Here we are in a fairly high place, on the traditional day when the Church remembers and celebrates that strange event called the Transfiguration, that happened in a high place. In scripture, hills and mountains are often holy and special places, and Jesus often went up onto a hillside to pray. On this occasion he took Peter and James and John with him, and they saw him transfigured, shining with a dazzling whiteness. With him are the two great heroes of the Jewish faith, both of whom were recorded as having not died, but been taken up bodily into heaven.
What really happened up there? All we can really say is that it was something special, remarkable, and very strange. And just a fleeting glimpse: after a moment Jesus was just Jesus again; and they had to go back down the mountain, back into the rough and tumble of life at ground level. They were headed for Jerusalem, and Moses and Elijah had been talking with Jesus about what he would be in Jerusalem to do. I don’t suppose very much of what the three disciples had seen made very much sense - not then. When everything seemed to go wrong in Jerusalem they were as shattered and fearful as any of the others. Later, in the light of Easter, they would come to understand more clearly, but there was a lot they would have to go through first.
“Now we see through a glass darkly,” wrote St Paul in chapter 13 of I Corinthians. “Now we see through a glass darkly, but then we shall see face to face.” I have a habit on these warm sunny days of wearing my clip on sun glasses, forgetting to take them off when I go inside, and then wondering why everything around me’s so dull. Now we see through a glass darkly. I think that’s true, generally, in life. We don’t see or understand everything there is to see. So was Jesus really transformed and transfigured on the mountain, or was it that the three disciples were suddenly able to see him as he always really is? Did scales somehow fall from their eyes - or maybe from their minds - that for most of us, most of the time are firmly held in place?
Theologians - and psychologists - talk about “disclosure moments” - times when the penny drops, times when we suddenly come to understand something that up till then was closed off from us, times when we see the world around us with a new and discerning clarity. For some it could be the moment of being brought to faith; for some it could be the discovery of a particular call, a decision made, a direction set for future travel; or it could be a sense of profound and unfailing peace to help bring us through a difficult or sad or testing time in our life’s journey. It can happen during prayer or on a retreat; or it could be sparked off just by something someone says, or the particular words or tune of a song; it could be the view from a mountain-top, for they always are special places; it could be a great cathedral or abbey. But it could be anywhere, and maybe just out of the blue; it can’t be planned for or generated, it just happens.
Or at any rate that’s my experience: they happen, they’re real, and they’re precious but brief and momentary things, that won’t necessarily change the whole course of a life. Though sometimes, for some people, they may do. For me the disclosure moment or religious experience has usually been mostly a bit of a nudge. But to me it seems that these moments are always given for a purpose: maybe to correct me, maybe to confirm a call, or to restore my confidence and faith. But not just to make me feel good - what we’re given we’re given to use and to share.
And so it was for the disciples that day: what happened on that mountain, when they saw for a moment the truth of Jesus the Son of God - this was part of the process of formation that would turn them from being disciples - learners and followers - into apostles: into those sent to share the message, and to lead the way. “This is my Son, my beloved,” said the voice they heard. “Listen to him.” And so must we, for we share their call to sing God’s praise and share God’s glory not just in the special moments but in every part of our lives.
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