“Crossing Thresholds”
February 14, 2020
Mark 9:2–9
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, ‘Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.’ He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!’ Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them anymore, but only Jesus.
As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.
***
Across many Christians churches today, the apex of the Epiphany season is marked by recalling the account of Jesus’ transfiguration. Transformation in Greek is metamorphóō = metamorphosis, meaning to “change form.”
This story of Jesus’ transfiguration is odd. But it serves the purpose of revealing his divinity on a light-soaked mountaintop. Lacking all subtly at the conclusion of a series of Gospel texts during Epiphany which have provided us hints and glimmers of that divinity, today we stand with undimmed eyes and witness God’s glory in its fullness.
It is time for some glory, isn’t it? Winter here in the northern hemisphere is getting long. We are on the threshold of the beginning of the end of a global pandemic which has left us all with stories of loss and isolation. We yearn for the freedom to move about, to enjoy reunions with friends and family members we have not seen in nearly a year. In short, we are looking for a change resulting in happier times.
Today’s account of Jesus being inexplicably changed does not result in a happy story. As miraculous and light filled as it is, there is bewilderment and loss. Why? Because embedded in it is a threshold. A change. A boundary line marking a “before” and an “after.”
Few of us rarely cross thresholds without hesitation. Sometimes we cross over in grief, already pining for what has been lost. Sometimes we move forward in fear, convinced that whatever lies ahead will be beyond our capacity to handle. Sometimes we refuse to cross over at all until raw, wrenching necessity forces us to put one foot in front of the other.
The threshold in the Transfiguration story pivots around Peter, James, and John, the three terrified disciples who witness Jesus’s dazzling metamorphosis. Before their very eyes, Jesus changes, becoming at once both fully himself and fully different. And then long-dead giants of faith, Elijah, and Moses, appear talking with Jesus. Then Peter says to Jesus, “Let’s hold this moment — it’s so glorious. I’ll build us some houses so you guys can all stay here and life will be good forever.”
Yet the pace of this fast-developing story isn’t over because next there’s a voice from heaven echoing the words of God from Jesus’ baptism: This is my Son, the beloved. Listen to him!”
With blazing suddenness Jesus’s stunned disciples find themselves standing on a threshold, a before and after. These friends of Jesus have spent a few years following him around, receiving his teachings, and witnessing his miracles. Before Jesus invites them to the mountaintop, they have good reason to believe they understand their Master. His face, his manners, his mission — all are known to them. Familiar, endearing, and safe. Then after this drama on the mountain, the Jesus they thought they knew is suddenly no more, suddenly Other. A threshold has been crossed. Now the path that lies ahead of Jesus — leading to another high place, a hill called Golgotha — upends everything the disciples think they understand about Jesus.
Like those times in our lives when, in a moment, something happens and life forever changes, one phase of the disciples’ lives and their comprehension of what following Jesus means has ended. The questions about the future seem daunting. The Jesus they knew is moving resolutely toward nothing that sounds good. “He ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.”
This is the question for the disciples: will they move forward with Jesus toward the cross? Or will they insist — as Peter briefly does in his fear and confusion — on remaining exactly where they are on that mountain, bedazzled, safe and happy?
In this story there is no way to avoid the threshold that God appoints. For Jesus, leaving the mount of transfiguration is another threshold in the mission he holds to firmly. It is God-given and directed.
This week we begin the season of Lent. Next Sunday we will read of the Spirit driving Jesus into the wilderness for 40 days where he faces the temptations of the devil.
As the enlightening and light-filled season of Epiphany closes with this story of the Transfiguration, we will enter Lent’s shadows with the wilderness of a pandemic presenting thresholds of its own. It remains unclear how God might yet invite us to continue changing, growing, crossing over. We know the losses and sorrows this pandemic has wrought in our lives. We wonder if we will overcome them. Yet, if this account of Jesus’ transfiguration bears witness to something true about the life of faith, then we can trust in the God who invites us to cross over thresholds with hope. Resurrection is ours on the other side.
