[Transfiguration] "Redemption everywhere I look"

Six days later, Jesus took Peter and the siblings James and John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves.

And Jesus was transfigured before them -- face shining like the sun, and clothes becoming dazzling white.

Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, "Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah."

While Peter was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, "This is my Child, the Beloved; with whom I am well pleased; listen this one!"

When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, "Get up and do not be afraid." And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus alone.

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, "Tell no one about the vision until after the Child of Humanity has been raised from the dead."

Matthew 17:1-9 (NRSV, alt)

The Transfiguration is a neat story of glitter and darkness, of the future meeting the past, of the disciples Still Not Getting It, and of an echo of Jesus' baptism.

But I don't actually know what to do with this story. The main takeaway seems to be about not trying to capture transcendent experiences, to not try to live in them at the expense of the "down the mountain" work that still needs doing. As someone who will identify as "the least spiritual religious person you're likely to meet," this isn't a big temptation for me.

I think of the similarly [unreal] opening of the Revelation to John on Patmos:

Then I turned to see whose voice it was that spoke to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the lampstands I saw one like the Child of Humanity, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash across zir chest. Zir head and hair were white as white wool, white as snow; zir eyes were like a flame of fire, zir feet were like burnished bronze, refined as in a furnace, and zir voice was like the sound of many waters. In zir right hand ze held seven stars, and from zir mouth came a sharp, two-edged sword, and zir face was like the sun shining with full force.

Revelation 1:12-16 (NRSV, alt.)

Though maybe the Transfigured Jesus didn't look quite like that, as I'm not sure that anyone would have been yearning to stick around on that mountaintop if that's what Jesus looked like -- all glowy metal.

Molly said, "Jesus bedazzles. Jesus was a brown man, but all of a sudden, there before Peter and James and John, he reflects light like some of the white folks in here whose faces haven't seen the sun for 6 months. The disciples are nearly blinded." My mother is nigh transparently pale, and I don't ever think of her as blindingly white. So that image doesn't really work for me either.

In trying to imagine what this Transfiguration looked like, what I came up with is that Jesus Transfigured is soaking in the light of the Divine -- like Moses glowing so much that he had to wear a veil.

I like to imagine this looks something like those wedding photos where people are so so joyful and the sun is streaming such that they seem to be glowing.

Blogging about Transfiguration this year, Delmer Chilton talked about ordinary things being made holy.

How are the bread and wine of the Eucharist, for example, made holy he asks? He says it's not the pastor -- pastors don't have magic powers that way. He says:

It's us, us and God, together — God promising and acting and our believing and celebrating, which reveals the holy within the ordinary.

That's what happened to Jesus up on that mountain. Jesus was fully human, a man like every other man; smarter, holier than most perhaps, but still very much a fully human person. Even though the disciples called him Rabbi, Christ even, they still saw him as a man. And then this thing happened. And then they knew — Peter, James and John knew that here was the divine, the holy, in human form.

And we too are ordinary people, doing ordinary things. We too, as a church, as a community of faith, as the body of Christ in the world, we too carry in, with and under our human-ness, the brightness of the holy-ness of God. We don't have to go looking for it; we don't have to struggle after extraordinary spiritual experiences. God is here with us in all that we do.

Our calling is to pay attention — to listen, look, feel and know that God is here, in this place, and in all our places: at home, at work, at church, at school. God is present with us in the world. All we have to do is lift the veil and look for the holy with the eyes of the heart.

I really like this idea. It reminds me of Carrie Newcomer's song "Holy As A Day Is Spent" (from her album The Gathering of Spirits [lyrics]), part of which goes:

Holy is a familiar room and the quiet moments in the afternoon
And folding sheets like folding hands
To pray as only laundry can

I'm letting go of all I fear
Like autumn leaves of earth and air
For summer came and summer went
As holy as a day is spent

Holy is the place I stand
To give whatever small good I can
The empty page, the open book
Redemption everywhere I look

As I have mentioned before, Barbara Brown Taylor in An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith says that blessing does not bestow but recognizes that which is already present.

"God is present with us in the world. All we have to do is lift the veil and look for the holy with the eyes of the heart."

Of course, this is easier said than done. Carrie's song brings up in me the idea of letting go and leaning back, of relaxing and opening oneself up to let the holy just wash over and through one -- which sounds quite lovely, but isn't something I'm in a state to experience very often.

Some times are easier than others to "lift the veil and look for the holy with the eyes of the heart."

Four years ago, my best friend preached a beautiful sermon about falling in love (and also glitter and other such things). In telling the story of the Transfiguration, ze said:

So the others keep their eyes open as best they can, because they love their friend and admire their friend and are, as a matter of fact, a little besotted with their friend -- not in a romantic way, of course. It's only that they've given up their lives for this person, have given up family and financial security and the chance of a long lifespan, and one of them has just declared that, in his considered opinion, their friend is the Anointed One of God.

So these sleepy-eyed friends are rewarded with what is, at the time, the most magical moment of their lives (later there will be deeper magic, from before the dawn of time, but that is a story that must wait seven weeks for telling). They see their friend transformed, transfigured. They see the greatest prophets of their faith in living color and realize that their own friend is greater still than these prophets they've revered their whole lives.

At the necessary moment, the veil lifts entirely, and they see their friend transformed and hear God's own voice, announcing, "This is my Child, my Chosen, my Beloved. Listen to this one!"

They are entranced, enchanted, and everything is gold. Their friend, their beloved friend, face glowing and clothes glittering, is the Chosen One of God and they have witnessed this moment. They will never be the same. How could anything be the same ever again?

Returning to my to my off-the-cuff idea of the Transfiguration as wedding photo... most weddings don't involve calling forth Actual Magic (certainly not the kind that's going to make you literally glow), but sometimes all the love, and the joy, and the import of people choosing each other, and everything else, come together and cause a glow -- even if it doesn't happen quite the way we would have scripted it.

On A Bicycle Built for Two has beautiful photo sets from weddings (and wedding-like events -- engagements, domestic partnerships, civil unions, etc.). I wonder if the Transfigured Jesus looked a little like some of these people... [Content note: the folks pictured on that blog are mostly white, alas.]

***

What about you, Beloved?

What does this story bring up for you?

Are there ways you can imagine a Transfiguration experience? Being so in love with God and Her creation that everything (yourself included) seems to glow?

Perhaps your Transfiguration experiences are more subtle... "folding sheets like folding hands / To pray as only laundry can [...] Redemption everywhere [you] look."

Or perhaps you'd like to talk about a different angle on this story altogether.

As always, you're welcome to comment anonymously/pseudonymously if you prefer.