2nd Corinthians 3.12-4.2; Luke 9.28-43a

2nd Corinthians 3.12-4.2; Luke 9.28-43a

St Irenaeus, who lived 100 years or so after the New Testament was written, once said, “The glory of God is a human being fully alive.” The glory of God is a human being fully alive. ‘Fully alive,’ in this case does not mean living every moment with a ‘pedal to the metal, going for the gusto’ sort of push that demands an accounting of every minute of your day and doesn’t allow for rest or relaxation. No. ‘Fully alive’ is a gift from God in Jesus when he says, “I have come that they may have life, and may have it in all its fullness.” This is a God-infused, God-focused life that reflects on the beauty, goodness, and truth of God given to us in Jesus Christ and then reflects out that same beauty, goodness, and truth as a gift to people around us. The glory of God is a human being fully alive.

This is what we see in today’s gospel: Jesus bright as a flash of lightning, a revelation of his divine nature. Each year before Lent begins, we hear this account. The disciples Peter, James, and John see Jesus fully alive as the Son of God, the chosen, the one we listen to and follow.

This appearance of Jesus ‘in glory,’ as the Gospel of Luke puts it, is a change in his appearance only, not his nature; he is not different but how we see him is. His radiant face and garments reveal the inner truth of his divine life, “the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.” In the gospels, this is the clearest revelation of Jesus as Messiah and Son of God before the resurrection, though there have been hints and glimpses into this truth along the way.

When the Angel Gabriel announced Jesus’ conception to Mary, he said, “The child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.” The voice from heaven at Jesus’ baptism declares the same thing. “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” Those words are echoed today on the mountain. And the cloud that overshadows this scene of Jesus adds another layer of meaning.

Early in the history of God’s people when they were living in the wilderness, the Lord instructed them to set up a large tent, the Tent of Meeting; and within that tent, a Tabernacle that held the Ark of the Covenant. This tent and tabernacle were basically a moveable shrine that was assembled, worshipped in, dismantled, and reassembled as the people moved from one place to another during their forty years in the wilderness. There, praise and sacrifice were offered. There, God was present with the people. This divine presence was signified by a cloud. “Then the cloud covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle.” Today, the cloud overshadowing Jesus expresses visually what the voice from heaven declares vocally. Jesus is the Son of God, the presence of God for us and for the world. Today we see Jesus fully alive: radiant, dazzling, and in glory.

No wonder Peter wants to mark the event by setting up a tent of his own. Peter, James, and John see Jesus in a new light. They see the presence of God now dwelling in Jesus. Why not make the moment last? Couldn’t we all use more mountain-top experiences of awe, wonder, and enjoyment in the near presence of God: moments that lift us out of the present moment; moments when faith becomes sight; when God’s presence with us is clear and beyond doubt?

But those moments don’t last, can’t last. And if today’s one event of Jesus on the mountain would be all we had of him, it would only give a partial picture of his life. Because, as we heard in the gospel, Jesus does not stay on the summit soaking up the view. Jesus, Moses, and Elijah aren’t speaking about peak experiences. They are speaking of “Jesus’ departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.” That departure is nothing other than his cross and crucifixion. So on this last Sunday of Epiphany, the church turns away from the light of Epiphany and toward the shadows of Lent. Jesus cannot stay on the mountaintop but must come down. Jesus must go where he is needed most—down the mountain into the valley, even the valley of the shadow of death.

Down the mountain, Jesus turns toward a world in need. This is the only way we will get a full picture of his life for us and for the world. Jesus is found not only in mountain-top experiences but in deeds of lovingkindness, of compassion for the sick and dying, of mercy for the sinful and outcast. Jesus is found not only in radiant glory and dazzling light but also in the valley of the shadow of death.

Down the mountain, we meet a father begging for his child’s healing and well-being. In this parent we see the limitations we face whenever circumstances overwhelm us and we can do nothing about it. It is agony. The father of the child is at his limits; the disciples are at their limits; we know what it’s like to be at ours. With the father of the child in today’s gospel, we need to know that Jesus shines not only in heavenly glory but is God-with-is when a diagnosis changes life in a second; when we’re not sure we’ll find the patience or courage for another day; where sin, suffering, and death break hearts and lives; when all human hope is exhausted and the only hope left is the hope that comes only from God, because down the mountain is where we live. For everyone who has ever said, ‘I don’t doubt God exists, but I do wonder if God cares,’ for anyone who could use a glimmer of light in a dark time, we need to know that God is found in more than heavenly glory but is present with us at all times and in all things, with us down where we are.

A year ago, meetings for The Episcopal Network for Stewardship took me to Memphis. Along with the work that we did over the course of three days, we visited the National Civil Rights Museum. The museum is a series of buildings and exhibits that tell the story of the civil rights movement, the courage that fueled it, and how many of the dreams of that movement remain unrealized. The museum is centered around one building, the Lorraine Motel. It looks like any motel built in the 50s or 60s with exterior doors and little balconies, a familiar design even around here. But the Lorraine Motel is the epicenter of a changed world. It is where Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated.

Taylor Branch in his book, ‘Pillar of Fire’ recounts how King’s leadership captured the imagination of people around the world. He won the Nobel Peace Prize and had access to royalty in Europe and the inner circles of power in Washington. These would be peak experiences for anyone. Wouldn’t it all have earned him the right to pull back from front-line marches and lead future operations safely from the inside? Only that is not what he did. For King to be fully alive meant that he needed to be near people who needed the fullness of life. Branch writes, “King’s inner direction was fixed downward, toward the sanitation workers of Memphis.” That direction ‘fixed downward’ included a speech to those workers and others one April evening. In that speech, King repeated the themes of his “I have a dream speech,” with its images of having been to the mountain. Yet his direction ‘fixed downward’ would, the next day in Memphis, lead to his death.

Jesus is radiant today with face and garments matching the inner truth of his divine life. But he speaks with Moses and Elijah not about peak experiences but his “departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.” Jesus’ direction is fixed downward. He comes down from the throne of majesty on high, comes down from the infinite spaces of uncreated light and enters the darkness of human suffering and human pain. “Though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.”

God does not look at the world or at us with Zen-like detachment; God is not a distant observer of our struggles while leading operations from the safety of the heavens. The inner direction of the Son of God is fixed downward toward the cross and death. In him is the embrace of God for the brokenness and need of the world, to people who need the fullness of life, down where we are.

The cross is the epicenter of a changed world. It is where he meets us, meets you. And this encounter is meant to change you, make you fully alive in God. This is how St Paul puts it in today’s second reading. “All of us…are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” ‘Transformed’ is, in this verse, the same word the gospels use to describe Jesus’ on the mountain—fully alive in God, the truth of his inner life revealed to the world. Now, Paul says, God is filling us with light and life as if from the inside; leading us down the mountain to the world where we live each day; giving us peace to make us people of peace; forgiving us so that we can forgive others; strengthening us with boldness and hope so that we can live in bold hope through good works springing from God’s gift of hope.

We are being transformed; you, transformed. Whenever a person in power stoops down to help, wherever the mighty bend to the lowly, whenever you reach out to someone in their time of suffering, there is God. Whenever you do this, you are revealing the inner truth and glory of Jesus’ life in and through your life. This is a God-infused, God-focused life that reflects on the beauty, goodness, and truth of God given to us and then reflects out that same beauty, goodness, and truth as a gift to people around us—fully alive for people who need the fullness of life given in Jesus Christ.