Transfiguration transition
Commentary
While the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) seem at first glance to have little obvious literary structure, all three actually espouse a similar macro form that if pictured would look something like a huge suspension bridge, perhaps like the mighty Mackinac that spans the narrows between Lakes Superior, Michigan, and Huron. If you have driven it, or have seen pictures of it, you know that three long travel segments are separated by two unmistakable uprights. In such a way, in the synoptics, one might think that the three travel segments are:
• Jesus teaches the crowds about the kingdom of God (“kingdom of heaven” for Matthew)
• Jesus teaches his disciples about discipleship
• Jesus enters Jerusalem to process his passion and resurrection
The “uprights” that form the transition moments between these segments are:
• the transfiguration
• the entry into Jerusalem on the Sunday before his crucifixion
Each “segment” and “upright” plays a critical role in unfolding the meaning and message of Jesus. The opening emphasis on teachings about the kingdom connects Jesus with the whole of Israelite history and prophecy, and explains and explores his personal messianic qualities and role. The transition of the transfiguration indicates that Jesus is now sufficiently known by his disciples that they must become more privy to the full revelation of his divine character and purpose. Following this exposure, the disciples are more ready to become commissioned witnesses of the messianic age that is dawning, but they must understand well their unique role, and thus be schooled in the disciplines of discipleship. Finally, when the world is ready for its messiah Jesus must go to the Jerusalem and the temple, for these are the pivotal geographical points on which the whole of God activity with the world had turned through the Israelite phase of covenant redemption and witness.
Today, on Transfiguration Sunday, we see the anticipation of God’s full and final revelation in the powerful scene of Elijah’s glorious ride into heaven, and the aftermath in Paul’s struggle to shine with glory of Christ in an oppressive world. But the focus of our faith is on Jesus, who blazes with the glory of heaven even in the days of his earthly sojourn.
2 Kings 2:1-12
For 40 years Solomon built the nation of Israel into an international superpower that could not be ignored anywhere in the ancient Near East. It is clear from the trade and commerce mentioned during Solomon’s reign that people on three continents -- Africa, Asia, and Europe -- not only knew about Israel but wanted to enter into its sphere of influence. This was the outcome envisioned by Yahweh a thousand years earlier when conversing with Abram about the divine intention to bless all the nations of the earth through his descendants.
The temple itself stood as a visible reminder of how the nation of Israel became great. For that reason, the story of Jeroboam takes on special significance. Jeroboam was obviously a gifted man. He was chosen by Solomon to head the national building projects (1 Kings 11:28), then recognized as a political threat by the king (1 Kings 11:40), and eventually identified as the spokesperson for the general population after Solomon died (1 Kings 12:2). When Rehoboam, Solomon’s spoiled brat of a son, publicly flaunted his disdain of both the people and leadership wisdom, Jeroboam was poised to wrest away a portion of the kingdom.
One of the first things Jeroboam did was to consolidate his territory by fortifying its borders. But then he also built new cultic shrines for worship at both the northern (Dan) and southern (Bethel) limits of his realm. As the text indicates (1 Kings 12:25-33), it is not likely that Jeroboam intended to change the religion of his portion of the nation of Israel; at the same time, he needed to replace the grand Temple of Jerusalem with other centers for worship so that his subjects would not be tempted to realign with Rehoboam as might happen if they continued to journey to Jerusalem for sacrifices and festivals.
Thus the grand kingdom of David and Solomon became divided and its theological mission compromised. Yet the perspective of Kings is that the northern tribes (now “Israel”) and the southern portion (now “Judah”) were never truly separated. Throughout the rest of these narratives the political fortunes of both territories were equally considered. Furthermore, the kings of both realms were similarly judged by the prophetic author as either following in the ways of David and Solomon (and so seeking to fulfill the destiny intended by Yahweh) or compounding the covenant breaking of those who caused the nation to stray from its divine calling and mission. This is most obvious in the harsh assessments given at the time of the northern kingdom’s destruction by the Assyrians (2 Kings 17).
While the rulers of the divided kingdom are mostly (in the north) and often (in the south) forgetting and going contrary to the ways and wishes of Israel’s true monarch Yahweh, there comes a new development in the idea of who is in charge as God’s anointed and appointed. Note, as 1 and 2 Kings unfold, the emerging and changing role of the public “prophets.” Moses and Joshua each had a unique and ongoing relational interchange with Yahweh which made their leadership positions virtually unassailable (cf. Numbers 12, 16-17). After the nation was settled in Canaan, such clear, regular, and unequivocal communication with Yahweh appears to have been muted. During the times of Eli, we are told, “the word of the Lord was rare; there were not many visions” (1 Samuel 3:1). That is why, when Yahweh began speaking directly with Samuel, the Israelites were ready to follow him (1 Samuel 3:19-21). This seems to be the beginning of a national recognition of the status of prophets as part of the necessary social fabric.
