Mountaintop experience
Commentary
It was the most boring sermon I ever heard, until it became the most interesting.
At first, I did not understand what had come over my student. Up to this point in the class, I thought she had been getting it. She laughed when I quoted Kierkegaard, "Boredom is the root of all evils." She nodded her head when I said that the dullest presentation would not be redeemed by the soundest content. Her critiques of the other students' sermons were right on target.
So why was she droning on about the literary sources of 2 Peter? What a mishmash of scholastic irrelevancies! On and on about pseudepigraphy and source criticism and whether Peter was friends with Paul. I could feel the other students snoring on the inside. It was ten minutes of total exasperation.
But then, with a short transitional sentence, everything changed. She started talking about her grandfather, who was a Greek fisherman. Suddenly, we were on the banks of the Mediterranean. We could smell the salt air, feel the weather-beaten hands, see the wooden barks that had hardly changed since the days of Homer. As she talked about the faith of her grandfather, we were utterly changed. We could see Jesus in his very person.
After the sermon, we took a moment or two to collect ourselves, then proceeded to the discussion. By the rules of the preaching seminar, the preacher was allowed only to listen in on the discussion as a silent partner, to overhear but not participate -- she had had her opportunity to communicate, now it was our time to say what we had heard (after all, they don't give us a chance to butt in when they discuss our sermons in the parking lot!). We all agreed that we had heard a two-part sermon. We all agreed that the first part was utterly boring. We further agreed that the sermon half was equally strong in the opposite direction -- utterly fascinating. We just could not understand how the two parts fit together (we laughed and joked that we wished the preacher were there to explain it!).
¶¶¶But then it hit me: 2 Peter 1:16, "For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty." Her sermon had followed the form of the text exactly (see, she had been paying attention!). The first part was the "cleverly devised myths" endlessly argued by scholars to no conclusion. The second part was the "eyewitness of his majesty," embodied in the faith of her grandfather. It was a clever, clever sermon. Too clever, I think!
Today's lessons stress the experience of the revelation of God. While there are a good number of theories out there about these lessons, and it won't hurt anyone to become a little better educated about them, the sermon is never mere lecture. These texts call out to be experienced and re-experienced. They are about meeting God on the mountain. Scholars call these stories "theophanies," (the "appearance" of God), but through the ages believers have been content to let the experience speak for itself. The preacher's job today may be nothing more than to step out of the way and allow the congregation to see the theophany themselves.
Exodus 24:12-18
This brief passage of Exodus is about one thing: direction. Moses "went up the mountain," it says, not once, but four times! The movement is from the human to the divine, from the everyday concerns of politics, community, religion, economics, family, and work to one overriding and overwhelming concern: God. Moses leaves the human community behind, and goes up the mountain to spend forty days and forty nights in the sole presence of God.
Our lection picks up the story from Exodus 24:1-2, where the seventy elders of Israel begin to come up the mountain. The numbers thin until Moses and Joshua alone ascend, leaving Aaron and Hur behind to take care of business (thus setting up the story of the golden calf in ch. 32). Finally, Moses alone goes up into the cloud of the glory of the Lord.
Moses has figured as the center point of a larger narrative (in Exodus) that is arranged in a chiastic or cross pattern (a form common in ancient narrative):
A
The theophany at Mount Sinai, 19:1-25
B
The giving of the Ten Commandments, 20:1-17
C
Moses the mediator between God and Israel, 20:18-21
C'
The giving of the covenant code to Moses, 20:22--23:19
B'
The law concerning the conquest of Canaan, 23:20-33
A'
The theophany concerning the covenant ceremony, 24:1-18
This narrative of the giving of the law at Sinai is at the center of the entire book of Exodus. At its peak is Moses, who receives both the law and the vision of God. The combination of law and theophany show that this is no human legislation, and Israel no voluntary organization. The people and the rules that hold them together are the direct doing of a God who is beyond human imagining. This is a priestly kingdom, set apart to reveal God's glory to the world, and Moses is assigned as point man in this theophanic purpose.
