The Transfiguration of Our Lord

We bow or genuflect during the Creed at the words, “and was made man,” in profound recognition of the honor that God bestowed upon humanity when he joined himself to our race. The glorious King of the universe became man and remains a man now and for all eternity. But when Jesus walked the earth, his glory was hidden. Nothing about his appearance was extraordinary. If you walked by and seen Jesus in the marketplace, he would not have commanded your attention. First as a babe in the manger and then throughout the years of his earthly ministry, Jesus wrapped himself in a veil of humility.

But on the Mount of Transfiguration, for the briefest of moments, Jesus set aside that veil and allowed his closest disciples, Peter, James, and John to see him as he truly is: He was transfigured, that is, metamorphosized, before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light. And behold, there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him (Mt 17:2–3).

I doubt that these words do the scene justice, but it’s impossible to describe heavenly things using earthly words. And even if we could find the words, our sinful minds are simply incapable of comprehending heaven. It is too grand for our intellect to grasp. But here are Peter, James, and John, transported into the heavenly vision, looking on the face of Jesus as he shall appear in all his glory on the Last Day.

Peter immediately begins making plans to stay in this place forever. I don’t blame him. So would I and so would you. If God granted us a glimpse of heaven, we wouldn’t want to remain in this broken world for a moment longer. I remember praying a week before my wedding: “Come quickly, Lord Jesus, but not too quickly—at least, not until after our honeymoon.” But I know that if Jesus had returned even as we stood at the altar, we and all believers would have joyfully abandoned the flowers and rings and every other trapping of this life and hastened to meet him.

Peter said, “Lord, it is good that we are here. If you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah” (Mt 17:4). We can’t imagine how wonderful it will be when the kingdom of Christ finally breaks in on this world, and like Peter, we’re ready for his reign to begin at this moment. Hey, let’s build the tents and move in now, if Jesus wishes, of course. I’m sure that most of you would join me in saying, “If Christ returns today, I’m perfectly ready to go!”

But it was not Jesus’ will that his followers would live temporarily in that heavenly glory. We won’t be living in tents in heaven. No, it will be our eternal home. And in order to secure our future with him, Jesus veiled his glory once again and descended back into our dark and sinful world. He knew what Peter, James, and John didn’t: the gateway to heaven would not be found on this glorious mountain. It would be found only on the mountain of Calvary. First Christ would suffer, and then he would enter his glory. And it must be the same for all who follow him. Put away your tent pegs, Peter. Christ himself will prepare a place for you, far more glorious than anything you could imagine, but first must come suffering.

However much we might want to stay on the mountain, clinging to a fading glimpse of heavenly glory, none of us can escape suffering. Every Christian must deny this desire, pick up his cross and follow Jesus. And Jesus does not lead us away from suffering and death. He leads us through these things, through the valley of the shadow of death, and into our eternal home. And of course, our cross is not like his. We do not pay for our sins or the sins of the world. We do not earn heaven by our suffering. Christ alone accomplished these things. The crosses we bear do not merit forgiveness, instead, they teach us to cling to Jesus. Our crosses cause us to turn our eyes away from the fleeting pleasures of this life and onto the promised joys of heaven. Our crosses remind us that we are never truly at home in this world, that we are citizens of a kingdom yet to come, answering to a king whose glory is yet to be revealed.

This week, as we celebrate the Transfiguration of our Lord, the citizens of our country are caught up celebrating, or mourning, the inauguration of a new president. Many are convinced that after a four-year blight we are headed at last toward a brighter future. Others are certain that we are plunging headlong into madness. I think the latter is true. But this shouldn’t be a surprise. The world will only continue to grow darker until our Lord returns as a thief in the night. Although Christians should fight against wicked laws and seek to appoint good rulers, we must nevertheless remember that we will never build a utopian paradise here on earth. We are not a people of tent-builders. We are a people in exile, always ill at ease in this world, yearning for our lasting home, praying for the return of our true King and the coming of his kingdom.

Trust not in rulers; they are but mortal; Earthborn they are and soon decay. Vain are their counsels at life’s last portal, When the dark grave engulfs its prey. Since mortals can no help afford, Place all your trust in Christ, our Lord. Alleluia!

Many misguided Christians thought that President Trump was God’s anointed ruler to bring about a Christian kingdom on earth. He was not. Instead, he was and is a deeply flawed man, though he did more to protect the unborn than any other president in history. For all his faults, he may have been the only man able to stand against the tide of insanity that is sweeping our nation. The Equality Act will soon criminalize Christians schools and colleges. Our adoption agencies will be forced to close. It is only a matter of time before faithful churches are stripped of their tax-exempt status and driven back into hiding. Dark days are coming.

But take heart in this: the darkest day of all has already come and gone. Whatever madness awaits us, whatever horrors we suffered in the wars of the last century, the Holocaust, the Marxist revolutions, even the slaughter of one billion unborn children worldwide in the last twenty-five years, none of these compares to the most monstrous crime of all: the day that the human race murdered its own God. This was truly the darkest day of all.

In preparation for this day, knowing the suffering that awaited him and also his disciples, Jesus gave them a glimpse of heaven on the mountaintop. They saw Christ, unveiled in glory for just a moment, in order to sustain them through the horror of the crucifixion. The Transfiguration is a promise of the glory that awaits every believer, a guarantee from God that the darkness will pass and the suffering will end. This foretaste of the heavenly banquet is meant to sustain us as we journey through this vale of tears, so that we might finally reach, not a tent made with our hands, but the eternal dwelling which Christ himself has prepared for us.

Today, Christ gives us again a glimpse of his heavenly kingdom. We kneel at his altar, along with the unseen angels and archangels and all the company of heaven. There he places into our mouths the medicine of immortality, the forgiveness of sins. Sometimes it might hit you, when you realize what is happening in Holy Communion, and for a moment you may truly feel the glory of God. But as wonderful as this may be, we don’t stay here, basking in this glory. That is not the way to heaven. We go back to our lives, back to the suffering of our crosses with renewed faith in Christ. No matter what dark days lie ahead, we remember how, on the darkest day of all, our Lord Jesus conquered death, sin, and hell, and rose victorious to eternal life. And we believe his promise, that in his time, he will call us to enter that glory where we will see him at last with unveiled face. Amen.