When Samuel’s leadership was challenged because the people wanted a king (1 Samuel 8), it caused the first subtle separation of church and state. Samuel was a priest by adoption, and worked within the parameters of the cultic shrine. But the kings were clearly outside of the Levitical priesthood or its extended family. Prophets at first began to bridge the connection, and then later sparred with the kings as the sovereignty role of Yahweh was increasingly forgotten.
This tension is clearly seen in the dominant stories of Elijah and Elisha, who battled with the rulers of the northern kingdom in 1 Kings 17--2 Kings 8. Elijah was given the weapons of the curses of the Sinai covenant to bring Ahab and Jezebel to their knees (1 Kings 17:1). He wielded divine power in public displays of combat (1 Kings 18). He was authorized to determine and appoint the leaders of nations (1 Kings 19). And when Ahab and Jezebel presumed that they could displace God-fearing Israelites from their divinely determined inheritance in the land (1 Kings 21), Elijah confronted the pair with stern prophecies that they instead would be removed.
As a reward for the tenacity of his faithful service through extremely contrary times, Elijah is publicly affirmed by God as a true leader of Israel. Although Ahab and Jezebel will never acknowledge him, God bears him into his eternal reward in true kingly style, with a royal coach that shimmers with heavenly beauty.
2 Corinthians 4:3-6
The letter we call 1 Corinthians was not well received by its original readers. Their relations with Paul apparently deteriorated rapidly after it arrived, and many more among them began to call into question Paul’s presumed ongoing authority. In response Paul decided that he needed to make a personal visit, both to address the immoral behavior and to renew his pastoral ties with the church as a whole. Paul’s return to Corinth was anything but triumphant, however, and actually turned out to be a bust. Later he would call it a “painful visit” (2 Corinthians 2:1).
After this debacle, Paul limped back to Ephesus confused and hurt, and wrote a severe letter of reproof that later caused him regret because of its caustic tone and content (2 Corinthians 7:8). Although we might wish to know more specifically what Paul said in that correspondence, no copies have survived. Still, Paul’s strongly worded pastoral medicine apparently worked, at least to a degree, for when Titus made his report after delivering the letter, he told of great and pervasive repentance and sorrow among the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 7:6-16). Humility was breeding healing and hope.
About the same time that Titus was back in Corinth, Paul apparently had a near-death experience during a preaching trip to Troas (2 Corinthians 1-2). This scare seems to have been the trigger which initiated Paul’s fourth letter, a letter of comfort and tenderness to the Corinthian congregation. Evidently Paul needed to confirm the renewal of his relationship with the church lest, if he should die soon, the lingering memories of their interaction would only be pain and conflict. Paul’s last letter to Corinth survives as our 2 Corinthians.
It is a passionate, tender, personal, and encouraging communication. Paul can hardly repeat the word “comfort” often enough in his opening paragraph (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). Then he reminisces nostalgically, telling of his travel plans, his apostolic authority and how it came to him, the difficulties he has faced over the years of dedicated service to God and the church, and the ministry of reconciliation that motivates him (2 Corinthians 1:12--7:16).
Next, Paul injects another note about his organization of the massive offering for the poor in Jerusalem (2 Corinthians 8-9), and uses the occasion to nurture expressions of authentic gratitude. Then once again he defends his apostolic authority and ministry (2 Corinthians 10-12), basing these in his divine calling, his servant lifestyle, his different motives than the “false apostles” who are circling about as if to create names and kingdoms for themselves, his profound vision of God’s glory coupled with the humbling weakness of his body, and his passionate concern for the Corinthians. Paul closes this otherwise engaging letter with somewhat fearful anticipations of the confrontations he might again face when he arrives in Corinth. He ends, though, with a clear sense of longing for the warmth he expects on the occasion of their reunion (2 Corinthians 13).
There is no other congregation of the first-century Christian church about which we know more than the one in Corinth. Paul’s constant contact with this troublesome fellowship over half a decade produced the New Testament’s clearest teachings concerning the church’s ministry practices, and a host of intimate reflections on the development of life and leadership in a local outpost of the kingdom of God. For this reason alone 1 and 2 Corinthians have been a priceless treasure, always being mined and refined by later generations of Christians who continue to wrestle with the same issues and problems, and who seek to claim similar joys and hopes.
Today’s New Testament reading is a case in point. It summarizes the struggles of both person and congregation to find fully the new life Jesus brings. It wrestles with the witness of grace to a world that often deals only in graft and greed. And it celebrates confidence in the One who holds our times and lives lovingly in divine care and keeping.