Moses' place in this scheme is symbolized by the language of the story: he seems to keep going up, up (Exodus 24:1, 9, 12, 13, 15, 18). On his way he encounters that cloud which has been with Israel throughout their journey (13:21-22; 14:19-20, 24; 16:10; 19:9, 16; 24:15-16, 18; 33:9-10; 34:5; 40:34-38); it is the Shechinah, the presence of the glory of the Lord (so-called because the glory of the Lord "settled" or "dwelt" (shachan) on Mount Sinai (v. 16). Coupled with the cloud is the burning fire, as before (cf. 13:21; 14:4, 7; 16:10). Where the imagery of the cloud characterizes God as mysterious, that of the fire makes God unpredictable and even dangerous. In the story that follows, Moses will be given the instructions for the building of the tabernacle, which will serve as the new home for God's glorious presence. Such is the magnitude of entering into God's glory that Moses is made to wait six days (the same number of days it took to prepare the earth for human habitation). Moses is completely dependent on God to act; nothing he can do will move up the timetable or shorten the preparation period. The initiation in appearing to Israel is entirely that of the Lord.
Finally, Moses leaves the human zone to enter into God's presence (v. 18). It is not clear that he will ever return. He leaves behind on the mountain Joshua, Aaron, Hur, and the seventy elders. None of them know what is going to happen, though Joshua and Aaron symbolize two future possibilities. Joshua, who went up the mountain partway with Moses, will prove to be his true successor. Aaron, on the other hand, despite being Moses' brother, represents those who would easily abandon the true presence of God for an idol made by human hands. The unexplained disappearance of the human mediator into the mystery and danger of God will prove to be more than many in the community can handle; it is simply easier to believe in a dead and idle deity.
2 Peter 1:16-21
Many scholars believe that the document known as the Second Letter of Peter is itself a cleverly devised myth, an anonymous composition written long after the death of Peter, but claiming the authority of his name. Rather than bore you with the details, I will refer you to the various commentaries and handbooks that discuss this issue in depth. Whatever the provenance of the letter, clearly it is a species of the ancient form known as "paraenetic," a kind of exhortation, cast as a reminder. It is a string tied around a finger, a "Post-It" note in familiar handwriting. The author (we'll follow traditional usage and call him "Peter") writes to Gentiles (1:1) to exhort them on certain matters of apostolic tradition. Some see the opening of the letter (1:3-11) as a kind of mini-sermon on the basic themes of apostolic preaching. These themes are taken up one by one in the body of the letter. Peter characterizes his teaching not as new information (it is a defense of traditional teaching, after all), but merely a gentle reminder of what they have always known (1:12-15).
First and foremost, Peter must refute the false teachers. Here the letter follows traditional polemical rhetoric, painting the enemies of traditional teaching not only as intellectually, but morally, false. Our passage lays down the grounds for Peter's authority on these matters: his teachings are no mere myths, but based on eyewitness testimony (1:16). In particular, the letter alludes to the scene recorded in the synoptic gospels of Jesus' transformation on a mountain before Peter, James, and John. The recounting of the episode is remarkably like the version from Matthew's Gospel in today's lection. The focus is on the words of the heavenly voice: "This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased" (v. 17). This is taken as God conferring "honor and glory" on Jesus. It also certifies Peter's credentials as a teacher, because "we ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain" (v. 18).
Thus, Peter is given his bona fides as an interpreter of "the prophetic message," that is, the Hebrew Bible (v. 19). The message is characterized as belonging to God's final acts, symbolized by the dawning of the day (cf. 2:9; 3:7, 8, 10, 12; Romans 13:12) and the rising of the morning star (cf. Numbers 24:17; Revelation 2:28; 22:16). The light at the end of the tunnel is certain, because the teaching is not just human speculation: "No prophecy of scripture is a matter of one's own interpretation" (v. 20). This does not mean that individuals cannot interpret the prophecies by themselves, but that they must take into account the divine origin of those prophecies. The prophets spoke not by human will, but because they were moved by God's Spirit (v. 21). They not only received God's message, but they reported it accurately in the Spirit. Since the Spirit continues to be active in the community's own teaching, Christians can be assured that what they have received from eyewitnesses like Peter is in fact rooted in the true experience of God.
Matthew 17:1-9
Matthew's account of the transfiguration of Jesus sits neatly inside yet another chiastic form that helps interpret this extremely odd story. It sits surrounded by its exact opposite: stories not of glory, but of suffering and death. It is part of a larger story that puts Jesus on the road toward Jerusalem and the passion. The passion hangs over the section (of Matthew) that has the transfiguration at its center:
A
Passion prediction, 16:21
B
Rebuke of Peter, 16:22-23
C
Saying on suffering, 16:24-28
D
Transfiguration, 17:1-8
C'
Saying on suffering, 17:9-13
B'
Rebuke of disciples, 17:14-21
A'
Passion prediction, 17:22-23
The effect is to place the vision of the disciples firmly within the context of suffering, both that of the Son of Man, and that of the disciples themselves. The disciples can "tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead" (v. 9), because the vision of glory does not function except in the context of sacrifice. They need to "listen to him" (v. 5), and what he has to say is about suffering. To pay attention to his teaching about suffering is to understand his glory; it reveals the true meaning of Peter's confession, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God" (16:16).
