Last Sunday after the Epiphany: Transfiguration Sunday, rcl yr c, 2025
EXODUS 34:29-35; PSALM 99; 2 CORINTHIANS 3:12-4:2; LUKE 9:28-36
we do not lose heart
There’s some comfort to be found, I hope, in readings like we have today. Comfort, hope, and consolation, for two reasons.
First: there’s comfort in just how dumb the disciples can be. John and James come off ok today, mostly perhaps because they just don’t say anything. They keep their mouths shut, leaving us with at least an illusion of good judgment. But only today, really; it won’t take long for them to misunderstand what Jesus means when he says that he will be betrayed into human hands; the disciples will soon argue about who among them is the greatest, only for Jesus to set a child before them as the true example of greatness; James and John will soon be solidly rebuked by Jesus for suggesting that they’d be perfectly happy to call down fire from heaven to consume a Samaritan village, clearly not getting what Jesus had just said about the greatness of a child’s mind. And all this within a few verses of Luke’s account of the Transfiguration.
So later it will be James and John’s turn to act the fool; today though it’s Peter’s turn. It’s Peter’s turn to give us some comfort in just how clearly he doesn’t get it. It begins in verse 33: Jesus has been at prayer; “while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white”; and Moses and Elijah appear with Jesus.
Moses, the one who led his people out of bondage in Egypt and into the wilderness where they will receive the law on the mountain, the Moses whose grave will not be found; and Elijah, the hairy prophet who, on mount Horeb where Moses received the Ten Commandments, will stand in the presence of the Lord in a still small voice, the prophet who did not die but who ascended into heaven on a fiery chariot.
These two, representing the law and the prophets, appear in glory with Jesus, speaking of Jesus’s own exodus, Jesus’s own departure, Jesus’s own eventual ascension, the one that will come after the cross, and after his resurrection; three figures both present and absent in their own different ways.
Not only are these three talking about departures, but they are also already in the process of leaving, of departing. Jesus’s own departure is yet to come; Moses and Elijah have already departed this world once, and are now in the process of departing again and at this very moment. And Peter—the dunderhead of the day—“Just as [Moses and Elijah] were leaving [Jesus], Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’—not knowing what he said.” Their coats are on, hats in one hand, doorknobs in the other, and Peter wants to take the couch cushions off the hide-a-bed. Talk about not getting the hint.
Let’s have some sympathy, though, for poor Peter. He just wants to hold on to this moment. He has a glimpse here of the coming Kingdom of God, and Peter’s eyes are full, his heart is full with the glory that is to come. For a moment he sees the beautiful future when our bodies will be transfused with the light of the glory of God. Of course he wants to hold on, to make this last, and for his dream of a dinner party to last just a little bit longer, and for the coming dread of night to be held back a few moments more.
Certainly we can find comfort here, because we are so often much the same as Peter. Who among doesn’t want to hold on to those moments when we get that glimpse of glory. Like Steve Martin’s character in Father of the Bride, remember that scene where his grown daughter is announcing her engagement, but all he can see is a seven year old saying “dad I met a man in Rome and we’re getting married”? We want to hold on to what is good; so does Peter. But sometimes it can keep us from the truth of the present, and it can even keep us from what is better, keeping us from what must come before the fulness of glory: in this case, suffering and death, not only Jesus’s own, but Peter’s, too. The seed must fall into the ground and die.
So we can find some comfort in being a dumb disciple, not quite getting it, wanting to hold on to the good, but sometimes in doing so keeping ourselves from what will be better yet. We are in good company: we are in the company of Peter, the rock on whom the church is built.
That’s one comfort: the comfort of good company in our misunderstanding, comfort in not being alone in the nostalgia that can keep us from confronting the truth of the present.
But there is a greater comfort to be found in the glory of the law and the prophets, the glory of the transfiguration, the glory of the Lord Jesus revealed in light—and not only the glimpse of glory that is the transfiguration, but the fullness of the glory that is yet to be revealed on the first day of the new creation, when our bodies are transfigured and soaked in light like Moses, Elijah, and Jesus on the mountain—this glory will not rely on whether we get it, whether we say the right thing or do the right thing, whether we are perfectly good or a perfect failure. The glory of the Lord will shine, and we will be drawn into that glory by the one whose arms are wide open on the cross, drawing us to himself.
There is comfort in this, too: Like Paul puts it, “it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, [and so] we do not lose heart.” There is comfort in God’s own work in Christ, and in the power of the Spirit that transforms and makes us holy, that “all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.”
This glory is a gift; a gift that is transforming us into a greater glory yet, a glory and a grace that we may glimpse in the present, but a glory and a grace that, in the resurrected and ascended Christ will be shared with us most fully in God’s own future when we are drawn to God’s own self in Christ—mercifully delivered from darkness, and changed into his likeness, from glory to glory.
Angus Sinclair was appointed Director of Music of St. John the Evangelist on February 1, 2023. Having graduated in 1981 (Honours B.Mus.) in organ performance from Wilfrid Laurier University, he went on to distinguish himself as a church musician, recitalist and accompanist touring in both Canada and the UK. For over 40 years Angus has served parishes and congregations throughout Southwestern Ontario as director of music. He experiences his present appointment to St. John’s as a welcome homecoming, both spiritually and musically.
As our parish musician, he provides both support and leadership so that a variety of parish programs can find musical expression and attract participation. When our handbell choir is in season, he is one of our ringers. At parish dinners, he provides popular piano music for the guests to dine by. For both worship services and concerts, he will rehearse and accompany vocal and instrumental soloists from our congregation on piano, organ, or even accordion.
Angus Sinclair was appointed Director of Music of St. John the Evangelist on February 1, 2023. Having graduated in 1981 (Honours B.Mus.) in organ performance from Wilfrid Laurier University, he went on to distinguish himself as a church musician, recitalist and accompanist touring in both Canada and the UK. For over 40 years Angus has served parishes and congregations throughout Southwestern Ontario as director of music. He experiences his present appointment to St. John’s as a welcome homecoming, both spiritually and musically.