While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud.Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen. [Luke’s Gospel 9.34-36]

What are we able to offer, how might we respond, in the presence of mystery?

We are stepping into the season which leads us to the death of Jesus, to the cross. Jesus’ execution is perhaps the most tangible story we have of Jesus; his humanness, his suffering and death are all entirely on display, and we begin this tragic – and finally hopeful – season with this extraordinary moment.

The story of the transfiguration is something beyond the encounter of almost all of us, and we are asked to hold it in our hands, as we enter this journey. As appalling as crucifixion is, we can understand suffering and death; perhaps, too easily, the wondrous images of cloud and light might slip through our fingers, as they did for Peter and John and James.

The attraction for us is to transfigure (and lessen) the wonder, earthing the splendour into moments of dream, or confusion, or enhanced memories of something far simpler. In our lives of explanation, when mystery is managed, we can move more simply onto the next story, where less is asked of us.

Edwin Muir, in his poem The Transfiguration, speaks of how we might attend to glory, and its implications.  

Our hands made new to handle holy things,
The source of all our seeing rinsed and cleansed
Till earth and light and water entering there
Gave back to us the clear unfallen world.

What if the encounter is more than wonder, but is vital, and not solely for Jesus? What if we require the mystery, in order to comprehend the journey to which Jesus has set his face?

We will talk, purposefully and hopefully, in the weeks ahead, about how Jesus identifies with humanity in suffering and death. We will talk of God’s solidarity with all who are broken, and lament the world’s woundedness, knowing that our hands are not strong enough to hold each injury.   

However, what if this transfiguration asserts and proclaims that we need, each time, to have our vision cleansed, and our hands strengthened to hold what God in Christ might say?

There is no doubt that our discipleship continues in our world where children are bombed and innocents trampled, and we need to bear Christ’s witness here.

Notwithstanding all, we will sing the song of resurrection, as we must, as Easter’s dawn is proclaimed again. We learn how to sing and hope, not from suffering alone, but from attending to the wonder of Christ’s transfiguration.

As we sit with the mystery, in the fragments of a broken world, the restoration of Christ in God is where we find our most complete hope.  

Blessings for this journey!

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