The section furthers a major theme in Matthew: Jesus is the new Moses. The parallels with the Moses story are striking: the mountain as the place of theophany (Exodus 24:18); the timing of six days (Exodus 24:16); the prophet going up the mountain with only trusted companions (Exodus 24:13-14); the reference to the Mosaic Law (Matthew 17:4); the exhortation to listen (Deuteronomy 18:15). Sealing the deal is the appearance of Moses himself (v. 5), who along with Elijah represents the entirety of the prophetic tradition, embodying both law and prophets (both figures were said to have been taken to heaven rather than having died in the conventional manner, Deuteronomy 34:6; 2 Kings 2:11, and both were expected to play roles in a future kingdom, Deuteronomy 18:15, 18; Malachi 3:23-24). Jesus is the new prophet like Moses, and yet something greater than Moses is here.
The dreamlike vision leaves the disciples dazed and confused, their faces in the dust (v. 6). Jesus treats them with a gentle touch (v. 7). What they have seen will not be easily digested. Yet one day, after Easter, these three will become the authoritative bearers of Jesus' message about suffering and glory. They will proclaim things that have not been understood: The Messiah's glory is to be found in his suffering, and his leadership will take his disciples toward self-sacrifice. They, too, will be raised from the dead, as gently as Jesus raised them from the ground (v. 7). They, too, will see the light of the glory of the Lord (vv. 2, 5). But when they look carefully into the light, they will see that it consists only of nothing but Jesus alone (v. 8).
Application
Just as a beginning preaching student can follow instructions too literally, and make sermon form and content coincide in ways that are painful to listen to, so liturgical preachers should beware of stressing the liturgical context at the expense of scriptural message. The church year provides the context in which we read scripture, but it does not have the substance of scripture itself. When I hear sermons taking their content from the liturgy rather than its foundation, I suspect we are being served the sauce rather than the meat.
That being said, rarely do context and content meet so vividly than on the final Sunday of Epiphany. Epiphany is the season of light, while Lent leads to three hours of darkness. The Transfiguration emits a final, blinding bit of epiphanic light, before the ashes descend to our foreheads. The journey toward the cross is not all gloom; it is glory itself, because of Jesus. Yet this glory, as Matthew tells the story, is wrapped in suffering. There is no Epiphany (nor Easter) without Lent.
Some people believe that the Transfiguration story in Matthew serves as a brief foreshadowing of the resurrection. It seems to be the answer to Jesus' enigmatic prediction, "there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom" (16:28). If the Transfiguration looks ahead to the end of Matthew's story, the last Sunday of Epiphany looks ahead to the end of Lent. Suffering is never lauded in and of itself, in the biblical tradition. It is presented as part of the earthly journey of discipleship, an imitation of Jesus' self-sacrificial love, but it is not the end-all, be-all. God does not let the suffering stand. Like Jesus, the disciples will be raised to new life. Like our master, we will all walk up into the light.
Alternative Applications
1) Exodus 24:12-18. Some people speak of their "mountaintop experience" as a fairly friendly experience. They had a sense of peace, felt a warming of the heart, or came to a great and important realization. It does not diminish these experiences to point out that they are nothing like the experience of Moses on the mountain of God. For one thing, it is quite clear that the presence of the Lord in fire and cloud evoked terror among the people, not warmth. More importantly, Moses was there for a quite specific purpose: to receive the Law of God. It was not just a once-in-a-lifetime experience, it was a once-in-all-history experience, given to one man, and one man alone. He left the frightened masses at the foot of the mountain, the appointed leaders somewhere in the foothills, and his most trusted companions on the side of the mountain. Moses went alone into the cloud to meet the Lord who would instruct him in the way the people of God must live.
