Sunday before Lent, 2nd March, by Dn Lucy

Exodus 34:29-end
2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2
Luke 9:28 – 43a

Today we stand at a threshold moment in our church calendar. The Transfiguration serves as a bridge between the revelatory season of Epiphany and the penitential journey of Lent. Like Peter, James, and John, we’re about to descend from the mountain of glory into the valley of shadows. But before we do, let’s understand what this magnificent moment teaches us. 

One of the gifts in today’s Lectionary readings is how we see one Biblical writer interpreting another. In 2 Corinthians, Paul reflects on the story of Moses’ shining face and finds in it deep meaning for the Christian life. Meanwhile, Luke, in his account of the Transfiguration, echoes and transforms the Exodus story in ways that illuminate both Christ’s identity and our own calling.

Let’s begin with Moses. He descends from Sinai carrying the tablets of the covenant, unaware that his face is shining after his encounter with God. The Israelites react with fear; they cannot bear to look at this reflected glory. Moses responds practically: he wears a veil, removing it only when speaking with God or delivering God’s word.

Paul, however, reinterprets this moment in a startling way. Where Exodus presents the veil as a response to the people’s fear, Paul sees it as a metaphor for spiritual blindness. But in Christ, he tells us, this veil is removed, allowing us to see God’s glory and be transformed by it.

Luke’s account of the Transfiguration deepens this meditation on divine glory. Like Moses, Jesus ascends a mountain, and his appearance is changed. But unlike Moses, whose radiance is a reflection of God’s presence, Jesus’ glory radiates from within. His transfiguration is not the result of an encounter with God but a revelation of his own divine nature (Heb. 1:3: “He is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact imprint of his being”).

Moses speaks with God alone, but Jesus converses with Moses and Elijah, revealing Jesus as the fulfilment of both the Law and the Prophets. And they discuss his “exodus” to be accomplished in Jerusalem (Luke 9:31) - a deliberate link between Moses’ deliverance of Israel and Jesus’ greater redemption through the cross.

The disciples react as the Israelites did - overcome with fear. At Sinai, the people begged not to hear God’s voice directly (Exod. 20:19). Peter, James, and John likewise fall silent and afraid. But whereas Moses veiled his face to shield the people from God’s reflected glory, Jesus does not. Instead, a cloud - God’s own presence - overshadows them, and from it God speaks: “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” (Luke 9:35).

This moment confirms what was declared at Jesus’ baptism: he is not just another prophet or lawgiver but God’s own Son. And what happens next is just as important. Descending from the mountain, Jesus encounters raw human suffering: a father in despair, a boy possessed by a demon, disciples who cannot help. This stark contrast embodies the very essence of Christ’s mission. This direct move from divine revelation to transformative healing, demonstrates that God’s glory is not simply an aesthetic spectacle to be admired, but a power that reaches into the depths of human pain and need.

As we stand at this threshold between seasons, these readings invite us to witness the transforming power of God’s glory in our own lives. This is a transformation that addresses our fears. The Israelites feared Moses’s shining face; the disciples were terrified on the mountain. Encounter with God is awesome in the truest sense. Yet the Spirit enables us to behold God’s glory without the veil of fear, as we experience that God’s glory transforms rather than destroys.

This transformation also has purpose. Moses’s shining face reflected his encounter with God as mediator of the law. Jesus’s transfiguration revealed his divine nature as he prepared for the path to Jerusalem. Similarly, the Spirit’s transforming work in us equips us for service in God’s kingdom reminding us that glimpses of glory aren’t given for escape but for the Spirit’s empowering work.

What strikes me as particularly moving about the Transfiguration is how the disciples, even in witnessing such glory, struggled to comprehend its meaning. Peter responds by wanting to build dwellings, missing the deeper significance. This pattern of missed recognition runs throughout scripture - those closest to Jesus often struggled to recognise him or understand the significance of what they witnessed. Think of Mary Magdalene at the tomb, mistaking the risen Lord for a gardener. Remember the disciples on the road to Emmaus, walking miles alongside Jesus without recognising him until the breaking of bread. Consider Thomas, needing to touch Christ’s wounds before believing, or the disciples at the Sea of Tiberias, not recognising Jesus on the shore until the miraculous catch of fish.

These moments aren’t recorded to embarrass the disciples but to remind us of a profound truth that Paul articulates in his first letter to the Corinthians: “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.”

This reality of partial vision, of seeing “through a glass darkly” as some translations put it, should instil in us a deep humility about our own spiritual understanding. Even as Paul tells us that we are being transformed into Christ’s image “from one degree of glory to another,” he acknowledges that this transformation is ongoing, incomplete.

How often in our contemporary church life do we forget this? We engage in heated debates about doctrine, liturgy, inclusion, or scriptural interpretation, each side convinced of the absolute clarity of their position. Different Christian factions become entrenched, each certain they alone have the fullness of divine truth.

Today’s Gospel acclamation offers us guidance on the proper posture: “Welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.” Meekness - not a popular virtue in our culture of confident assertions and polarised positions. Yet meekness is precisely what allows us to remain open to further revelation, to the ongoing work of the Spirit in unveiling both God’s glory and our own misconceptions.

As we prepare to enter Lent, perhaps we might take up the spiritual practice of holy uncertainty - making space for questions alongside convictions, for listening as much as proclaiming, for admitting the limits of our vision even as we follow the light we have. For as we journey with unveiled faces, turning toward Christ’s glory even when we comprehend it imperfectly, we are slowly being transformed into that same image - a transformation that comes not from our own spiritual achievement, but “from the Lord, the Spirit.”

The medieval church had a tradition of ‘burying the Alleluia’ during Lent, a recognition that we enter a more sombre season. But they did so having glimpsed the glory that awaits. We too, having seen Christ transfigured, now follow him toward Jerusalem. We journey not from glory to gloom, but as Paul reminds us, “from glory to glory” - even when our understanding remains partial.

In the days ahead, may we carry both the memory of transfiguration glory and the humility of those who know they see imperfectly. May the Spirit transform us for Christ’s mission, equipping us to serve as Jesus did when he descended from the mountain to meet human need. May we follow him through both clarity and uncertainty, trusting that the same Spirit who removes the veil will also guide us home. Amen.