by Richard Lindsay, PhD
SCRIPTURE READINGS 2 Kings 2:6-11, Luke 9:28-42
Transcribed from the sermon preached on MARCH 16, 2025
Chapter 9 is really the pivot point of Luke’s gospel. Up until now, it’s all been good news. We get the wonderful birth narrative, which we celebrate at Christmas. Then Jesus’ baptism, the temptation in the desert, which he passes with flying colors. And then once he starts his ministry, it’s just one success after another. He’s healing people, casting out demons, he even raises a little girl from the dead. There’s the feeding of the 5,000. And there’s a palpable sense of excitement building around the ministry of Jesus. The disciples are more and more convinced he is the Messiah, and they’ve gotten in on the ground floor, so when he comes into power, they are going to be glorified with him.
This episode of the transfiguration seems to confirm the disciples’ hopes. Here, Jesus is standing on the mountain with two of the superheroes of the Jewish scriptures, Elijah and Moses. It’s a little bit like a mountaintop meeting between Batman and Superman and Iron Man. This is the dream team, the Avengers, whatever you want to call it.
It’s also highly symbolic. What this is saying is that Jesus is the fulfillment of both the law and the prophets. Moses is the Law, and Elijah is the prophets.
I get a little nervous when we reference Jewish tradition to back up our messianic claims about Jesus. Our Christian tradition sees Jesus as the fulfillment of prophecy because the gospel writers did such a good job weaving in references to the Hebrew scriptures in order to convince their readers that Jesus was the Messiah. But it’s important to remember that the Hebrew Bible stands on its own as a complete canon and a singular tradition. It is possible to read the Hebrew scriptures—as our Jewish friends do—and not interpret those texts as self-evidently pointing to Jesus as the Messiah. Christian tradition sees Jesus as the fulfillment of messianic prophecy, Jewish tradition is something different. We can hold those two things in tension, without thinking that our tradition somehow replaces Jewish tradition or that God broke God’s covenant with the Jewish people.
But it is clear the message that the gospel writer is trying to convey is that Jesus is the Messiah and is equal in importance to Elijah and Moses. And there are parallels here between the Jesus story and the accounts of Moses and Elijah.
As Jesus is on the mountain, his face and clothing become dazzlingly bright. This recalls the face of Moses when he received the Ten Commandments. Luke is recalling that passage in Exodus that we read a couple of weeks ago, where Moses’ face was shining so brightly after he had been in God’s presence, that he had to wear a veil when he was talking to other people, mostly because when they saw his face glowing, they got scared and ran away. The literal meaning of transfiguration is “changing the face or appearance” – and that happens both to Moses and to Jesus.
Luke even takes another step toward this comparison with Moses in verse 31. Our translation today says, “They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.” But the actual word Luke uses for “departure” is “exodus.” His exodus to Jerusalem. That’s a very meaningful word in the context of Moses. Maybe a little too on the nose. Like, “Okay Luke, we get it, he’s the new Moses, you don’t have to hammer us over the head with it.”
The parallel with Elijah is also interesting, because in this case it’s kind of a foreshadowing. We read the passage today where Elijah is taken up into heaven on the fiery chariot. This foreshadows how the resurrected Jesus will ascend, in Acts, chapter 1 verse 9: “After saying this, he was taken up into a cloud while they were watching, and they could no longer see him. As they strained to see him rising into heaven, two white-robed men suddenly stood among them. “Men of Galilee,” they said, “why are you standing here staring into heaven? Jesus has been taken from you into heaven, but someday he will return from heaven in the same way you saw him go!”
This echoes the tradition around Elijah--that since he was taken up into heaven, he didn’t die, so he would one day return, and that would be the sign that the Messiah was on his way. That’s why, in the Jewish Passover Seder you leave a place at the table for Elijah, in anticipation of his return.