2) Matthew 17:1-9. Matthew adds a line to the story of the Transfiguration: "Jesus came and touched them, saying 'Get up and do not be afraid' " (v. 7; "get up" translates egeiro, the same word used for resurrection in v. 9). One might argue that being "overcome with fear" (v. 6) was a perfectly rational response on the part of the disciples (cf. 8:25-26; 14:26; 28:8-10). For that matter, it was a perfectly traditional response on the part of those who received a vision of God (cf. Exodus 34:30; Judges 6:22; Daniel 8:17-18; 10:7-9). It wasn't enough that Jesus turned white before them, that Moses and Elijah appeared out of nowhere, that a bright cloud overshadowed them. Worst of all was the voice that thundered, "Listen to him!" (v. 5). Anyone who had been paying the slightest bit of attention to what Jesus was saying would in fact be afraid -- especially in light of what he had just been saying. He has been talking about things that are very hard to hear. The vision is too hard to see; the words are too hard to hear, and yet, we disciples manage to see and hear, despite our fear. This, only because he has touched us and raised us up.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 2 or Psalm 99
The Transfiguration of our Lord looms so large that it will always overshadow anything we might say. It is typical that this event is often quoted as proof for the divinity of Jesus Christ when the real mystery and miracle of his appearance is the humanity of God who descended in human form. This is the touchstone of the Christian difference: God is so human. In all religions we have the attempt to make the divine accessible to the creature, but only in Christianity does God become a creature and share in our human condition.
It is possible to make a royal psalm of Psalm 2. In that case, the psalm would be recited at the enthronement of the king or the commemoration of an enthronement in an annual festival which is now meaningless because we cannot imagine the power and position of a king. Besides, no king has ruled over Israel and Judah in our time. In that sense we are lost before Psalm 2. The davidian reference is clear in verse 6. Zion was only the home of King David. Therefore, everyone after him, whether he lived in Zion or not, was called a viceroy of God. Any king over Judah-Israel was anointed and therefore a messiah. It is a part of the psalmist's imagery to see in the messiah one who would be a representative of God on earth, and that is exactly what Jesus Christ is among us. He was to be the Son of God, which is the representation of God among his people. He first revealed himself to these people, yet he is a universal king. A priestly chorus tells us that the rulers of the earth should be warned. The king is in place of God himself. The translation of verses 11b and 12a is uncertain. The Hebrew does not clearly say that we should kiss the king's feet, that he would be angry if we do not, and that we would perish because his wrath is quickly kindled. We just do not know what these verses mean, but they tell us the authority of the king is divine. He is God's Son, a viceroy of the most high on earth, and destined to rule over all the earth. The kingship of our Lord is a hidden one, but, nevertheless, very real. He is the king of the universe, and all eschatological speculation will take this face into consideration. He will appear as the obvious one. Now he is hidden behind the human veil.
Psalm 2 continuously oscillates between the king and the Lord. Therefore, the Lord can say to the king what he says in the refrain, which we recite in the beginning of the service. This does not mean that Jesus Christ is adopted at this moment, but he is really the Lord whom the disciples will not recognize before or after for what he really is. This gives us the transition into the Lenten season immediately ahead. The Lenten season commemorates the suffering of our Lord. Actually, his whole life was enveloped by the symbol of the cross. We sometimes forget that the suffering of Jesus Christ is not something that comes from outside, but is essential to his whole existence. Suffering is not only human, but in a special way is designed to give us the joy of his salvation which was wrought this way. It is not our place to ask him why it has to be. God selects a davidian, this is true, but otherwise a human being of uncertain origin who goes through life as a humble person, humble in the true sense of the word, and as One who will die a very common death in those days. His beginning and his end are average because he wants to reach average people like you and me.
We emphasize that this is still within the shadow of Christmas. How unfortunate it is that people have lost the sense of the Christmas season continuing to the end of the Epiphany. The saying which appears in the refrain is the capstone that makes his birth a meaningful event for all people and for all times. When strong words are used in verses 8 and 9, especially in 9, we should not forget that human images are used to describe the divine origin of the "king." In our Christian tradition, we always call Jesus Christ the King of kings in reference to Psalm 2. When our psalm says that we should be wise and all the kings should be wise with their respective subjects, it is a wisdom that recognizes the divine origin and knows that everything has its origin in one shepherd.
We must not forget that this is also a sign of his humility, not to use his power for gain, but for salvation and service. The last sentence of the psalm talks about blessings ready for those who seek refuge in God. It is not a little coda tacked on to the end, but it should be considered together with the significant refrain. Jesus Christ is truly God's Son, and blessings await those who seek refuge in him.