Mark 9:2-9
The story of the transfiguration tells us a number of critical things. First, it comes immediately on the heels of Peter’s great confession of Jesus’ identity. Only when Jesus’ disciples have begun to understand that their master is more than just one among many itinerant rabbis, but truly the promised Messiah, will their ministry of leadership in the age of the church take shape. What happens on the mountain of transfiguration is simply that the testimony of Peter, received by the others and affirmed by Jesus, is modeled before the intimate three. What God placed in Peter’s heart to say publicly is now shown in living technicolor as heaven and earth kiss within the frame of Jesus’ body. This is clearly Mark’s understanding of the meaning of Jesus’ phrase “I tell you the truth, some who are standing here will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God” in verse 1.
Second, it is important to note that Jesus does not give up his humanity while expressing his divinity, nor become unknown in his divinity so that his humanity is obliterated. The transfiguration is one of the most impressive Christological moments, when the fullness of deity becomes obviously human and the fullness of humanity becomes unquestionably divine. It is a mystery, of course, but it is the reason why the Nicene Creed (birthed out of the Councils of Nicea in 325 and Chalcedon in 451) places the specific limits that it does to our understanding of the natures and person of Jesus.
Third, the appearances of Moses and Elijah are critically instructive. How were Peter, James, and John to know the identity of these two figures who suddenly materialized before them? Probably Jesus told them, or the voice from heaven made it obvious. In any case, Moses was the mediator of the Sinai covenant that was responsible for Israel’s national identity and missional purpose on behalf of Yahweh, and Elijah stood at the head of the prophetic line, whose teachings would make the Sinai covenant a living constitution for the shape of Israel’s life. By the time of Jesus, only the “Law” (i.e., the first five books of today’s Hebrew Bible, those commonly identified as the Books of Moses or the Torah) and the “Prophets” (i.e., the prophetically interpreted histories of Israel found in Samuel and Kings, and the great scrolls of Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the Twelve) were received as authoritative scripture. The “Writings” would be finalized later in the first century. So Moses and Elijah are the fountainheads of the two acknowledged collections of divinely inspired literature. Appearing with Jesus, as they do, Moses and Elijah confirm that the entire word of God points to and is fulfilled in Jesus.
Fourth, Peter’s desire to turn the site into a new religious shrine, and Jesus’ refusal to allow that to happen, is a reminder of the synoptic expression of Jesus’ journey. This is only a transitional point, not a conclusion to things. The necessary revelation is not that Jesus has fulfilled the Law and the Prophets, but that he is the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets, something that is still underway.
Fifth, the voice from heaven is an external confirmation that this is more than just a dream or hallucinogenic vision. This encounter has substance, and it has a purpose. Now that the three have seen more fully who Jesus is, they carry with them an added responsibility to treat him with appropriate respect and safeguard the mission that he is on. Increased knowledge brings heightened responsibility.
Sixth, immediately after the “mountaintop” exhilaration of the transfiguration, life takes a rather grim turn. We go down the mountain with warm joy in our hearts, only to feel the crush of real life in the valley below. Down here the demons rule. Down here the world is torn by evil. Down here there are pains and torments. Down here the kingdom has not yet become prominent. Moreover, the disciples who were not on the mountain with Jesus do not have any power in themselves to change things. Jesus, of course, has the power, but his range of influence is limited by his conjoined divine and human natures, so that he cannot be everywhere at once. He is able immediately to cast out the demon and heal the boy, restoring one small beachhead of the kingdom here, but the other disciples, and those who come to the radiance of the glory of God through them, must still be taught. The transfiguration is a turning point, a transitional statement, but it points to the need for Jesus to finish his work so that its effects might be transferred into the expanding army of grace that would be generaled by these officers in training.
Application
A strong biblical theme is the idea that our world is very dark, and that Jesus is the Light of God penetrating earth’s blackness and bleakness, and that the Christian Church is the lingering glow of divine radiance pushing the transformations of heaven a little further through recessed corners of shame and pain. How are we glowing today?
There is an ancient legend first told by Christians living in the catacombs under the streets of Rome which pictures the day when Jesus went back to glory after finishing all his work on earth. The angel Gabriel meets Jesus in heaven and welcomes him home. “Lord,” he says, “who have you left behind to carry on your work?”
Jesus tells him about the disciples, the little band of fishermen and farmers and housewives.
“But Lord,” says Gabriel, “what if they fail you?! What if they lose heart, or drop out?! What if things get too rough for them and they let you down?!”
Well, says Jesus, then all I’ve done will come to nothing!
