February 15, 2026
William G. Carter
Six days later, Jesus took with him
Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by
themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the
sun, and his clothes became bright as light. Suddenly there appeared to them
Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, "Lord, it is
good for us to be here; if you wish, I will set up three tents here, one for
you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah."
While he was still speaking,
suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said,
"This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to
him!" When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were
overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, "Get up and do
not be afraid." And when they raised their eyes, they saw no one except
Jesus himself alone.
As they were coming down the
mountain, Jesus ordered them, "Tell no one about the vision until after
the Son of Man has been raised from the dead."
“Tell no one.” It was one of the more curious things Jesus ever said. Especially in a moment like that. They saw Jesus standing on the mountain, his face shining like the sun. His clothes began to glow. It is one of the biggest razzle-dazzle moments in the Bible. And Jesus says, “Don’t tell anybody about it.”
Picture it: a major light show. High on a mountain, visible for miles around. Difficult to hide from the curious public down below. Impossible to cover up. The sort of moment that grabs attention and doesn’t let go.
Like that night in northern New Mexico. I was retreating out in the red rocks, not far from where the Road Runner cartoons were filmed. The sun had set. The wind was whipping across the desert. On the horizon, there was an enormous flat-topped mountain named Pedernal, about ten thousand feet high. Pretty soon it was dark, then suddenly it wasn’t dark at all. The top of the mountain was all fired up.
There was nobody up there. That wilderness is rugged. But lights were flashing. Thunder crackled, even though there was no rain. Lightning zig-zagged. It was going sideways. What was it? Did a flying saucer land up there? Or something worse? That mountain is about fifteen miles as the eagle flies from the national atomic laboratory at Los Alamos. Later on, one of the locals called it an electrical storm. That seemed too small, and superficial. I don’t know what it was.
Jesus says, “Tell no one what you saw on the mountain.” Well, I’m telling you. Although I am not sure what I am able to tell you.
When the great preacher Barbara Brown Taylor stood in the pulpit one time, she read the story of the Transfiguration, then said, “Don’t say anything at all.” She stood there, looked up, wiped her brow. It was good advice. Jesus burst into flame – and then returned to normal. Those who saw it didn’t return to normal. Their perception of him changed dramatically. Matthew says it nearly scared them to death. Lights, dead people appear and start talking, then the Voice from the Bright Cloud. Who has the words to capture what this was? None of us really.
It’s almost a distraction from the story Matthew tells immediately before this one. In that previous episode, Jesus told the disciples something they didn’t want to hear. “I must go to Jerusalem,” he said, “and there I will suffer, be killed, and later on be raised.” Simon Peter said, “Not you! That isn’t going to happen to you.”
Jesus, said, “Hush up, boy. You’re on the wrong side of things. The way of God is all about giving yourself. Not about saving your own skin but giving yourself away.” They didn’t get it. One more thing, it’s so hard to understand. Then this moment. They didn’t understand that, either.
Then, right after this bright mountain moment, Jesus says it again. “I will suffer.” Just like the great prophet Elijah, he will suffer. And they didn’t want to hear it. They resisted before they climbed the mountain. They refused it on the way down the mountain. And in between resistance and refusal, they have this moment. That’s how the story is told.
Peter, James, and John climbed the mountain with their Master. When they got to the top, there was a bright light and a big Voice. If they could remember their Bible stories, it was just like what happened to Moses. He climbed another mountain all the way up into a cloud. And the book of Exodus says, “The appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain in the sight of the Israelites.”[1]
Now, catch that little detail: “in the sight of the Israelites.” That is, everybody saw it. It’s impossible to hide such an amazing light show.
And Jesus said, “Don’t tell anybody about this. Not yet.” Why not? Well, the scholars seem to agree the razzle-dazzle transfiguration could be a distraction. After all, what did the big Voice say? “Listen to him.” Not “look at him,” but “Listen to him.” And what has he been saying? “I am going to the cross and then beyond it.” That is Christ’s mission. He has something to accomplish in Jerusalem. They don’t know what it is yet. How can they understand? It’s too early.
