Astounded at the Greatness

The appearance of his face changed (Luke 9:29). The appearance. He didn’t look like what they were used to looking at. He looked different. He looked ... more. Transfigured is the word that we are used to reading here. That sounds more holy somehow, more theological than to say simply that he changed. But the Greek word here is metemorfw,qh (metamorphothe) from which we get metamorphosis. Or change.

So, what happened on that mountain six days after a conversation about suffering and death? Something. It’s hard to say, except by repeating the words that we read there. The appearance of his face changed. What they were used to seeing, they no longer saw; something they hadn’t seen before suddenly became evident to their frightened eyes. And what did they see? Something well-nigh indescribable. Luckily, there were aids to their seeing all around them to help them define what had happened in front of them.

First of all, there were those other guys. Luke says it was Moses and Elijah. I always wondered how they knew who they were. Did they come with name tags? Were there prompters running around with signs? Or was it one of those “they just knew” kind of things? Maybe Moses had his famous staff - the staff by which he parted the sea and then struck the rock to get water. Maybe Elijah had his wilderness clothes on, a John the Baptist motif that showed he was a man of the desert, a man uneasy with so-called human civilization. Maybe it was a wild look in his eyes. Maybe Jesus called them by name when they appeared. We don’t know because not a lot of attention is paid to the two of them. They were there as props; they were scenery for the lead actor; they were in supporting roles on this day. It wasn’t about them. They represented the law and the prophets, the story of the people of God, the heights of the Chosen People. But they were there to draw attention to the one who was the Word of God, the Presence of God, Emmanuel, God-with-us.

Luke is the only one who spoke of the conversation among the glowing figures on the mountaintop. They appeared in glory too; did you notice that? It wasn’t just Jesus; the others glowed too. But it was the conversation that drew Luke’s attention. They were there to talk about Jesus’ departure (checking his ticket, reminding him of the security details, perhaps; no liquids; take all the metals out of your pockets, take off your shoes - Moses probably said that, I would think.) He knew about taking off shoes. No, maybe it was something else. Something more. Departure in Greek here is ἔξοδον, “exodus.” Moses knew about exoduses (Exodi)? He knew what it was to change everything you knew and everything you were, even for an uncertain future. He knew how to embrace that change even through fears.

That seems to be what this odd little moment on top of the mountain was all about—embracing the change, trusting in the one who brings us through; more than that, trusting in the one who calls us to change, to become more, to become like him. At least that was what it seemed like the Voice was saying— the Voice that spoke because Peter got the lines wrong. Peter wanted to stand against change. “Let’s set up camp here,” Peter said. “Let’s just sit; let’s just be; let’s dig in our heels and hold on to this moment because who knows what the next one will bring. Let us make a declaration that our understanding should never change. We’ve come this far; aren’t we there yet?”

“No,” the Voice says, “you’ve got a way to go yet. You are still becoming.”
“Becoming what?” we ask.
Becoming him. This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him. Pay attention to the change, to the metamorphosis.

In what context do we usually use the word metamorphosis? I remember science class, and we were talking about butterflies. The process of changing from a rather ugly worm-like caterpillar into a fragile but breathtakingly beautiful butterfly is metamorphosis - change. Or maybe it was in earth science, and we are talking about metamorphic rock. Melted by the heat of the earth’s core, the rock flows from one form into another. But here’s the question: which is the true form of the rock or creature? Or is the before and the after both a part of the whole? Is it a matter of perspective and a matter of timing? Where you are and when you are allows you to see one truth as opposed to another.

What happened on that mountain was not so much a change into something different, but a revealing of the essence of the one who was changed. Jesus became who he was on that mountain, even though he was who he was as he climbed up and then down again. He is always who he is. He is always present in the fullness of his being. We can see only a part of him, the part we need at any given moment. We experience only a piece, a dimension of the reality that is the Christ. And we get used to that; it becomes familiar to us.

But every now and then, we catch a glimpse of something larger, something deeper and more profound. Every now and then, we hear a word that reverberates in our soul for weeks if not a lifetime. Every now and then, tears come to our eyes as we stand on the precipice of glory. Every now and then, a lump comes to our throat as we encounter the depths of love and sacrifice. Every now and then, we climb a mountain and see what we are following in what is most often the darkness of this life. Every now and then, we move a little closer, grow a little taller, move a little closer, and listen a little better. Every now and then, we catch a glimpse of the appearance of his face. And we are astounded at the greatness of the one we worship, the one we follow. Astounded.