“But don’t you have a backup plan?!” Gabriel asks. “Isn’t there something else to keep it going, to finish your work?”
No, says Jesus, there’s no backup plan. The church is it. There’s nothing else.
“Nothing else?” says Gabriel. “But what if they fail?!”
And the early Christians knew Jesus’ answer. “They won’t fail, Gabriel,” he said. “They won’t fail!”
Isn’t that a marvelous thing?! Here are the Christians of Rome, dug into the earth like gophers, tunneling out of sight because of the terrors of Nero up above. They’re nothing in that world! They’re poor and despised and insignificant! Yet they know the promise of Jesus: “You won’t fail! You’re my people, and you won’t fail!”
Tony Campolo once told of a friend of his who was walking through the midway at a county fair when he met a tiny girl. She was carrying a great big fluff of cotton candy on a stick, almost as large as herself. He said to her, “How can a little girl like you eat all that cotton candy?”
“Well,” she said to him, “I’m really much bigger on the inside than I am on the outside!”
So it is with us. On the outside we seem to be nothing, like Jesus’ helpless disciples below the mountain of the transfiguration; but on the inside we are as big as the kingdom and the power and the glory of our God.
What would our neighborhood be without us? What would our area be like without the Church of Jesus Christ? Where would our nation be without the conscience of the people of God? It’s not enough to be anti-abortion; you must be pro-life, and remind your community what real life, God’s life, is all about! It’s not enough to be against immorality; you have to be the conscience of society, turning its thoughts toward love and laughter and life! It’s not enough to protect your own interests; you have to speak out for the welfare of the poor and the disabled and the oppressed!
Alternative Application
2 Corinthians 4:3-6. There’s a marvelous little story tucked away in the pages of Edward Gibbon’s seven-volume work The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It tells of a humble little monk named Telemachus living out in the farming regions of Asia.
Telemachus had no great ambitions in life. He loved his little garden, and tilled it through the changing seasons. But one day in the year 391 he felt a sense of urgency, a call of God’s direction in his life. Although he didn’t know why, he felt that God wanted him to go to Rome, the heart and soul of the empire. In fact, the feelings of such a call frightened him, but he went anyway, praying along the way for God’s direction.
When he finally got to the city, it was in an uproar! The armies of Rome had just come home from the battlefield in victory, and the crowds were turning out for a great celebration. They flowed through the streets like a tidal wave, and Telemachus was caught in their frenzy and carried into the coliseum.
He had never seen a gladiator contest before, but now his heart sickened. Down in the arena men hacked at each other with swords and clubs. The crowds roared at the sight of blood, and urged their favorites on to the death.
Telemachus couldn’t stand it. He knew it was wrong; this wasn’t the way God wanted people to live or to die. So little Telemachus worked his way through the crowds to the wall down by the arena. “In the name of Christ, forbear!” he shouted.
Nobody heard him, so he crawled up onto the wall and shouted again: “In the name of Christ, forbear!” This time the few who heard him only laughed. But Telemachus was not to be ignored. He jumped into the arena and ran through the sands toward the gladiators. “In the name of Christ, forbear!”
The crowds laughed at the silly little man and threw stones at him. Telemachus, however, was on a mission. He threw himself between two gladiators to stop their fighting. “In the name of Christ, forbear!” he cried.
They hacked him apart! They cut his body from shoulder to stomach, and he fell onto the sand with the blood running out of his life.
The gladiators were stunned and stopped to watch him die. Then the crowds fell back in silence, and for a moment no one in the coliseum moved. Telemachus’ final words rang in their memories: “In the name of Christ, forbear!” At last they moved, slowly at first, but growing in numbers. The masses of Rome filed out of the coliseum that day, and the historian Theodoret reports that never again was a gladiator contest held there! All because of the witness and the testimony of a single Christian who had the glow-in-the-dark power of grace and God’s goodness.
During the time of the Reformation, John Foxe of England was impressed by the testimony of the early Christians. He gleaned the pages of early historical writings and wrote a book that has become a classic in the church, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs.
One story he tells is about an early church leader named Lawrence. Lawrence acted as a pastor for a church community. He also collected the offerings for the poor each week, and that led to his death.
A band of thieves found out that Lawrence received the offerings of the people from Sunday to Sunday, so one night as he was out taking a stroll they grabbed him and demanded the money. He told them that he didn’t have it, that he had already given it all to the poor. They didn’t believe him and told him they would give him a chance to find it. In three days they would come to his house and take from him the treasures of the church.
Three days later they did come. But Lawrence wasn’t alone. The house was filled with the people of his congregation. When the thieves demanded the treasures of the church, Lawrence smiled. He opened wide his arms, and gestured to those who sat around him. “Here’s the treasure of the church!” he said. “Here’s the treasure of God that shines in the world!”