At first, I did not understand what had come over my student. Up to this point in the class, I thought she had been getting it. She laughed when I quoted Kierkegaard, "Boredom is the root of all evils." She nodded her head when I said that the dullest presentation would not be redeemed by the soundest content. Her critiques of the other students' sermons were right on target.
So why was she droning on about the literary sources of 2 Peter? What a mishmash of scholastic irrelevancies! On and on about pseudepigraphy and source criticism and whether Peter was friends with Paul. I could feel the other students snoring on the inside. It was ten minutes of total exasperation.
But then, with a short transitional sentence, everything changed. She started talking about her grandfather, who was a Greek fisherman. Suddenly, we were on the banks of the Mediterranean. We could smell the salt air, feel the weather-beaten hands, see the wooden barks that had hardly changed since the days of Homer. As she talked about the faith of her grandfather, we were utterly changed. We could see Jesus in his very person.
After the sermon, we took a moment or two to collect ourselves, then proceeded to the discussion. By the rules of the preaching seminar, the preacher was allowed only to listen in on the discussion as a silent partner, to overhear but not participate -- she had had her opportunity to communicate, now it was our time to say what we had heard (after all, they don't give us a chance to butt in when they discuss our sermons in the parking lot!). We all agreed that we had heard a two-part sermon. We all agreed that the first part was utterly boring. We further agreed that the sermon half was equally strong in the opposite direction -- utterly fascinating. We just could not understand how the two parts fit together (we laughed and joked that we wished the preacher were there to explain it!).
¶¶¶But then it hit me: 2 Peter 1:16, "For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty." Her sermon had followed the form of the text exactly (see, she had been paying attention!). The first part was the "cleverly devised myths" endlessly argued by scholars to no conclusion. The second part was the "eyewitness of his majesty," embodied in the faith of her grandfather. It was a clever, clever sermon. Too clever, I think!
Today's lessons stress the experience of the revelation of God. While there are a good number of theories out there about these lessons, and it won't hurt anyone to become a little better educated about them, the sermon is never mere lecture. These texts call out to be experienced and re-experienced. They are about meeting God on the mountain. Scholars call these stories "theophanies," (the "appearance" of God), but through the ages believers have been content to let the experience speak for itself. The preacher's job today may be nothing more than to step out of the way and allow the congregation to see the theophany themselves.
Exodus 24:12-18
This brief passage of Exodus is about one thing: direction. Moses "went up the mountain," it says, not once, but four times! The movement is from the human to the divine, from the everyday concerns of politics, community, religion, economics, family, and work to one overriding and overwhelming concern: God. Moses leaves the human community behind, and goes up the mountain to spend forty days and forty nights in the sole presence of God.
Our lection picks up the story from Exodus 24:1-2, where the seventy elders of Israel begin to come up the mountain. The numbers thin until Moses and Joshua alone ascend, leaving Aaron and Hur behind to take care of business (thus setting up the story of the golden calf in ch. 32). Finally, Moses alone goes up into the cloud of the glory of the Lord.
Moses has figured as the center point of a larger narrative (in Exodus) that is arranged in a chiastic or cross pattern (a form common in ancient narrative):
A
The theophany at Mount Sinai, 19:1-25
B
The giving of the Ten Commandments, 20:1-17
C
Moses the mediator between God and Israel, 20:18-21
C'
The giving of the covenant code to Moses, 20:22--23:19
B'
The law concerning the conquest of Canaan, 23:20-33
A'
The theophany concerning the covenant ceremony, 24:1-18
This narrative of the giving of the law at Sinai is at the center of the entire book of Exodus. At its peak is Moses, who receives both the law and the vision of God. The combination of law and theophany show that this is no human legislation, and Israel no voluntary organization. The people and the rules that hold them together are the direct doing of a God who is beyond human imagining. This is a priestly kingdom, set apart to reveal God's glory to the world, and Moses is assigned as point man in this theophanic purpose.