Now the disciples react to Jesus’ transfiguration moment, with typical Three-Stooges-like precision. First, they’re either asleep or almost asleep by the time Jesus has finished praying and all the fireworks start happening. This won’t be the first time they fall asleep at a crucial moment in the Jesus story—they do the same thing in Gethsemane just before he’s arrested. Then Peter talks about setting up tabernacles or dwellings, for Elijah, Moses, and Jesus, which makes no sense. Moses and Elijah are clearly some kind of supernatural manifestation, and they probably don’t need shelter at this point. Peter is often the ironic foil in gospel stories. It wouldn’t be a good gospel story if Peter didn’t stick his foot in his mouth. In this case, he’s showing that the bewilderment and confusion of the disciples. Then a cloud descends on them and they get even more scared as they hear the voice of God. Then, just as quickly as it started, everything vanishes—the cloud clears away, Elijah and Moses vanish, and it’s just Jesus is standing there with them alone. It’s very dramatic.
This moment of transfiguration is what’s known as a theophany, which means a direct encounter with God. So this gives Jesus something else in common with Elijah and Moses, because all three of them experience theophanies. A theophany could bring about a feeling of awe, or an intense sense of holiness, as when Moses removes his sandals in front of the burning bush, because he believes he is standing on holy ground. Often times when it happens in the Bible, it brings about confusion and fear. And that seems to be the case with the disciples. When they come back down the mountain, they’re literally speechless. They don’t say anything about the experience they just had to anyone.
The story has a kind of darkness to it as well, because in the passage just before this, Jesus has told his disciples for the first time about his pending crucifixion. In verses 22 and 23 he tells them, “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 from the dead. Then he says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.”
It’s safe to say a public trial and humiliating death is not what the disciples are expecting from Jesus as the Messiah.
This little tag on the lectionary text where Jesus and the disciples encounter a boy who is possessed by a demon also points to a shift in the narrative. Up until now, it has been Jesus who has been doing all the miracles and wonders. But the text tells us the disciples were either unwilling to try unable to succeed in casting out the demon. When Jesus hears this, he lays into them: “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?” It’s as if Jesus is trying to tell them, “Hey, I’m not always going to be here, so you need to start picking up the torch.”
The true pivot point in this chapter really happens in verse 51, just after the passage we read, and it’s the idea of the journey. It says “When the days drew near for (Jesus) to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.” Up until now, Jesus’ ministry has taken place in his home territory of Galilee. But from now on, Jesus and the disciples are going on a journey, to Jerusalem, where the events of the Easter narrative will take place.
Some of the commentaries I read in preparing this sermon suggested to just leave this story as it is. This is a theophany, a direct experience with God. It is completely outside anything we have experienced. Don’t try to compare it to our own lives. Don’t talk about “Mountain Top Experiences.” I resisted the temptation to title this sermon, “Jesus’ big glow-up.” The transfiguration is something wholly other, in which Jesus and the disciples experience the holy other. I think there’s some truth to that, and that’s good advice.
But there’s a couple of points in this narrative that deserve a little more scrutiny.
One thing that strikes me about the transfiguration is that it’s a strangely intimate moment. Jesus only brings three of his disciples up the mountain, whatever he intends to reveal about himself, he only wants to show his closest companions.
At its heart, the transfiguration is a moment of revelation. Jesus is revealing something to his friends that they may have suspected about him, but that he is confirming to them for the first time. There is one thing they’re very glad to hear: “Yes, he is the Messiah.” But there’s also something they don’t want to hear: “Being the Messiah is not going to lead to earthly glory and political power.” Jesus shows them the fullness of who he is and shows the truth about himself.
As powerful as Jesus seems here, he’s revealing something deeply personal, which also means he’s making himself vulnerable. He doesn’t know how his friends are going to react to this information. In fact, they seem to be quite scared and confused. And so in the same way, when we stand in the fullness of who we are and reveal the truth about ourselves, we also may feel both power and vulnerability. You might call this a transfiguration moment.
There are a lot of examples of transfiguration moments. I think about the experience we have in the LGBTQ community of coming out. When you reveal to someone who you are, and then that is followed by that freighted moment, when you’re waiting to see what their reaction will be. That can be a moment of power, but also a moment of vulnerability.