Indeed. As Jesus said in another place, “You are the light of the world.” You can glow in the dark of this world, shining the light of the transfiguration to those who desperately need it.
• Jesus teaches the crowds about the kingdom of God (“kingdom of heaven” for Matthew)
• Jesus teaches his disciples about discipleship
• Jesus enters Jerusalem to process his passion and resurrection
The “uprights” that form the transition moments between these segments are:
• the transfiguration
• the entry into Jerusalem on the Sunday before his crucifixion
Each “segment” and “upright” plays a critical role in unfolding the meaning and message of Jesus. The opening emphasis on teachings about the kingdom connects Jesus with the whole of Israelite history and prophecy, and explains and explores his personal messianic qualities and role. The transition of the transfiguration indicates that Jesus is now sufficiently known by his disciples that they must become more privy to the full revelation of his divine character and purpose. Following this exposure, the disciples are more ready to become commissioned witnesses of the messianic age that is dawning, but they must understand well their unique role, and thus be schooled in the disciplines of discipleship. Finally, when the world is ready for its messiah Jesus must go to the Jerusalem and the temple, for these are the pivotal geographical points on which the whole of God activity with the world had turned through the Israelite phase of covenant redemption and witness.
Today, on Transfiguration Sunday, we see the anticipation of God’s full and final revelation in the powerful scene of Elijah’s glorious ride into heaven, and the aftermath in Paul’s struggle to shine with glory of Christ in an oppressive world. But the focus of our faith is on Jesus, who blazes with the glory of heaven even in the days of his earthly sojourn.
2 Kings 2:1-12
For 40 years Solomon built the nation of Israel into an international superpower that could not be ignored anywhere in the ancient Near East. It is clear from the trade and commerce mentioned during Solomon’s reign that people on three continents -- Africa, Asia, and Europe -- not only knew about Israel but wanted to enter into its sphere of influence. This was the outcome envisioned by Yahweh a thousand years earlier when conversing with Abram about the divine intention to bless all the nations of the earth through his descendants.
The temple itself stood as a visible reminder of how the nation of Israel became great. For that reason, the story of Jeroboam takes on special significance. Jeroboam was obviously a gifted man. He was chosen by Solomon to head the national building projects (1 Kings 11:28), then recognized as a political threat by the king (1 Kings 11:40), and eventually identified as the spokesperson for the general population after Solomon died (1 Kings 12:2). When Rehoboam, Solomon’s spoiled brat of a son, publicly flaunted his disdain of both the people and leadership wisdom, Jeroboam was poised to wrest away a portion of the kingdom.
One of the first things Jeroboam did was to consolidate his territory by fortifying its borders. But then he also built new cultic shrines for worship at both the northern (Dan) and southern (Bethel) limits of his realm. As the text indicates (1 Kings 12:25-33), it is not likely that Jeroboam intended to change the religion of his portion of the nation of Israel; at the same time, he needed to replace the grand Temple of Jerusalem with other centers for worship so that his subjects would not be tempted to realign with Rehoboam as might happen if they continued to journey to Jerusalem for sacrifices and festivals.
Thus the grand kingdom of David and Solomon became divided and its theological mission compromised. Yet the perspective of Kings is that the northern tribes (now “Israel”) and the southern portion (now “Judah”) were never truly separated. Throughout the rest of these narratives the political fortunes of both territories were equally considered. Furthermore, the kings of both realms were similarly judged by the prophetic author as either following in the ways of David and Solomon (and so seeking to fulfill the destiny intended by Yahweh) or compounding the covenant breaking of those who caused the nation to stray from its divine calling and mission. This is most obvious in the harsh assessments given at the time of the northern kingdom’s destruction by the Assyrians (2 Kings 17).
While the rulers of the divided kingdom are mostly (in the north) and often (in the south) forgetting and going contrary to the ways and wishes of Israel’s true monarch Yahweh, there comes a new development in the idea of who is in charge as God’s anointed and appointed. Note, as 1 and 2 Kings unfold, the emerging and changing role of the public “prophets.” Moses and Joshua each had a unique and ongoing relational interchange with Yahweh which made their leadership positions virtually unassailable (cf. Numbers 12, 16-17). After the nation was settled in Canaan, such clear, regular, and unequivocal communication with Yahweh appears to have been muted. During the times of Eli, we are told, “the word of the Lord was rare; there were not many visions” (1 Samuel 3:1). That is why, when Yahweh began speaking directly with Samuel, the Israelites were ready to follow him (1 Samuel 3:19-21). This seems to be the beginning of a national recognition of the status of prophets as part of the necessary social fabric.
