long way up.
One time I asked a fellow climbing it
To look and tell me later how it was.”
“What did he say?”
“He said there was a lake
Somewhere in Ireland on a mountain top.”
“But a lake’s different. What about the spring?”
“He never got up high enough to see.
That’s why I don’t advise your trying this side.
He tried this side. I’ve always meant to go
And look myself, but you know how it is:
It doesn’t seem so much to climb a mountain
You’ve worked around the foot of all your life.
What would I do? Go in my overalls,
With a big stick, the same as when the cows
Haven’t come down to the bars at milking time?
Or with a shotgun for a stray black bear?
’Twouldn’t seem real to climb for climbing it.”
“I shouldn’t climb it if I didn’t want to —
Not for the sake of climbing. What’s its name?”
“We call it Hor: I don’t know if that’s right.”
“Can one walk around it? Would it be too far?”
“You can drive round and keep in Lunenburg,
But it’s as much as ever you can do,
The boundary lines keep in so close to it.
Hor is the township, and the township’s Hor —
And a few houses sprinkled round the foot,
Like boulders broken off the upper cliff,
Rolled out a little farther than the rest.”
“Warm in December, cold in June, you say?”
“I don’t suppose the water’s changed at all.
You and I know enough to know it’s warm
Compared with cold, and cold compared with warm.
But all the fun’s in how you say a thing.”
“You’ve lived here all your life?”
“Ever since Hor
Was no bigger than a — ” What, I did not hear.
He drew the oxen toward him with light touches
Of his slim goad on nose and offside flank,
Gave them their marching orders and was moving.
What strikes me about this poem today, December 2023, is that I feel a bit like the farmer, standing near the mountain, hearing what others say about the experience of going up the mountain, but never ascending the mountain myself. In this case, the mountain could be a particular experience of God. It could also be pointing people to the possibility of a meaningful, flourishing, happy life, but never embracing that possibility for myself.
[1] Barth, Church Dogmatics III.2 [47.1] 478.
[2] http://methoblog.com/2017/02/fulfilling-israels-story-for-the-sake-of-the-world-a-lectionary-reflection-on-matthew-171-9-2/
[3] Vincent Taylor, in his commentary, gives four hypotheses concerning this text. One, God revealed the true form of Jesus by breaking through the limitations of his humanity in divine revelation to the three chosen disciples. This would affirm historicity of the account. In addition, we might find further affirmation of historicity in the view that this was a visionary experience of the disciples. Two is a visionary experience. It may be a prelude to the resurrection. Three is a legend or symbolic story. It could be a resurrection story read back into the earthly life of Jesus. However, this view is difficult because of the presence of Moses and Elijah. Some scholars refer to it as a “misplaced” resurrection narrative. However, Mark as a theologian likely had good theological reasons for giving readers a hint of the risen Lord in the midst of the ministry of Jesus. Four, it may be pure symbolism. In this case, v. 4-5, 6, 7-8 could be Jewish eschatology and v. 3 could be Hellenistic mystery religion.
[4] Pannenberg, Systematic Theology Volume 3, 626.
[5] Barth Church Dogmatics III.2 [47.1] 460.
[6] (N. T. Wright, For All God’s Worth: True Worship and the Calling of the Church [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997], p. 7.)
[7] - George Gallup, Jr. Adventures in Immortality, quoted in Anthony C. Winkler, Jo Ray McCuen's, Rhetoric Made Plain, New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc., 1988. Our surveys have shown that nearly one-third of all Americans - or about 47 million people - have had what they call a religious or mystical experience. Of this group about 15 million report an otherworldly feeling of union with a divine being. They describe such things as special communications from deceased people or divine beings, visions of unusual lights, and out-of-body experiences. For instance, one said, "I was reading the Bible one night and couldn't sleep. A vision appeared to me. I was frozen and motionless. I saw an unusual light that wasn't there - but was. There was a great awareness of someone else being in that room with me."
[8] (Marcus J. Borg and N. T. Wright, The Meaning of Jesus, Two Visions [San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1999], pp. 61-62.)
[9] -Thomas Mann, from The Magic Mountain, quoted by Joanne Lynn and Joan Harrold in Handbook for Mortals: Guidance for People Facing Serious Illness (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 16. Hold fast to time! Guard it, watch over it, every hour, every minute! Unregarded, it slips away, like a lizard, smooth, slippery, faithless. ... Hold every moment sacred. Give each clarity and meaning, each the weight of your awareness, each its true and due fulfillment.
[10] David Bartlett tells of how Frederick Buechner was consumed by worry over his daughter's affliction with anorexia. Sick with worry, driving back to his home in Vermont, he pulled into a rest stop. There Buechner spied a license plate, one of those vanity license plates, although this time it was not really a vanity plate. The license plate read simply "trust."
For Buechner it was a revelation. A great sense of calm swept over his life and he knew he could go on. Bartlett says you have to admire that New England Bank trust department officer, who in a pun on his title, put "trust" on his license plate.
You have to admire Buechner for taking that license plate and turning it into a revelation from God for his life.
[11] --Saint Gregory Palamas (1296-1359 A.D.), Archbishop of Thessalonica, "Sermon on the transfiguration," http://oca.org/fs/sermons/sermon-on-the-transfiguration. Retrieved September 10, 2014. "What does it mean to say: He was transfigured?" asks the Golden-Mouthed Theologian (Chrysostomos). He answers this by saying: "It revealed something of his divinity to them, as much and insofar as they were able to apprehend it, and it showed the indwelling of God within him."
[12] --Henry Drummond, Scottish theologian. God does not make the mountains in order to be inhabited. God does not make the mountaintops for us to live on the mountaintops. It is not God's desire that we live on the mountaintops. We only ascend to the heights to catch a broader vision of the earthly surroundings below. But we don't live there. We don't tarry there. The streams begin in the uplands, but these streams descend quickly to gladden the valleys below.
Enjoyed this like the emphasis on Jesus
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