I think about young people when they begin to follow their own path, rather than the path planned out for them by their parents or family. Maybe a young person telling their parents they’re not going to college. Or that they going to move across the country or around the world, when everybody thought they were going to stay put. Or informing family or their faith community that their beliefs have changed and they no longer see themselves as part of the denomination or religion they were raised in. These are be transfiguration moments.
I think about things that happen in counseling sessions, or in quiet conversations between friends, when someone reveals a past trauma or psychic wound they’ve suffered, a violation against their body, mind, or spirit. Talking about something like that to someone else is both a moment of vulnerability, and a moment of power, because talking about the traumas we experience is a way to begin to find wholeness again.
These transfiguration moments, when someone stands in the fullness of who they are and tells the truth about themselves may not be a great theophany like we have in the passage today, but they are nevertheless holy moments. And we should see them that way. Both when it’s our truth we are revealing, and when we are privileged to have someone reveal their truth to us.
The other thing that strikes me is the in the passage just after the one we read, where Jesus says if we would be his disciples, we must deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow him. There’s a strange contradiction in this saying, because for Jesus, taking up the cross was not a denial of himself. It was the fulfillment of who he really was as the Messiah. When he sets his face toward Jerusalem, this is where his transfiguration moment—this revealing of who he was—becomes a transformation moment, where he begins to take action. He is living fully and completely into who God was calling him to be.
So maybe that’s true for us as well. That to take up the cross and follow Jesus is about living fully into the people that God has called us to be.
I can’t tell any of us exactly what that means for our own lives. But there may be some hints as to where we could look to find out.
Often, the transformative action we are being asked to do, has to do with the transfiguring truth we have acknowledged about ourselves. Moments of transfiguration tend to be pretty formative experiences. They tend to relate to things that are deeply important to our personalities. And so wherever we have stood in the fullness of who we are and told the truth about ourselves, that can be a starting place on the journey God is calling us to take.
Just using an example from my own life, an important transfiguration moment for me was when I came out as a gay man. This led to me getting involved in LGBTQ activism, both in the church and in secular settings. It’s also influenced the classes I’ve taught in my work as an adjunct professor. And this is an important part of what it has meant for me to live fully into the person that I feel God has called me to be.
Another place we might look is in that list of things we all have that we would like to do that we feel like could make a positive difference in the world, but maybe haven’t yet committed to doing. Maybe it has to do with volunteering or spending time in our communities. Maybe it’s starting something—like a program, or a ministry. Maybe it’s sharing our knowledge through teaching and mentoring others. Maybe it’s just sitting down and starting to write, or to paint, or to compose.
And then, maybe we’re not quite ready to name what it would mean to live into the fullness of who God is calling us to be. Maybe it’s something that just exists right in the periphery of your awareness. Maybe it’s like a little fishhook that you feel in your belly, and feels like God is reeling you in, but you’re not sure where you’re going to end up. That’s fine, too. Sometimes the path is just to remain on the path--and eventually you’ll figure out where it’s leading you.
I don’t want to fall into what I call in my classes on popular culture, “Systematic Oprahlogy.” This is not the Gospel of You go, girl, or you do you. In taking up the cross, there is self-denial. You may have to let go of baggage from the past, or face your fears or your shadows. You may have to give up illusions about yourself, have your prejudices punctured, or your expectations shattered. You may have to endure the disapproval of society or even family or friends. Again, there’s this contradiction, that taking up the cross is both a denial of self and a fulfillment of self.
While we’re talking about denial, let’s talk about Lent. In many parts of the church, it’s traditional for people to give up something for Lent-like desserts, or alcohol, or shopping. I’ve noticed we Presbyterians don’t usually give up things for Lent. But maybe what we could do instead is to create a bit of space, a bit of silence where we might listen for God’s call to us. If you can carve that little bit of space out in your day, I would like to suggest a couple of questions you might ask yourself: The transfiguration question: “Who would I be if I stood in the fullness of who I am, and told the truth about myself?” And the transformation question: “What would I do if I lived fully into the person God is calling me to be?”
My hope for you, for all of us during Lent, is that we may find a little time, a little space to consider these questions – and that we may find ourselves transfigured, and that we may find ourselves transformed.