When Samuel’s leadership was challenged because the people wanted a king (1 Samuel 8), it caused the first subtle separation of church and state. Samuel was a priest by adoption, and worked within the parameters of the cultic shrine. But the kings were clearly outside of the Levitical priesthood or its extended family. Prophets at first began to bridge the connection, and then later sparred with the kings as the sovereignty role of Yahweh was increasingly forgotten.
This tension is clearly seen in the dominant stories of Elijah and Elisha, who battled with the rulers of the northern kingdom in 1 Kings 17--2 Kings 8. Elijah was given the weapons of the curses of the Sinai covenant to bring Ahab and Jezebel to their knees (1 Kings 17:1). He wielded divine power in public displays of combat (1 Kings 18). He was authorized to determine and appoint the leaders of nations (1 Kings 19). And when Ahab and Jezebel presumed that they could displace God-fearing Israelites from their divinely determined inheritance in the land (1 Kings 21), Elijah confronted the pair with stern prophecies that they instead would be removed.
As a reward for the tenacity of his faithful service through extremely contrary times, Elijah is publicly affirmed by God as a true leader of Israel. Although Ahab and Jezebel will never acknowledge him, God bears him into his eternal reward in true kingly style, with a royal coach that shimmers with heavenly beauty.
2 Corinthians 4:3-6
The letter we call 1 Corinthians was not well received by its original readers. Their relations with Paul apparently deteriorated rapidly after it arrived, and many more among them began to call into question Paul’s presumed ongoing authority. In response Paul decided that he needed to make a personal visit, both to address the immoral behavior and to renew his pastoral ties with the church as a whole. Paul’s return to Corinth was anything but triumphant, however, and actually turned out to be a bust. Later he would call it a “painful visit” (2 Corinthians 2:1).
After this debacle, Paul limped back to Ephesus confused and hurt, and wrote a severe letter of reproof that later caused him regret because of its caustic tone and content (2 Corinthians 7:8). Although we might wish to know more specifically what Paul said in that correspondence, no copies have survived. Still, Paul’s strongly worded pastoral medicine apparently worked, at least to a degree, for when Titus made his report after delivering the letter, he told of great and pervasive repentance and sorrow among the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 7:6-16). Humility was breeding healing and hope.
About the same time that Titus was back in Corinth, Paul apparently had a near-death experience during a preaching trip to Troas (2 Corinthians 1-2). This scare seems to have been the trigger which initiated Paul’s fourth letter, a letter of comfort and tenderness to the Corinthian congregation. Evidently Paul needed to confirm the renewal of his relationship with the church lest, if he should die soon, the lingering memories of their interaction would only be pain and conflict. Paul’s last letter to Corinth survives as our 2 Corinthians.
It is a passionate, tender, personal, and encouraging communication. Paul can hardly repeat the word “comfort” often enough in his opening paragraph (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). Then he reminisces nostalgically, telling of his travel plans, his apostolic authority and how it came to him, the difficulties he has faced over the years of dedicated service to God and the church, and the ministry of reconciliation that motivates him (2 Corinthians 1:12--7:16).
Next, Paul injects another note about his organization of the massive offering for the poor in Jerusalem (2 Corinthians 8-9), and uses the occasion to nurture expressions of authentic gratitude. Then once again he defends his apostolic authority and ministry (2 Corinthians 10-12), basing these in his divine calling, his servant lifestyle, his different motives than the “false apostles” who are circling about as if to create names and kingdoms for themselves, his profound vision of God’s glory coupled with the humbling weakness of his body, and his passionate concern for the Corinthians. Paul closes this otherwise engaging letter with somewhat fearful anticipations of the confrontations he might again face when he arrives in Corinth. He ends, though, with a clear sense of longing for the warmth he expects on the occasion of their reunion (2 Corinthians 13).
There is no other congregation of the first-century Christian church about which we know more than the one in Corinth. Paul’s constant contact with this troublesome fellowship over half a decade produced the New Testament’s clearest teachings concerning the church’s ministry practices, and a host of intimate reflections on the development of life and leadership in a local outpost of the kingdom of God. For this reason alone 1 and 2 Corinthians have been a priceless treasure, always being mined and refined by later generations of Christians who continue to wrestle with the same issues and problems, and who seek to claim similar joys and hopes.
Today’s New Testament reading is a case in point. It summarizes the struggles of both person and congregation to find fully the new life Jesus brings. It wrestles with the witness of grace to a world that often deals only in graft and greed. And it celebrates confidence in the One who holds our times and lives lovingly in divine care and keeping.
