The text this morning is from the Gospel according to Luke, the ninth chapter:
Now about eight days after these sayings he took with him Peter and John and James and went up on the mountain to pray. And as he was praying, the appearance of his face was altered, and his clothing became dazzling white. And behold, two men were talking with him, Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory and spoke of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and those who were with him were heavy with sleep, but when they became fully awake they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. And as the men were parting from him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good that we are here. Let us make three tents, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah”—not knowing what he said. As he was saying these things, a cloud came and overshadowed them, and they were afraid as they entered the cloud. And a voice came out of the cloud, saying, “This is my Son, my Chosen One; listen to him!” And when the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and told no one in those days anything of what they had seen.Thus far the text.
My dear friends in Christ,
There is a fascinating dynamic going on here in the Transfiguration and it’s something that we would do well to remember: before the glory of the Lord comes, suffering must come first. This Epiphany season we’ve been in has been about light. Epiphany means revelation, and what is more revealing than the Light of the World Himself? It’s why so many of our readings have focused on the life of Christ being lived out through us, for we bear the Light of the World to the world that He might be seen by all.
But, now Epiphany is winding down. We’re coming into the Lenten season. We are putting away today our Alleluias, not to be sung for seven weeks. We’re figuring out what we’re going to fast from for that time. We’re changing parts of the liturgy so that we are not overly joyful, but reflect a somber tone. It’s not that the light is gone, but it’s hidden as we set our eyes, with Jesus, upon the hills of Jerusalem, where a cross will be staked into the ground and the Lord of Life will be crucified. The Lord has been revealed and now His work begins.
And the Transfiguration is, in many ways, a wonderful extension of that revelation, for in this passage, we see our Lord as a shadow of who He truly is: He is God and He is man. He is God in human flesh. You cannot usually see His divinity for He cloaks it in human flesh, but they are both who He is. He is man, born of a virgin, grown in wisdom and stature, frail, weak, mortal. And He is God, begotten from eternity, having all glory, blessing and honor given to His name. The Transfiguration is a brief moment, a glimpse God deigns to give us that shows us the divinity of this man, so that we can have confidence as He moves forward that He is indeed the one for whom we have been waiting.
There are plenty of men who are going to die. There were plenty of dying men in the days of Christ’s walking the earth. Jewish men who claimed to be the Messiah would rise up every so often and claim for themselves the title and role. And without fail, those men who suffer under the hands of those who ruled the nation. If we wanted just a man to die for us, there were plenty around. But none of them would do us any good. No man has ever died, redeeming another. Every man who dies, dies for themselves.
And the thought that a god would die for you, well, who cares? Plenty of gods die. Mythology is full of stories of the death of the gods and, even beyond that, if we look at the idols that we make for ourselves, our gods die.
But, if you have a God who has taken mankind into Himself, and He is both God and man, this one seems to have al that we need. He is a man so He can die, He is a man so He can suffer, He is a man so He can be weak, and He is God that He might be like the Father, able to converse with Him, He is God that He might be perfect, He is God that He might be the creator sacrificed for creation. He is the God-man, that He might die as a man on behalf of all men and be God, willing, able, and pleased to accept the sacrifice, to count the debt paid.
But, this is the point, to get there, to get to where the sin-debt is paid on our behalf, much suffering must take place. There is no more glorious picture we have than the broken, bloody visage of Jesus on the cross. Flayed open, stripped naked, mocked, scorned, whipped, beaten, He is more glorious in His death than we have ever seen Him, yet it is suffering beyond all measure. It is suffering that none have endured before. Not only is it the physical suffering, but it is the rejection of scorn, the scorn, the damnation, the wrath poured upon the head of Christ as He is the very image of sin itself. The death of the Christ is nothing we have ever seen, and it is glorious.
It is not pretty, it is not beautiful, but it is amazing. And through that death comes life itself to all. Christ, the firstfruits of the dead, and we who believe in Him, will be raised to life everlasting, and this is all wrapped up in the Transfiguration. What Christ is, is glimpsed. What we will be is seen. What is coming is hoped for. And where Christ is moving forward, we follow.
It makes sense then, that just as Christ must suffer and then comes the glory of God, so, too, must we suffer to receive our glory. We must suffer in this life. It is the wages of sin. We are to die and everything we experience from the moment of our conception until our death is leading us ever closer to death itself. Seriously, from the moment we are conceived, we begin the process of dying. The spark of life is a wonderful thing, but we are conceived in sin, inheriting that original sin from Adam, and thus, even from that moment we must die. The whole of our lives then, despite the joy and happiness that comes to us, is marked with great sorrows and sadness. People die. They’re taken from us. We hurt. We ache. We grieve. We get sick. We suffer. We die.
Life isn’t a cakewalk, but there is something greater. We see it in the body of Christ as He shines with the light of the divine. We see, even as He speaks with Moses and Elijah about His death, that the very death of Christ will bring glory to all mankind. Elsewhere, we are told that we shall have bodies like His. And if we shine with His light, even if we only reflect His light like the moon does the sun, there is great glory coming to us.
But we must suffer until that day. We must suffer until we are with Him forever. We must suffer until He comes again. We must suffer. But we do not suffer alone. We are joined by our brothers and sisters, we speak together about our departure with hope, we speak about the love our Lord has for us, we live together, we look eagerly for the day of our Lord’s returning. He will return; He has promised that. It may take time, it make take eons, it may be tomorrow. When you begin to doubt this, though, take heart: your suffering, your doubt, even, helps you to understand a great truth, and one which should give you great confidence: your suffering promises you that, just as the Lord suffered, so you, too, shall receive a great gift, the glory of God, resurrection from the dead. It is His promise and you have even a glimpse of it this day.
So, as we put away our Alleluias, as we head into Lent, as we reflect on the death and suffering of the Christ, His passion, do not be dismayed. Rejoice quietly, for it is leading you to the day when, like Christ, you will die no more, suffer no more, grieve no more. Lent and the suffering of Jesus are leading you to everlasting life. Join the journey this year and reflect on this, the promise of the glory of God. In Jesus’ name, amen.
Now may the peace of God which passes all human understanding guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus, our Lord! Amen.
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