Moses' place in this scheme is symbolized by the language of the story: he seems to keep going up, up (Exodus 24:1, 9, 12, 13, 15, 18). On his way he encounters that cloud which has been with Israel throughout their journey (13:21-22; 14:19-20, 24; 16:10; 19:9, 16; 24:15-16, 18; 33:9-10; 34:5; 40:34-38); it is the Shechinah, the presence of the glory of the Lord (so-called because the glory of the Lord "settled" or "dwelt" (shachan) on Mount Sinai (v. 16). Coupled with the cloud is the burning fire, as before (cf. 13:21; 14:4, 7; 16:10). Where the imagery of the cloud characterizes God as mysterious, that of the fire makes God unpredictable and even dangerous. In the story that follows, Moses will be given the instructions for the building of the tabernacle, which will serve as the new home for God's glorious presence. Such is the magnitude of entering into God's glory that Moses is made to wait six days (the same number of days it took to prepare the earth for human habitation). Moses is completely dependent on God to act; nothing he can do will move up the timetable or shorten the preparation period. The initiation in appearing to Israel is entirely that of the Lord.
Finally, Moses leaves the human zone to enter into God's presence (v. 18). It is not clear that he will ever return. He leaves behind on the mountain Joshua, Aaron, Hur, and the seventy elders. None of them know what is going to happen, though Joshua and Aaron symbolize two future possibilities. Joshua, who went up the mountain partway with Moses, will prove to be his true successor. Aaron, on the other hand, despite being Moses' brother, represents those who would easily abandon the true presence of God for an idol made by human hands. The unexplained disappearance of the human mediator into the mystery and danger of God will prove to be more than many in the community can handle; it is simply easier to believe in a dead and idle deity.
2 Peter 1:16-21
Many scholars believe that the document known as the Second Letter of Peter is itself a cleverly devised myth, an anonymous composition written long after the death of Peter, but claiming the authority of his name. Rather than bore you with the details, I will refer you to the various commentaries and handbooks that discuss this issue in depth. Whatever the provenance of the letter, clearly it is a species of the ancient form known as "paraenetic," a kind of exhortation, cast as a reminder. It is a string tied around a finger, a "Post-It" note in familiar handwriting. The author (we'll follow traditional usage and call him "Peter") writes to Gentiles (1:1) to exhort them on certain matters of apostolic tradition. Some see the opening of the letter (1:3-11) as a kind of mini-sermon on the basic themes of apostolic preaching. These themes are taken up one by one in the body of the letter. Peter characterizes his teaching not as new information (it is a defense of traditional teaching, after all), but merely a gentle reminder of what they have always known (1:12-15).
First and foremost, Peter must refute the false teachers. Here the letter follows traditional polemical rhetoric, painting the enemies of traditional teaching not only as intellectually, but morally, false. Our passage lays down the grounds for Peter's authority on these matters: his teachings are no mere myths, but based on eyewitness testimony (1:16). In particular, the letter alludes to the scene recorded in the synoptic gospels of Jesus' transformation on a mountain before Peter, James, and John. The recounting of the episode is remarkably like the version from Matthew's Gospel in today's lection. The focus is on the words of the heavenly voice: "This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased" (v. 17). This is taken as God conferring "honor and glory" on Jesus. It also certifies Peter's credentials as a teacher, because "we ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain" (v. 18).
Thus, Peter is given his bona fides as an interpreter of "the prophetic message," that is, the Hebrew Bible (v. 19). The message is characterized as belonging to God's final acts, symbolized by the dawning of the day (cf. 2:9; 3:7, 8, 10, 12; Romans 13:12) and the rising of the morning star (cf. Numbers 24:17; Revelation 2:28; 22:16). The light at the end of the tunnel is certain, because the teaching is not just human speculation: "No prophecy of scripture is a matter of one's own interpretation" (v. 20). This does not mean that individuals cannot interpret the prophecies by themselves, but that they must take into account the divine origin of those prophecies. The prophets spoke not by human will, but because they were moved by God's Spirit (v. 21). They not only received God's message, but they reported it accurately in the Spirit. Since the Spirit continues to be active in the community's own teaching, Christians can be assured that what they have received from eyewitnesses like Peter is in fact rooted in the true experience of God.
Matthew 17:1-9
Matthew's account of the transfiguration of Jesus sits neatly inside yet another chiastic form that helps interpret this extremely odd story. It sits surrounded by its exact opposite: stories not of glory, but of suffering and death. It is part of a larger story that puts Jesus on the road toward Jerusalem and the passion. The passion hangs over the section (of Matthew) that has the transfiguration at its center:
A
Passion prediction, 16:21
B
Rebuke of Peter, 16:22-23
C
Saying on suffering, 16:24-28
D
Transfiguration, 17:1-8
C'
Saying on suffering, 17:9-13
B'
Rebuke of disciples, 17:14-21
A'
Passion prediction, 17:22-23
The effect is to place the vision of the disciples firmly within the context of suffering, both that of the Son of Man, and that of the disciples themselves. The disciples can "tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead" (v. 9), because the vision of glory does not function except in the context of sacrifice. They need to "listen to him" (v. 5), and what he has to say is about suffering. To pay attention to his teaching about suffering is to understand his glory; it reveals the true meaning of Peter's confession, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God" (16:16).
