I’m going to begin my sermon today with a confession. It’s probably a situation I share with most, if not all of you. You see, when I sit down to read a passage of Scripture, most of the time I understand what is going on and why it happens. Most of the Gospel stories are, for the most part, pretty straight-forward. The teaching stories, even if the content of the teaching is challenging and perhaps difficult to understand as a result, I at least understand why Jesus teaches us. Miracles? Same thing. Person is sick, Jesus heals them. Five thousand people are hungry. Let us multiply this bread. Problem is encountered, confronted, and solved.

But there are some stories that I just don’t get. The Transfiguration is one of them. On the surface, it seems simple enough. Jesus takes three disciples up to the top of the mountain, he is transfigured into a being of pure light, two ancient figures from Israel’s past show up, God speaks from the cloud, and they all go home. But why does all this happen? Obviously, if the Gospel writers saw fit to include this story in their writings, it must serve some greater function than that, but what that purpose is has eluded me.

Why? Maybe that’s the wrong question to ask, but I am convinced that we receive these stories for a reason. That they are meant to be edifying or otherwise helpful to us as Christ’s disciples in later generations. So what is the lesson here?

It may help to dig into the story with a bit more detail than my rather shallow summary from just a bit ago. Jesus takes his disciples up to the top of a mountain. They witness him transform into a being of light. Elijah and Moses appear before them, the two greatest of the prophets of old. Peter speaks next, wanting to enshrine the moment, by offering to build a tabernacle. Typical Peter, but you can’t really blame him. He is much like us here now, trying to discern what this all means. But then God speaks from the clouds, “This is my son…” All these are clues, but perhaps the words of God are the biggest. For they immediately take us back to a story we had only a few short weeks ago: Jesus’ baptism in the River Jordan.

When I preached on that text, I talked about Jesus’ choice, that his baptism was an open declaration of his choice to follow what his Father had sent him to do. Jesus was dedicating himself to the reason and the purpose for which he was born. Like all of us, he has free will and it was within his powers and rights to turn away. But he didn’t; He chose instead the path of obedience to God.

Let’s hold that thought and return back to the Transfiguration story. The story comes to an end after God speaks, except for one little thing. Jesus tells them not to speak of what has happened. This happens a lot in the Gospel stories; Jesus gives the disciples to say nothing of what has happened. It is known in scholarly circles as the “Messianic Secret.”

But here Jesus applies a condition, “don’t tell anyone until after the Son of Man has risen from the dead.” The condition is new. “Don’t talk about this…yet.”

There is, I suspect, a third clue to what this is all about, found not within the story itself but within our own experiences. Many Christians, at some point in their life, have had what they call a “mountaintop experience,” something profound, something unique, something so deep and meaning that they have difficultly fully understanding it, let alone communicating that experience to others. They have their own Transfiguration story in many ways, a vision of God at work in their lives in unexpected ways. Not all of us have had those, but for those who have, it is a powerful experience, one that has changed our faith journey dramatically.

I remember well my own mountaintop experience. I have shared this story on occasion throughout my ministry, so some of you have heard it and may remember it. December 24^th, 1992. My first love had left me. I was failing out of school. I was the lowest I had ever been, and I seriously contemplated taking my own life. But as I sat there wrestling with the decision, something happened. I used to say it was a voice, but it wasn’t, more of a feeling, an impression. It told me two things. One that my relationship was not actually over, that she would be back. And two, more importantly, that God had a purpose for me. I went from the bottom of the darkest valley to the top of the mountain in a heartbeat. But I didn’t stay there. I had to come down and face the same world I had once despaired of. But things were different now. I had been armored by my experience, armored for the road ahead.

And that road and the two predictions, impressions, of what would happen upon it? Well, my now ex-girlfriend did come back and we remained good friends for several more years. And the other part, God’s purpose for my life? Well, the answer to that should be obvious.

The road since that Christmas Eve has not been an easy one and my choices have been tested. Anyone else who has had such a vision will say the same thing, I suspect. I’m far from unique in this. My experience, while different in details, is something God does all the time with his people. Does it with them to strengthen and encourage them in the midst of their lives and their journey. Because their choices will be tested, and we need armored to endure that.

Maybe therein lies our answer as to what Transfiguration is really about. It parallels the baptismal story, because after the baptism, Christ is sent to the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. His choice is put to the test and he must struggle to uphold it. Would it not be easier for him to know that the voice of God had just told him “This is my son, in him I am well pleased.” From the mountain of Transfiguration, Jesus fixes his face towards Jerusalem, towards the cross of Golgatha.

He makes another choice, the same choice in many ways, and that choice will also be tested. Let this cup pass from me. If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross. Would the choice not be manageable for him if he could remember the voice of God, “This is my Son, in him I am well pleased.”

And the Transfiguration isn’t just for Jesus’ benefit, but also for the disciples. Don’t talk about this until after I’ve risen from the dead. Don’t talk about this until after I am gone and you are alone in this world. Don’t talk about this until you need it to remain focused on all that I have called you to do and be. “This is my Son, listen to him.”

God tells them. Remember him. Remember this. Remember and move forward with what you have been called to do. It is not coincidence that the same men I have been talking about these past two weeks and how they changed the world are the same ones on that mountaintop: Peter, James, John. The Transfiguration was a gift, a gift to inspire and to strengthen, so that God’s chosen can persevere and even thrive in all that God has called them to do. The Transfiguration is grace, a gift to all of us.

And so too with us. Some of us can look to our own mountaintop experiences and remember all that God has done for us. Grace does not stop at the cross and the empty tomb. Grace continues, and if you have not yet had your own mountaintop experience, you may still. But even if you don’t, God’s grace still comes in unexpected ways. Behind me are the elements of communion. We call the sacraments the means of grace for a reason. Here, in the bread and wine and in the words “given and shed for you,” one can also find grace. One can find here at this altar rail a little mountaintop experience. Perhaps not as profound as others, or maybe more profound. This is my body. This is my blood. Given and shed for you.

God is always with us. He has called us to his service as disciples and apostles all. He has saved us through Jesus Christ and even now remains by our side. This is my Son, the beloved. Listen to him. Listen and remember and then go forth. Amen.