O God, who before the passion of your only-begotten Son revealed his glory upon the holy mountain: Grant to us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. [BCP 217]
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Fan Mountain, outside Ennis Montana, © Keith Axberg
When I was a young lad, our family would often take a few weeks off in the summer to get away from our little house in Ballard (Seattle’s northside Scandinavian neighborhood). Sometimes we would spend our time at the maternal grandparents’ cabin within walking distance of Lake Cavanaugh (nestled in the foothills of the North Cascades just north and east of Everett). Other times we would spend those weeks with our paternal aunt, uncle, and cousin who actually owned a cabin right on the same lake.
One hot summer day our cousin Joe asked my brother and me if we wanted to go up and see the fire lookout on Fraley Mountain. We’d never been there, but it sure sounded like fun, so off we went. We were kids in our early to mid teens (probably about 13-15); we were in good shape for hiking, and the trail we’d be walking was actually an old access road that was in pretty good shape. We wouldn’t be blazing trails; we’d just be walking up the mountain.
None of us carried watches, and we were at the age where time meant little. I don’t recall what time we left, and I have no idea how long we trekked, but we walked, and walked, and walked some more. Up the mountain we walked. There wasn’t much of a breeze. We’d carried no water or food. No knives, matches, or flashlights. We had our cut-offs, tee shirts, and tennis shoes of the Bonanza 88 quality and variety. To top it all off, we had also neglected to mention to anyone what we had planned for the day. We simply left with a desire to go see the fire lookout on Fraley Mountain.
Well, lest you get all nervous-like and start biting your nails, I’ll tell you here that we didn’t make it to the mountain top. We got to a point where it was obvious we were either on the wrong access road, or the site was a lot further away than we had realized when we left the little cabin down by the lake. While I would like to credit this realization to superior intelligence or common sense, the fact is that it was more likely stomachs that had been without food, water, or even chewing gum that led us to realize we may have bitten off more than we could chew. We were out of our depth and woefully unprepared. We exercised the better part of valor and turned around.
I’m sorry we didn’t get to the mountain top, for I would have liked to have checked out the view from way up there atop Fraley Mountain. Alas, it was not to be. We couldn’t even defend our actions; our folks were not happy to have had us disappear like that without a word, note, or anything. We had failed in our quest, and didn’t have the luxury of being carried home upon our shields. Instead, we were grounded. We weren’t heroes, we were goats. We set out as adventurers, but came back as losers.
“O God, who before the passion of your only-begotten Son revealed his glory upon the holy mountain …”
Jesus never stopped, of course. Jesus and his companions made it to the mountain top. The story of the Transfiguration reminds me of another mountain top at another time in another place with another godly soul. Moses visited high places on several different occasions. He climbed a mountain and found the bush that burned without being consumed. He climbed a mountain to converse with God and bring Torah to God’s people in the valley below. Moses was taken up to a mountain where he could see the land of promise. He was allowed to see it, but the angel of the Lord was clear. “I’ll let you see it, but you will not enter it.”
It seems the people of God never quite get to where they’re going in life. Like Moses and the children of Israel, we wander around the desert, setting up camp, doing the best we can, but never quite finishing the trip. Spies went into the promised land, and the majority report was simple: “We can’t do it. They’re too big; we’re too small. They’re too many; we’re too few. They’re too powerful; we’re too weak. We’ll be beaten. We’ll be eaten. Let’s return to being slaves, because at least we got to eat the feast and not be the feast.”
There was a minority report, though. “We can do it. With YHWH on our side, it can be ours, and from what we’ve seen, it will be worth it.”
Which way did they choose? Did they move forward in faith, or did they stay put, living in fear? You know the answer. Forty years of standing still, going nowhere, perfecting their capacity to cry, moan, and bewail their manifold sins and predicaments.
Our focus today, though, isn’t what they did in their desert journey. It’s about the journey Jesus took. A different mountain. A different ending. On that mountain, Jesus prayed. Jesus was preparing to make his journey into a different desert, a different wilderness and, as we’ll find out in a few short weeks, a different hill where he will be lifted up, and we won’t see his glory, nor will we hear the voice of God. We’ll be met with deep darkness, sadness, and silence.
We discover, if we’re paying attention, that the two hills are really two views of the same hill. In reality, the transfiguration story is a preview of Jesus’ resurrection, but we need to see it through eyes of faith, because we must see his resurrection through his crucifixion.
When my wife was pregnant with our daughter, there was new technology that we didn’t have when she was pregnant with our son: ultrasounds. The device allowed us to see our child in-utero as she was developing. It was like an X-ray but safer, and allowed us to see our child in real time and in motion. We couldn’t see our daughter directly, but we could get a glimpse of coming attractions, one might say.
The Transfiguration is like that. The glory of God shone for just a few moments there upon the mountain – sort of an Ultra-view, if you will. The thing we often miss, though, is the idea that this is also the view God has of us. We know Jesus is special. We’ve seen it in his life and ministry. Feeding thousands? Wow! Walking on water? Wow, wow, wow! Cleansing lepers, making the lame to walk, the blind to see, the deaf to hear? Wow, wow, wow, a thousand times wow!
It is not enough to see the glory of God in Christ on the holy mountain, though. We are praying, asking God to change us. Jesus didn’t shine 24/7. The light lived within him; it was visible in how he lived. That light dwells in us, too. That’s the scary part of our faith is the light dwells in us. We may not be able to walk on water, but we can reach out to those who are drowning. We may not be able to feed thousands, but certainly we can feed a few. We may not be able to open the eyes of the blind or unstop the ears of the deaf, but we can surely be their eyes and ears when called upon.
This collect warns us away from complacency, or from delegating everything to Jesus because for us to care or to carry that burden (our cross) is too hard or difficult. We ask God to use us. We discover, to our amazement, that the light may well shine. We are called to see the world from the mountain top, even if we’re not sure we’d ever get there. We’re to see it through Jesus’ eyes. We just need to keep moving, and believe. What a view!
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