After six days, Jesus took Peter, James, and John, his brother, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, his face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light. And behold, Moses and Elijah appeared to them, conversing with him. Then Peter said to Jesus in reply, “Lord, it is good that we are here. If you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” (Matthew 17.1-4)
This Second Sunday of Lent is generally known as Transfiguration Sunday, the reason being easy enough to understand: The story of the Transfiguration of Jesus as told by each of the evangelists Matthew, Luke, and Mark is put front and center in the gospel selection for this Sunday each year. As a result of its regular presentation annually, it is a familiar story, although one that seems to raise more questions than it answers.
No one is sure of exactly what took place on the mountain. Matthew calls it a vision, which is fair enough. Whatever it was, the three disciples apparently see a physical transformation take place in Rabbi Jesus, described by Matthew in this way, “He was transfigured before them; his face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light.” If that were not enough to prick our curiosity, the evangelists tell us that Moses and Elijah suddenly appear, a blast from the past. How the three disciples are able to recognize these ancient prophets is a question left for us to answer.
However, the bigger question, really, is just what this strange story is supposed to signify? What are we to do with it? For a good while, scholars liked to propose it was actually a post-resurrection appearance of the Risen Lord to his disciples, hence explaining the change in his appearance, which other post-resurrection stories tend to emphasize.
However, that explanation has not aged well, if for no other reason than it appears in each of the synoptic gospels before the crucifixion and death of Rabbi Jesus. Why insert it where it doesn’t belong? So, later scholarship tended to see it as more in line with an apocalyptic vision, similar to the one Daniel had in the Hebrew Scriptures. The genre of apocalyptic literature always looks to the future, more often than not, to the end times, setting before believers a vision of what those times might look like.
That explanation of the transfiguration event in the gospels seems to have fewer problems than the attempt to explain it as a post-resurrection appearance. But, even so, it doesn’t really tell us what is going on, at least in terms of what we are to appropriate from it. And that is important if we are to take something from it that benefits us during this season of Lent.
I would like to offer my own spin on the story, for whatever it is worth. And that interpretation is based on two phrases that on the surface look insignificant, at least in the greater scheme of things, but I would argue point us in a good direction for getting the meat off the bones. The two phrases, although separated by several verses, actually work in tandem, each necessary to understanding just what is going on in the story.
The first phrase comes at the start of the story, when Matthew tells us that “after six days” Jesus took three of his disciples to a high mountain. I don’t think Matthew just liked the number six and I don’t think the disciples kept a calendar in their pockets. Rather, I think it was chosen for a very good reason. If we stop and think about it for a moment, the phrase “after six days” should have a familiar ring to it, reminding us of the story of creation in the Book of Genesis.
As that primeval story makes clear, the creation of the world takes place over the course of six days, the writer telling us that “God looked at everything he had made, and found it very good. Evening came, and morning followed–the sixth day.” And what happens after the Lord God has worked steadily for six days to bring together creation? The writer tells us. “On the seventh day God completed the work he had been doing. He rested on the seventh day from all the work he had undertaken. God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it he rested from all the work he had done in creation.”
Using this story as a lens in which to interpret the transfiguration event, we may have a clue as to what the evangelist wants to tell us when he says that “after six days” Rabbi Jesus went to the mountaintop where he was transfigured. Embedded in those few words is a strong indicator that the physical transformation of Jesus points to the seventh day when God rested from all his labor. That Jesus’ face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light offers us a vision of Rabbi Jesus at rest, his work done, his physical form glorified and transfigured.
In other words, using the Genesis account, just as after six days “God looked at everything he had made, and found it very good,” so on the seventh day Rabbi Jesus looks at everything he has done and finds it very good,” now able to enjoy the Sabbath rest. Like the Olympian platform on which the three finalists stand–the highest and the center one reserved for the gold medalist–so Rabbi Jesus stands on the high mountain, a gold medalist, the grueling work behind him, not ahead of him. As with all apocalyptic literature, it offers a vision of how the story will end.
However, that is only the first part of the story, what awaits Rabbi Jesus in the future. And while it brings us satisfaction in knowing that a crown awaits the athlete who has run the race, an image that Paul of Tarsus liked to use, there is a second part that is of equal importance, if not more. And that is found in the phrase that the evangelist chooses when telling us that Peter, seeing the vision, says, “Lord, it is good that we are here. If you wish, I will make three tents here.” Again, the reference to Genesis is reinforced in Peter’s words, “It is good.”
But, for our purposes and likely for Mathew’s end game, we want to focus on the phrase, “I will make three tents here.” In suggesting that he should build three tents, Peter is saying that they should stay on the mountain. Tents, even if they’re not a suite in a five-star hotel, connote the same reality–that is, a place to stay, a place to rest. Making that suggestion, Peter implies there is no need to move on. Their work is done. Glory, glory hallelujah, the seventh day has come!
