SERMON FOR TRANSFIGURATION SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 2022 TEXT: LUKE 9:28-36
The Book of Exodus tells us that when Moses asks to see God’s glory, the Lord acquiesces but takes precautions out of concern for his servant’s safety. “‘[Y]ou cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live.’And the Lord continued, ‘See, there is a place by me where you shall stand on the rock; and while my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back; but my face shall not be seen’” (Exodus 33:20-23). When Moses descends from Mt. Sinai and returns to his people, his countenance now reflects God’s glory. Indeed, it is so bright that the Israelites cannot bear the sight. Moses then begins to wear a veil when he is among them, to protect them from the radiant light.
To behold God’s glory is a sign of salvation. “The Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you,” is part of the blessing proclaimed at the end of worship. When we bury the dead, we ask God to receive our loved ones “into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.” “Let light perpetual shine upon them,” we pray. The medieval theologian Thomas Aquinas calls this the beatific vision. Throughout our earthly existence, Thomas teaches, God’s grace works within us, not only to forgive sins but actually to transform us. As St. Paul writes, “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18). We begin as earthly creatures, finite, sinful and mortal. The pure, brilliant light of God is too much for us. And so God comes to us in the human Jesus — “Veiled in flesh the Godhead see/Hail incarnate deity” in the words of the Christmas carol — and continues to reveal himself to us, veiled in the sacraments. Over the course of a lifetime grace will wonderfully change us, according to Thomas, and the transformation becomes complete on the other side of death. Then we will be fit to dwell in the presence of God’s radiant glory continuously. Our longing to see God, no longer in a mirror, dimly, but face to face, will be fulfilled. Thomas wrote the hymn Thee We Adore, O Hidden Savior to celebrate this mystery: “Thee we adore, O hidden Savior, thee/Who in thy Sacrament are pleased to be/Both flesh and spirit in thy presence fail/Yet here thy presence we devoutly hail/O Christ, whom now beneath a veil we see/May what we thirst for soon our portion be/To gaze on thee unveiled, and see thy face/The vision of thy glory and thy grace” (LBW 199).
The season of Epiphany begins and ends with divine light shining forth to make Jesus the Christ known to the world. The wise men observe his star at its rising and follow it until it stops over the place where the newborn Savior lies (Matthew 2:2, 9). In the temple the aged Simeon confirms that the child “is a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” (Luke 2:32). Now on the last Sunday of Epiphany, the last Sunday before Lent begins, we go with Peter and James and John up the mountain to behold the glory of the Lord in the face of Jesus. He is flanked by Moses and Elijah. This makes the continuity of their work clear and the differences as well. To be sure, the law-giver and the prophet are God’s favored servants, and they play essential roles in Israel’s history. But only Jesus is identified as “my Son, my Chosen.” The voice from the cloud commands the disciples to listen to him, not them. And according to Luke, Moses and Elijah are there to talk about the future Jesus is facing, not their past. “They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.”
Although the Transfiguration occurs about a third of the way through Luke’s Gospel, 13 chapters before the story of Christ’s passion begins, we celebrate it at this point in the church year for good reason. This is how Luke introduces his account of the event: “Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray.” “These sayings,” found in the preceding verses 21-27, are significant. Jesus foretells his death and resurrection for the first time: “The Son of Man must undergo great suffering and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised” (9:22). Then he tells his hearers, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me” (9:23). Jesus speaks to each of us, offering not a generic cross, a one-size-fits-all pattern of discipleship. “What does it profit them if they gain the whole world, but lose or forfeit themselves?” he asks (9:25). Every one must answer that question from the wells of their own experience. We must reckon with our individual weaknesses and fears. We must drill ourselves in the habits of hope and mercy so that they sustain us through the dark hours of bitter disappointment and suffering.
As Luther regularly pointed out, everyday living brings a surplus of crosses to us all. There are the big things: failing health, troubled children, collapsing finances, guilt for wrongs that cannot be righted. Then there are the accumulations of small irritants and frustrations that over time grow into something toxic. As much as we may long to avoid or deny the cross or offload its burden onto others, Jesus challenges us to reject such deception and look carefully at our lives instead. During Lent we are to face what we would escape but dare not, what we would undo but cannot, whom we should love but will not. Just before the season begins we see our Lord Jesus, shining with the glory of God, in the company of Moses and Elijah. As it ends we will find him in the company of two thieve, dying on a cross. And then our Lord will come among us again, radiant with life and light. Amen.