Jesus took Peter, James, and John and led them up a high mountain. His appearance changed from the inside out, right before their eyes. His clothes shimmered, glistening white, whiter than any bleach could make them. Elijah, along with Moses, came into view, in deep conversation with Jesus.
Peter interrupted, “Rabbi, this is a great moment! Let’s build three memorials—one for you, one for Moses, one for Elijah.” He blurted this out without thinking, stunned as they all were by what they were seeing.
Just then a light-radiant cloud enveloped them, and from deep in the cloud, a voice: “This is my Son, marked by my love. Listen to him.”
The next minute the disciples were looking around, rubbing their eyes, seeing nothing but Jesus, only Jesus.
Coming down the mountain, Jesus swore them to secrecy. “Don’t tell a soul what you saw. After the Son of Man rises from the dead, you’re free to talk.” They puzzled over that, wondering what on earth “rising from the dead” meant.
How quickly time moves on. What does Transfiguration mean to us. We are fearfully and wondrously made yet how often do we believe that? How often does life not let us believe that?
Surely there are times when we can imagine no greater grace than being on a mountaintop and letting God wash us clean; seeing ourselves reflected in God’s eyes; letting God tell us we are Beloved; that we have a message worth listening to?
As disciples we follow Jesus; Jesus knows his need of the Father; he makes the time; he takes the journey. Jesus finds rest in his Father; enough to face death and more than death. As disciples we have accepted the cross of desolation; we must also accept God’s embrace of consolation. We are Beloved.