Mark 9:2-9
The story of the transfiguration tells us a number of critical things. First, it comes immediately on the heels of Peter’s great confession of Jesus’ identity. Only when Jesus’ disciples have begun to understand that their master is more than just one among many itinerant rabbis, but truly the promised Messiah, will their ministry of leadership in the age of the church take shape. What happens on the mountain of transfiguration is simply that the testimony of Peter, received by the others and affirmed by Jesus, is modeled before the intimate three. What God placed in Peter’s heart to say publicly is now shown in living technicolor as heaven and earth kiss within the frame of Jesus’ body. This is clearly Mark’s understanding of the meaning of Jesus’ phrase “I tell you the truth, some who are standing here will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God” in verse 1.
Second, it is important to note that Jesus does not give up his humanity while expressing his divinity, nor become unknown in his divinity so that his humanity is obliterated. The transfiguration is one of the most impressive Christological moments, when the fullness of deity becomes obviously human and the fullness of humanity becomes unquestionably divine. It is a mystery, of course, but it is the reason why the Nicene Creed (birthed out of the Councils of Nicea in 325 and Chalcedon in 451) places the specific limits that it does to our understanding of the natures and person of Jesus.
Third, the appearances of Moses and Elijah are critically instructive. How were Peter, James, and John to know the identity of these two figures who suddenly materialized before them? Probably Jesus told them, or the voice from heaven made it obvious. In any case, Moses was the mediator of the Sinai covenant that was responsible for Israel’s national identity and missional purpose on behalf of Yahweh, and Elijah stood at the head of the prophetic line, whose teachings would make the Sinai covenant a living constitution for the shape of Israel’s life. By the time of Jesus, only the “Law” (i.e., the first five books of today’s Hebrew Bible, those commonly identified as the Books of Moses or the Torah) and the “Prophets” (i.e., the prophetically interpreted histories of Israel found in Samuel and Kings, and the great scrolls of Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the Twelve) were received as authoritative scripture. The “Writings” would be finalized later in the first century. So Moses and Elijah are the fountainheads of the two acknowledged collections of divinely inspired literature. Appearing with Jesus, as they do, Moses and Elijah confirm that the entire word of God points to and is fulfilled in Jesus.
Fourth, Peter’s desire to turn the site into a new religious shrine, and Jesus’ refusal to allow that to happen, is a reminder of the synoptic expression of Jesus’ journey. This is only a transitional point, not a conclusion to things. The necessary revelation is not that Jesus has fulfilled the Law and the Prophets, but that he is the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets, something that is still underway.
Fifth, the voice from heaven is an external confirmation that this is more than just a dream or hallucinogenic vision. This encounter has substance, and it has a purpose. Now that the three have seen more fully who Jesus is, they carry with them an added responsibility to treat him with appropriate respect and safeguard the mission that he is on. Increased knowledge brings heightened responsibility.
Sixth, immediately after the “mountaintop” exhilaration of the transfiguration, life takes a rather grim turn. We go down the mountain with warm joy in our hearts, only to feel the crush of real life in the valley below. Down here the demons rule. Down here the world is torn by evil. Down here there are pains and torments. Down here the kingdom has not yet become prominent. Moreover, the disciples who were not on the mountain with Jesus do not have any power in themselves to change things. Jesus, of course, has the power, but his range of influence is limited by his conjoined divine and human natures, so that he cannot be everywhere at once. He is able immediately to cast out the demon and heal the boy, restoring one small beachhead of the kingdom here, but the other disciples, and those who come to the radiance of the glory of God through them, must still be taught. The transfiguration is a turning point, a transitional statement, but it points to the need for Jesus to finish his work so that its effects might be transferred into the expanding army of grace that would be generaled by these officers in training.
Application
A strong biblical theme is the idea that our world is very dark, and that Jesus is the Light of God penetrating earth’s blackness and bleakness, and that the Christian Church is the lingering glow of divine radiance pushing the transformations of heaven a little further through recessed corners of shame and pain. How are we glowing today?
There is an ancient legend first told by Christians living in the catacombs under the streets of Rome which pictures the day when Jesus went back to glory after finishing all his work on earth. The angel Gabriel meets Jesus in heaven and welcomes him home. “Lord,” he says, “who have you left behind to carry on your work?”
Jesus tells him about the disciples, the little band of fishermen and farmers and housewives.
“But Lord,” says Gabriel, “what if they fail you?! What if they lose heart, or drop out?! What if things get too rough for them and they let you down?!”
Well, says Jesus, then all I’ve done will come to nothing!
“But don’t you have a backup plan?!” Gabriel asks. “Isn’t there something else to keep it going, to finish your work?”
No, says Jesus, there’s no backup plan. The church is it. There’s nothing else.
“Nothing else?” says Gabriel. “But what if they fail?!”