The section furthers a major theme in Matthew: Jesus is the new Moses. The parallels with the Moses story are striking: the mountain as the place of theophany (Exodus 24:18); the timing of six days (Exodus 24:16); the prophet going up the mountain with only trusted companions (Exodus 24:13-14); the reference to the Mosaic Law (Matthew 17:4); the exhortation to listen (Deuteronomy 18:15). Sealing the deal is the appearance of Moses himself (v. 5), who along with Elijah represents the entirety of the prophetic tradition, embodying both law and prophets (both figures were said to have been taken to heaven rather than having died in the conventional manner, Deuteronomy 34:6; 2 Kings 2:11, and both were expected to play roles in a future kingdom, Deuteronomy 18:15, 18; Malachi 3:23-24). Jesus is the new prophet like Moses, and yet something greater than Moses is here.
The dreamlike vision leaves the disciples dazed and confused, their faces in the dust (v. 6). Jesus treats them with a gentle touch (v. 7). What they have seen will not be easily digested. Yet one day, after Easter, these three will become the authoritative bearers of Jesus' message about suffering and glory. They will proclaim things that have not been understood: The Messiah's glory is to be found in his suffering, and his leadership will take his disciples toward self-sacrifice. They, too, will be raised from the dead, as gently as Jesus raised them from the ground (v. 7). They, too, will see the light of the glory of the Lord (vv. 2, 5). But when they look carefully into the light, they will see that it consists only of nothing but Jesus alone (v. 8).
Application
Just as a beginning preaching student can follow instructions too literally, and make sermon form and content coincide in ways that are painful to listen to, so liturgical preachers should beware of stressing the liturgical context at the expense of scriptural message. The church year provides the context in which we read scripture, but it does not have the substance of scripture itself. When I hear sermons taking their content from the liturgy rather than its foundation, I suspect we are being served the sauce rather than the meat.
That being said, rarely do context and content meet so vividly than on the final Sunday of Epiphany. Epiphany is the season of light, while Lent leads to three hours of darkness. The Transfiguration emits a final, blinding bit of epiphanic light, before the ashes descend to our foreheads. The journey toward the cross is not all gloom; it is glory itself, because of Jesus. Yet this glory, as Matthew tells the story, is wrapped in suffering. There is no Epiphany (nor Easter) without Lent.
Some people believe that the Transfiguration story in Matthew serves as a brief foreshadowing of the resurrection. It seems to be the answer to Jesus' enigmatic prediction, "there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom" (16:28). If the Transfiguration looks ahead to the end of Matthew's story, the last Sunday of Epiphany looks ahead to the end of Lent. Suffering is never lauded in and of itself, in the biblical tradition. It is presented as part of the earthly journey of discipleship, an imitation of Jesus' self-sacrificial love, but it is not the end-all, be-all. God does not let the suffering stand. Like Jesus, the disciples will be raised to new life. Like our master, we will all walk up into the light.
Alternative Applications
1) Exodus 24:12-18. Some people speak of their "mountaintop experience" as a fairly friendly experience. They had a sense of peace, felt a warming of the heart, or came to a great and important realization. It does not diminish these experiences to point out that they are nothing like the experience of Moses on the mountain of God. For one thing, it is quite clear that the presence of the Lord in fire and cloud evoked terror among the people, not warmth. More importantly, Moses was there for a quite specific purpose: to receive the Law of God. It was not just a once-in-a-lifetime experience, it was a once-in-all-history experience, given to one man, and one man alone. He left the frightened masses at the foot of the mountain, the appointed leaders somewhere in the foothills, and his most trusted companions on the side of the mountain. Moses went alone into the cloud to meet the Lord who would instruct him in the way the people of God must live.
