Today we’re jumping ahead in Matthew from the Sermon on the Mount to the middle of Jesus’ ministry in towns all over the countryside—teaching and healing, preaching and wondering.
We meet Jesus today in Caesarea Phillipi, just 6 days after Jesus’ first declaration that he would be killed and rise again.
Matthew 17:1-9
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, ‘Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.’ While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!’ When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, ‘Get up and do not be afraid.’ And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.
As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, ‘Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.’
For the aspiring biblical scholar, this passage is an absolute treasure trove of subtle references to other biblical passages. In 9 short verses, you can find at least a couple dozen references to parts of the Exodus narrative, the Old Testament prophets, and other parts of the gospels. Now, I promise not to go full Bible nerd on you this morning, but I do want to talk a bit about a couple of those references, because I think they’re important to how we understand this story.
The first has to do with characters: the disciples and early readers of Matthew’s gospels would have heard just the first couple sentences and immediately thought of two other biblical figures whose stories involved mountains, clouds, shining faces and the voice of God.
The first is Moses. After the people of God left Egypt, Moses left Aaron behind and took Joshua up the mountain, into the cloud that was the presence of God, who had led them into freedom, and received the covenant there. When he came down the mountain, his face shone—not just in a really excited to be here way, but in a slightly unnatural way—because he had seen the glory of God and it stuck to him like glitter in a kindergarten classroom. To the ancients, glory was like a substance—not unlike glitter—that would rub off on you as you got close. Moses, when he went up and down the mountain, eventually had to begin wearing a veil over his face, because the people couldn’t handle it. They were afraid.
The second was Elijah, who after being sent into the desert, spoke with God. Elijah encountered God on another mountain, and listened to the roar of waves and wind and fire before he heard God’s still, small voice.
So it’s no coincidence that Moses and Elijah are the ones to meet Jesus on that mountain. But it is curious that Jesus’ face is shining—and not, seemingly, from having encountered God the way Moses did. Rather, Jesus radiates the glory of God from within.
The second reference to another part of the Bible has to do with words: God quite literally quotes Godself while talking Peter down.
When Jesus was baptized, before he had called any of his disciples, God spoke these same words. As he was coming up from the River Jordan, the heavens opened, the Spirit descended, and the voice of God came: “this is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”
So you have three of the very few people who’ve been directly addressed by the voice of God—and they’re all standing on top of a mountain, chatting.
And then… Peter interrupts them. He assumes rightly that Jesus brought them along to this divine appointment for a reason—but like any tradesperson faced with unspeakable mystery, he falls back on what he knows. Physical labor. He might not have any idea what to do in the presence of the glory of God, but he does know how to build things. We can only assume that James and John were standing there in shocked silence.
But not Peter, who is already scanning the hillside for branches and brush with which to make shelters—not so much for anyone to rest in, but as a way to mark their presence. An altar of sorts, a way to mark this holy place in a way that makes sense to him. Even Peter wished to dwell in the presence of the Lord, even if just for a little while.
But then God interrupts Peter, and speaks those same words from Jesus’ baptism to call him to task—but God adds a command to the end.
“This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. LISTEN. TO. HIM.”
Peter and James and John are not present in this moment as laborers—they’re here as witnesses. Jesus brought them to the mountaintop to see and experience the glory of God, and to tell about it. (Later.)
I have a soft spot for Peter, because he’s the guy who says what everyone is thinking. He’s the one who is more willing to be wrong than to be quiet. He’s always right there with Jesus, poking around and asking questions. And sometimes that gets him in trouble—this is one of those times.
And I think a lot of us have been in Peter’s shoes. Maybe not on a mountain with Jesus and a shiny cloud, but when we’re faced with inexplicable mystery, an event that words can’t do justice for, a moment when we suddenly realize that God really is with us and there is nothing we need to do about it—we try to speak. We try to explain. We refuse the stunned silence in favor of nervous busy work. We try to do something, anything, to quantify or qualify or set boundaries to the mystery and glory of God.
For some of us, I think, it is difficult work to sit still and bear witness to God in the world. We are so often the Marthas and Peters who want to take care of Jesus, rather than sitting and paying attention.
And that’s not always a bad thing. Jesus was human, after all, and he needed to eat. But sometimes, we need to be the Marys and the James and the Johns, who sit. and listen.
By the time God is finished speaking, the disciples are on the ground, terrified. I think I would be, too. When Jesus goes to comfort them, he reaches out a hand and says “Get up, and do not be afraid.” And then it’s over. The moment has passed and they can go back to following their very human friend Jesus around.
What part of this great mystery—that Christ has died, Christ is risen, and Christ will come again—what is ours to bear witness to today? Where should we simply sit and be astonished? And, where must we rise up without fear, lest we try to live on the mountaintop?
After Jesus and the disciples start down the mountain, he tells them they must not tell anyone about that day until after his resurrection—which, if we take Matthew’s order of events seriously, is a decent chunk of time.
Why show them something so mind-blowing, then ask for such secrecy?
I think Jesus knows that this day will only make sense in light of the resurrection—only in hindsight will God’s words and Jesus’ glory and the presence of those ancient greats come together to change Jesus’ title from Son of Man to Son of God. It will take a while to connect those dots.
Honestly, it’s the resurrection that makes sense of just about everything Jesus says and does. Perhaps that’s why Jesus chose disciples who were not religious scholars—they were fishermen and tax collectors and shopkeepers. They didn’t know what they were getting themselves into, but they asked their questions without too many presuppositions or well-thought-out arguments, and they followed and they trusted, eventually, in the mystery of God taking on flesh and dwelling among us.
It’s Jesus’ humanity that gives us the courage to live our very human lives, in all of their complexities. Jesus’ divinity, though, gives us the courage to trust that because God loved the whole cosmos—everything that was and is and is to come—enough to send the Son into the world, then God’s love is absolutely big enough to envelope us, with all that we are and all that we carry. Because we are united with Christ, we too hear those same words spoken to Jesus at his baptism:
“This is my beloved child, with whom I am well pleased.”
Perhaps that is the greatest mystery of all.
But may you, beloveds, bear witness to this truth every day of your lives.