And it is with that assumption that Peter gets it wrong, which Rabbi Jesus corrects, telling Peter “no” in no uncertain terms, making it clear by taking Peter and the other two disciples back down the mountain. Unlike Peter, Rabbi Jesus knows it isn’t time to rest because the work is not completed. In fact, in the episode that immediately precedes this one, he has told his disciples that he “must go to Jerusalem and suffer greatly from the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed and on the third day be raised” (16.21).
Hearing Rabbi Jesus’ prediction of his own death in Jerusalem, Peter jumps in and says, “God forbid, Lord! No such thing shall ever happen to you” (16.22). That response earns him a strong reprimand from the Rabbi, who says, “Get behind me, Satan! You are an obstacle to me. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do” (16.23).
The transfiguration event, following after this exchange between Rabbi Jesus and his first disciple, should not be seen as separate or apart, but understood as more of the same. Peter has a learning curve. Once again, here on the mountaintop, Peter wants his leader and teacher to leapfrog over the hard work that remains to be done, namely, the suffering and scourging, the mockery and the crucifixion.
Peter, if he had his way, would have Rabbi Jesus wear the gold medal of victory without having endured the trials and tests that would earn him the accolades for an athlete. He would have him rest on his laurels, safe in his tent, away from the threats of his enemies and the machinations of evil forces, enjoying the beautiful scenery from his mountaintop cabin.
And, in much the same way as Rabbi Jesus had to correct Peter’s position once before, he does it again now, refusing Peter’s offer of a tent, choosing instead to go down the mountain, only a matter of time now before he moves towards Jerusalem, where he is certain that he has his work cut out for him, his death almost guaranteed. Rabbi Jesus knows that there is no rest until he has put in the hard work.
And that may be what the story of the transfiguration wants to tell us, reminding those of us who think like Peter that, regardless of our wanting to skip classes or not do our homework, we can’t expect an A if we aren’t willing to do the work. If we are to ever wear a crown of victory, then it will come only after late nights in the office and no free weekends. If we put in the hours, then there is a real chance of our own transformation into disciples who actually imitate the ways and the words of Rabbi Jesus.
Working those six days, arduous and tortuous as they may be, undeterred and determined to become Jesus to others, then we will find ourselves in the end transfigured, our own faces shining like the sun, our clothes white as light. Through the daily discipline of discipleship, we also will be transformed into beloved sons and daughters of the Most High God, claimed as his own children as the voice claims Rabbi Jesus atop that mountain, stating for all to hear, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”
The problem, of course, is we are too much like Peter. We want the glory, but we don’t want the pain. We want the crown, but we don’t want the cross. We want the recognition, but we don’t want to do the work. In short, we’re always setting up tents instead of getting to work. We’re perfectly content to ignore the fact that it takes six days of work to get to the seventh day, preferring instead to fast forward through the week, arriving on the seventh day, not needing rest because we really haven’t done anything.
Rabbi Jesus hit the nail on the head when he chastised Peter, telling him that he was talking like Satan instead of like a disciple, because Satan is always telling us to take a break, to take the easy way, to take a rest. The more we rest the more Satan has his way in the world, a bully plucking the wings off insects while we’re dozing in the shade beneath a tree. Satan wants us to be lazy and lethargic because he knows better than anyone that nothing gets done if we’re doing nothing. And so long as we’re doing nothing, not standing in his way, he gets to do whatever he wants, turning this world into an ungodly mess.
But the transfiguration, if fully appreciated, makes it clear that six days of work precede the seventh day of rest and that building tents instead of doing our jobs isn’t getting done the work of transforming ourselves and the whole world. There is no way that we become better or the world becomes better if we stay in our tents. And we’ll never be able to look around and say “it is good” unless we get our hands in the dirt and make something out of nothing, like the Lord God did at the dawn of creation. The future Sabbath rest may look good, as it did on that mountain top, but it only comes about if we work in the present.
For injustice to be turned into justice, it takes work, a lot of it. For apathy to be changed into compassion, it takes work, a lot of it. For hate to be changed into love it takes work, a lot more than most of us are willing to do. Resting on our laurels does not put food into empty stomachs, does not right the wrongs done to the widow, the orphan, or the foreigner, and does not bring light into people’s lives who are overshadowed by darkness, despair, and desperation.
I could be wrong, but this is how I read the transfiguration story. Otherwise, as I see it, Rabbi Jesus would have told Peter to build those tents. But he didn’t, and because he didn’t, it’s a pretty clear signal to those of us who aspire to be his followers that we’re doing it wrong if we think we can rest in our tents all day and still get the job done. As the scriptures remind us, rest comes after six days of hard work, not before.
–Jeremy Myers
Sunday Brunch 