2) Matthew 17:1-9. Matthew adds a line to the story of the Transfiguration: "Jesus came and touched them, saying 'Get up and do not be afraid' " (v. 7; "get up" translates egeiro, the same word used for resurrection in v. 9). One might argue that being "overcome with fear" (v. 6) was a perfectly rational response on the part of the disciples (cf. 8:25-26; 14:26; 28:8-10). For that matter, it was a perfectly traditional response on the part of those who received a vision of God (cf. Exodus 34:30; Judges 6:22; Daniel 8:17-18; 10:7-9). It wasn't enough that Jesus turned white before them, that Moses and Elijah appeared out of nowhere, that a bright cloud overshadowed them. Worst of all was the voice that thundered, "Listen to him!" (v. 5). Anyone who had been paying the slightest bit of attention to what Jesus was saying would in fact be afraid -- especially in light of what he had just been saying. He has been talking about things that are very hard to hear. The vision is too hard to see; the words are too hard to hear, and yet, we disciples manage to see and hear, despite our fear. This, only because he has touched us and raised us up.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 2 or Psalm 99
The Transfiguration of our Lord looms so large that it will always overshadow anything we might say. It is typical that this event is often quoted as proof for the divinity of Jesus Christ when the real mystery and miracle of his appearance is the humanity of God who descended in human form. This is the touchstone of the Christian difference: God is so human. In all religions we have the attempt to make the divine accessible to the creature, but only in Christianity does God become a creature and share in our human condition.
It is possible to make a royal psalm of Psalm 2. In that case, the psalm would be recited at the enthronement of the king or the commemoration of an enthronement in an annual festival which is now meaningless because we cannot imagine the power and position of a king. Besides, no king has ruled over Israel and Judah in our time. In that sense we are lost before Psalm 2. The davidian reference is clear in verse 6. Zion was only the home of King David. Therefore, everyone after him, whether he lived in Zion or not, was called a viceroy of God. Any king over Judah-Israel was anointed and therefore a messiah. It is a part of the psalmist's imagery to see in the messiah one who would be a representative of God on earth, and that is exactly what Jesus Christ is among us. He was to be the Son of God, which is the representation of God among his people. He first revealed himself to these people, yet he is a universal king. A priestly chorus tells us that the rulers of the earth should be warned. The king is in place of God himself. The translation of verses 11b and 12a is uncertain. The Hebrew does not clearly say that we should kiss the king's feet, that he would be angry if we do not, and that we would perish because his wrath is quickly kindled. We just do not know what these verses mean, but they tell us the authority of the king is divine. He is God's Son, a viceroy of the most high on earth, and destined to rule over all the earth. The kingship of our Lord is a hidden one, but, nevertheless, very real. He is the king of the universe, and all eschatological speculation will take this face into consideration. He will appear as the obvious one. Now he is hidden behind the human veil.
Psalm 2 continuously oscillates between the king and the Lord. Therefore, the Lord can say to the king what he says in the refrain, which we recite in the beginning of the service. This does not mean that Jesus Christ is adopted at this moment, but he is really the Lord whom the disciples will not recognize before or after for what he really is. This gives us the transition into the Lenten season immediately ahead. The Lenten season commemorates the suffering of our Lord. Actually, his whole life was enveloped by the symbol of the cross. We sometimes forget that the suffering of Jesus Christ is not something that comes from outside, but is essential to his whole existence. Suffering is not only human, but in a special way is designed to give us the joy of his salvation which was wrought this way. It is not our place to ask him why it has to be. God selects a davidian, this is true, but otherwise a human being of uncertain origin who goes through life as a humble person, humble in the true sense of the word, and as One who will die a very common death in those days. His beginning and his end are average because he wants to reach average people like you and me.
We emphasize that this is still within the shadow of Christmas. How unfortunate it is that people have lost the sense of the Christmas season continuing to the end of the Epiphany. The saying which appears in the refrain is the capstone that makes his birth a meaningful event for all people and for all times. When strong words are used in verses 8 and 9, especially in 9, we should not forget that human images are used to describe the divine origin of the "king." In our Christian tradition, we always call Jesus Christ the King of kings in reference to Psalm 2. When our psalm says that we should be wise and all the kings should be wise with their respective subjects, it is a wisdom that recognizes the divine origin and knows that everything has its origin in one shepherd.
We must not forget that this is also a sign of his humility, not to use his power for gain, but for salvation and service. The last sentence of the psalm talks about blessings ready for those who seek refuge in God. It is not a little coda tacked on to the end, but it should be considered together with the significant refrain. Jesus Christ is truly God's Son, and blessings await those who seek refuge in him.
