Transfiguration

Transfiguration (Mark 9:2-9) - for the Sunday before Lent

The Transfiguration is, I suppose, one of the most difficult events described in the New Testament. It isn’t the sort of thing that we can readily imagine happening today, and it’s really rather difficult to understand why it should have happened at all.

Modern Man doesn’t find the picture of an “illuminated man” shining like the sun (or, in Mark’s words, with clothes whiter than anyone could wash them) particularly enlightening. Really the whole episode is rather an embarrassment.

Indeed, many theologians would deny that such an event necessarily occurred in the literal sense in which it is described in the Bible. The story could well be the Gospel writers’ way of presenting the divinity of Jesus, rather than a simple record of historical events.

And, whether or not you believe in the Transfiguration as a physical event, the main purpose of it being included in the Gospels and the main reason why it is relevant to us today, is the message behind the facts.

Let’s look a bit closer at what the events would have conveyed to someone living at the time when the Gospels were written.

The shining face and brilliant white clothes of Jesus would bring to mind Moses after his encounter with God on Mount Sinai. It would symbolise Jesus’ closeness to God. This passage asserts that Jesus is no mere man; he has a very special relationship with God.

Next we have the appearance of Moses and Elijah. They would be recognised as representing the Law and the Prophets – the two main strands of Old Testament teaching. Jesus is seen as being at one with the Law and the Prophets. He has nor come to replace them, but to complete them.

And finally we have the Voice from Heaven proclaiming Jesus to be the Son of God. He is not only totally human, but also totally divine. “Listen to him”, because he has the authority of God himself.

These are, I suppose, the main points of the Transfiguration. Three declarations of the Glory and Divinity of Jesus; but there are also two events described that bring the story down to a more human level.

It’s not surprising that the disciples should have been extremely frightened at these strange goings-on; and I find it comforting to note that Jesus understood their fear and took the trouble to reassure them.

I’m sure that we can all sympathise with Peter’s reaction to the situation. He understood what a momentous occasion it was and he was determined to do something about it. He wanted to treat the three Great Men who had appeared before him with the respect that they deserved.

But he missed the point – just as we are liable to miss the point if we start arguing about whether the Transfiguration story describes an actual event or whether it is a myth designed to impart certain truths in picture language – and he was very nearly so busy talking himself that he missed the message from God.

Aren’t we sometimes so busy with our own ideas of what ought to be done that we miss what God is trying to say to us?

Now I’d like to move on from the Transfiguration story to other occurrences of what we sometimes call “Mountain-top experiences”. St Paul had one of these on the road to Damascus. He experienced a confrontation with God that completely changed his life – he was “Transfigured” if you like.

And many Christians nowadays can point to dramatic conversion experiences which revolutionised their lives. At one particular time God suddenly gave them a new outlook. Even those who have not had this sort of “new-birth” experience can often remember times when God has seemed particularly close to them. God still reveals himself to people today.

But I think that it is important to remember that St Paul isn’t remembered as one of the greatest Christians of all time because of what happened on the Damascus road. It was what he went on to do afterwards that is so significant. Mountain-top experiences, however dramatic, mean nothing if they don’t lead on to actions.

“I will prove to you that I have faith by showing you my good deeds – now you prove to me that you have faith without any good deeds.” As James said in our Epistle reading. (James 2:14-24)

“Religious experiences” aren’t what Christianity is all about. But occasionally you hear people talking as if they were:

“Christianity is about having a personal relationship with God – yes, I’ll go along with that, but does a “personal relationship with God” necessarily involve a succession of dramatic, highly emotional “religious experiences” – I don’t think so. If it does, then I’m afraid I can’t be a very good Christian.

Having said that, I must emphasise that I don’t in any way doubt the validity of such experiences. I’m sure that God does manifest himself in such ways. They are a wonderful gift and I don’t want to belittle them; but there are several ways in which we can go wrong in our treatment of them.

I have occasionally met people who are so full of their own “mountain-top experience” – particularly if it accompanied their conversion – that they make anyone who hasn’t experienced anything quite so dramatic feel totally inferior. The implication – even if it isn’t stated in so many words – is that “you can’t be a proper Christian if you haven’t been through an experience just like my own.” If nothing else, this attitude appears to me to be rather uncharitable.

There was an interesting discussion in the UK Methodists Facebook Group (https://www.facebook.com/groups/2211562545/search/?query=testimony) recently, which highlighted the way in which some people consider that sharing of religious experience is an integral part of “being church” while others find it uncomfortable, intimidating or unhelpful. There did, however, seem to be a consensus that “testimony” is not just about reporting dramatic conversion experiences, but also about our ongoing faith journey, including downs as well as ups.

I believe that such experiences should be shared; but let it be done in such a way that it helps the listeners to gain a better vision of God – not so that they feel that they are inferiors in the presence of some divinely favoured being. We must get out of our heads the idea that such experiences are proof of the genuineness of our faith. After all, isn’t one of the greatest tests of the strength of our faith that it should stay firm even through dry periods of our lives, when God seems furthest from us?

An one of the things that can help us to get through such times is the memory of past occasions when we have been “on the mountain top.” If God seems far away at the moment, we can remember times when we really felt his imminent presence. When we felt our hearts “strangely warmed” in Methodist parlance.

But we must` be careful not to dwell too much in the past. Past experiences aren’t important in themselves. The important thing is the way in which they help us in our present life. We mustn’t keep trying to “get back” to wonderful moments in the past. I think that we often miss out on a lot that Gods has to offer us by expecting him to duplicate what he has given us in the past and being unable, as a consequence, to accept what he wants to give us now.

Similarly, we may miss what God is trying to give us because we’re expecting him to provide experiences exactly similar tot those of other people. We may feel cheated because others seem to spend more time on the mountain top than we do, or seem to experience something better than anything we’ve known.

But if Christianity is all about having a personal relationship with God, then presumably we could reasonably expect our experiences to resemble to a certain extent our relationships with other people. We certainly don’t have the same sort of relationship with all of our friends, so why should we expect God to have the same sort of relationship with each of us?

We’re fond of making value-judgements about everything; we love comparing ourselves with other people or what we have with what they do. But isn’t it true that we can have relationships with two people which are completely different but nevertheless equally close and loving. Perhaps to the outsider it might appear that Fred was the closer friend; that we sometimes seemed positively off-hand in our treatment of Bill; but we know that Bill would resent any more obvious show of affection, while Fred is naturally demonstrative of his feelings. And we wouldn’t want Fred to become like Bill or Bill to metamorphose into another Fred. Our life is enriched by a variety of relationships.

And so we can each expect to have our own unique relationship with God. And the important question isn’t, “Is my experience of God as good as the next man’s?” but “Am I becoming closer to or further away from God? Am I doing what he would have me do with my life?”

Whether or not God gives us mountain top experiences we can all try to live like St Paul after the Damascus road – or like Jesus after the Transfiguration. He came down from the mountain to go to the cross – may God grant us the courage to follow him.