For he said, “Don’t tell anybody about this until after the Son of Man is raised from the dead.” That’s why we are hearing about it today. We are long after that first Easter, which means we are long after the cross. After all, that’s when the New Testament Gospels were written down: after the events they describe, sometimes long enough after the events that the church could begin to connect the dots between those events that otherwise wouldn’t seem to connect.
Here are two: the Mount of
Transfiguration and the hill where Jesus was crucified. Did you notice the
points of connection? Check these out:
·
Here,
on a mountain, is Jesus, revealed in glory; there, on a hill outside Jerusalem,
is Jesus revealed in shame.
·
Here
his clothes are shining white; there, they have been stripped off, and soldiers
have gambled for them.
·
Here
he is flanked by Moses and Elijah, two of Isrrael’s greatest heroes,
representing the law and prophets;
there,
he is flanked by two [criminals], representing the level to which Israel had
sunk in rebellions against God.
·
Here,
a bright cloud overshadows the scene; there, darkness comes upon the land.
·
Here
Peter blurts out how wonderful it all is; there, he is hiding in shame after
denying he even knows Jesus.
· Here a voice from God declared that this is his wonderful son; there, a pagan soldier declares, in surprise, that this really was God’s son.
As N.T. Wright puts it, “The mountain-top explains the hill-top – and vice versa. Perhaps we only really understand either of them when we see it side by side with the other. Learn to see the glory in the cross; learn to see the cross in the glory; and you will have begun to bring together the laughter and the tears of the God who hides in the cloud, the God who is to be known in the strange person of Jesus himself.”[2]
And we can talk about this. Since he has been raised from the dead, we can talk about this. Yet the paradox of holding together transfiguration and crucifixion is difficult to capture it with our own thin words. We are in the presence of a deep mystery.
That’s what John Burgess discovered years ago. John teaches theology at Pittsburgh Seminary. A lifelong Presbyterian, he took a year-long academic sabbatical and took his family to Russia. He’s long been intrigued by the faith of the Russian Orthodox church. And stepping into a year with the Orthodox Church was even more dramatic than stepping into a foreign country.
For one thing, he said, “There are icons of the Transfiguration everywhere you look.” The hardships of life in Russia are held in creative tension with the glory of Christ. They are inseparable. If life is painful, Christ is still there. And if all is going well for you, you are never far from Christ’s cross. We cannot separate them.
For another thing, he said, as a lifelong Presbyterian, he confessed that our religious tribe can be too chatty. We talk too much (and thankfully, he wasn’t talking about our sermons). His suggestion is to listen a lot more, to gaze in wonder, to look beneath the grimy surface and see the glory that’s all around us. Especially the glory.
Protestants spend an awful lot of energy living sideways – caring for neighbors, addressing injustice, opening our arms to the diversity of the world. That’s well and good, although the tendency is to make our message so appealing that it concerns itself only with filling the offering plate and keeping our aging buildings open.
John says we would be served well if we drew more energy by looking upward. By gazing toward the God we can never totally understand, by standing before his holiness, by listening deeply rather filling the air with a lot of chatter. And he may be right about that. If keeping Sunday holy means anything at all, it means being still, hushing up, taking in all the gifts of heaven, and then shining the light we’ve received back into the world. The world needs to be reminded of God’s exceeding beauty. And Monday will needs some holiness, too.[3]
“Don’t tell anybody about the light
show. Not yet.” That’s the corrective for talking too much or moving on too
quickly. Hold it, instead. Hold those moments of glory when your eyes are
opened and your heart is available. Take in the light. And then, reflect it
wherever you go. Because a world like this desperately needs to see a whole lot
more light. You are the ones to bear it wherever you go. Shine on, friends.
Shine on with the holiness of Jesus.
[1] Exodus 24:17
[2] N.T. Wright, Matthew for
Everyone, Part 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002) 14-15.
[3] John P. Burgess, Encounters
with Orthodoxy: How Protestant Churches Can Reform Themselves Again
(Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).
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