Up the Mountain

“After six days Jesus took Peter, James, and John and led them up a high mountain apart by themselves. And He was transfigured before them …” (Mark 9:2)

Four men trudge up the mountain — more of a steep hill, really. As if by some unspoken agreement, they all remain silent, so that the only sounds to be heard are the crunching of their footsteps on the rocky soil and their labored breaths as they strive to keep up with the Leader of their little band. He is already several lengths ahead of the other three, and there is an air of eagerness, almost impatience, about Him.

The Transfiguration by Bloch

At last, they reach the summit. The three fishermen, though strong and robust as their trade demands, are happy for a chance to throw themselves down upon the sparse grass and catch their breath. It has been a hard climb, especially at the pace set by their Rabbi. For His part, the Teacher remains standing, gazing out at the horizon with an indefinable expression on His face.

Then it happens - so suddenly that none of them could have said when it began. Where before there was only the Galilean scenery, now there is a blinding light obscuring everything except the three figures standing before them. That man on the left must be Moses, and the one on the right, Elijah. How do they know? They aren’t sure, but they have little time for speculation as their eyes come to rest on the central Figure.

It is Him, isn’t it? Perhaps, but He seems as if translated into a different mode of being. The light that all-but-blinds the three disciples seems to emanate from their Master’s very Self. His shabby, threadbare tunic now shines with an unearthly splendor. Whiter than any fuller on earth could bleach it, Peter thinks, grasping weakly at a metaphor for the glory unveiled before him. “Rabbi,” he whispers hoarsely, “It is good that we are here!” Good, yes — terrifyingly good. The Divine Goodness is so far outside human parameters that it is bewildering, disorienting. Peter ventures an offer to build tabernacles, vainly attempting to understand this Heavenly reality by enclosing it within an earthly framework.

Then the Voice sounds, deeper than thunder and higher than birdsong, containing all the harmonies of all creation, yet surpassing them all in its astounding simplicity. The very earth seems to vibrate with Its intensity. This is My Beloved Son — listen to Him. The three fishermen, struck with yet-more-profound awe, bow their faces to the ground in a primal act of reverence. How else could mere creatures react in the presence of the Creator?

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the vision ceases. The three trembling men feel a gentle, familiar hand on their shoulders and slowly raise their heads. There He stands, alone, as ordinary as ever. He gazes on them with a compassion that seems to penetrate their very bones and give them the strength to rise. They are to keep this experience a secret, He says, “until the Son of Man should rise from the dead.”

As the four descend the mountain, that last phrase echoes in their minds. Rise from the dead? The more they get to know the Rabbi, the less they seem to understand Him … yet the more they seem to love Him.

And so they follow on.