And the early Christians knew Jesus’ answer. “They won’t fail, Gabriel,” he said. “They won’t fail!”
Isn’t that a marvelous thing?! Here are the Christians of Rome, dug into the earth like gophers, tunneling out of sight because of the terrors of Nero up above. They’re nothing in that world! They’re poor and despised and insignificant! Yet they know the promise of Jesus: “You won’t fail! You’re my people, and you won’t fail!”
Tony Campolo once told of a friend of his who was walking through the midway at a county fair when he met a tiny girl. She was carrying a great big fluff of cotton candy on a stick, almost as large as herself. He said to her, “How can a little girl like you eat all that cotton candy?”
“Well,” she said to him, “I’m really much bigger on the inside than I am on the outside!”
So it is with us. On the outside we seem to be nothing, like Jesus’ helpless disciples below the mountain of the transfiguration; but on the inside we are as big as the kingdom and the power and the glory of our God.
What would our neighborhood be without us? What would our area be like without the Church of Jesus Christ? Where would our nation be without the conscience of the people of God? It’s not enough to be anti-abortion; you must be pro-life, and remind your community what real life, God’s life, is all about! It’s not enough to be against immorality; you have to be the conscience of society, turning its thoughts toward love and laughter and life! It’s not enough to protect your own interests; you have to speak out for the welfare of the poor and the disabled and the oppressed!
Alternative Application
2 Corinthians 4:3-6. There’s a marvelous little story tucked away in the pages of Edward Gibbon’s seven-volume work The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It tells of a humble little monk named Telemachus living out in the farming regions of Asia.
Telemachus had no great ambitions in life. He loved his little garden, and tilled it through the changing seasons. But one day in the year 391 he felt a sense of urgency, a call of God’s direction in his life. Although he didn’t know why, he felt that God wanted him to go to Rome, the heart and soul of the empire. In fact, the feelings of such a call frightened him, but he went anyway, praying along the way for God’s direction.
When he finally got to the city, it was in an uproar! The armies of Rome had just come home from the battlefield in victory, and the crowds were turning out for a great celebration. They flowed through the streets like a tidal wave, and Telemachus was caught in their frenzy and carried into the coliseum.
He had never seen a gladiator contest before, but now his heart sickened. Down in the arena men hacked at each other with swords and clubs. The crowds roared at the sight of blood, and urged their favorites on to the death.
Telemachus couldn’t stand it. He knew it was wrong; this wasn’t the way God wanted people to live or to die. So little Telemachus worked his way through the crowds to the wall down by the arena. “In the name of Christ, forbear!” he shouted.
Nobody heard him, so he crawled up onto the wall and shouted again: “In the name of Christ, forbear!” This time the few who heard him only laughed. But Telemachus was not to be ignored. He jumped into the arena and ran through the sands toward the gladiators. “In the name of Christ, forbear!”
The crowds laughed at the silly little man and threw stones at him. Telemachus, however, was on a mission. He threw himself between two gladiators to stop their fighting. “In the name of Christ, forbear!” he cried.
They hacked him apart! They cut his body from shoulder to stomach, and he fell onto the sand with the blood running out of his life.
The gladiators were stunned and stopped to watch him die. Then the crowds fell back in silence, and for a moment no one in the coliseum moved. Telemachus’ final words rang in their memories: “In the name of Christ, forbear!” At last they moved, slowly at first, but growing in numbers. The masses of Rome filed out of the coliseum that day, and the historian Theodoret reports that never again was a gladiator contest held there! All because of the witness and the testimony of a single Christian who had the glow-in-the-dark power of grace and God’s goodness.
During the time of the Reformation, John Foxe of England was impressed by the testimony of the early Christians. He gleaned the pages of early historical writings and wrote a book that has become a classic in the church, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs.
One story he tells is about an early church leader named Lawrence. Lawrence acted as a pastor for a church community. He also collected the offerings for the poor each week, and that led to his death.
A band of thieves found out that Lawrence received the offerings of the people from Sunday to Sunday, so one night as he was out taking a stroll they grabbed him and demanded the money. He told them that he didn’t have it, that he had already given it all to the poor. They didn’t believe him and told him they would give him a chance to find it. In three days they would come to his house and take from him the treasures of the church.
Three days later they did come. But Lawrence wasn’t alone. The house was filled with the people of his congregation. When the thieves demanded the treasures of the church, Lawrence smiled. He opened wide his arms, and gestured to those who sat around him. “Here’s the treasure of the church!” he said. “Here’s the treasure of God that shines in the world!”
Indeed. As Jesus said in another place, “You are the light of the world.” You can glow in the dark of this world, shining the light of the transfiguration to those who desperately need it.
