I want to begin by thanking, and acknowledging the reflection at the end of this sermon provided by the Reverend Dr. Mark Clavier on the Transfiguration
This morning we have one of the more famous stories about Jesus where he is transfigured before three disciples - Peter, James and John - so that he is revealed to be not just a human being who teaches or prophesies, but actually, to be God himself. Jesus, talking with Moses and Elijah, isn’t proclaiming God, as they did; he is the law Moses shared with the Israelites, about which Elijah prophesied. No longer, as Paul says in his letter to the Corinthian church, is God’s plan veiled: it has arrived in Jesus who alone has the power to gather people who are willing to follow, to “unveil” their minds by setting aside the things of this world that are passing away, and instead seeking God’s will.
We see this realization most fully in Peter. My God! Oh my God. You are the Lord, the Messiah. You commune with Moses and Elijah, the Father confirms you are his Son, one being with him, bringing all his promises to gather us and restore us to relationship to pass. Please let me stay right here with you. I despise the mundane and earthly things of this world. And we see that he’s seized with a sort of frenzied craving for full communion with God, an end to the uncertainties, fears and sufferings of this life. It’s not just that he sees an inkling of hope in Jesus’s transfigured body: he sees the whole of creation brought to perfection, set at peace where there is no more suffering, death, longing, loneliness striving or tears. No more evil empires or tyrants constantly coming into power, threatening to dismantle anything good that has been put in place. No more poor. No more sickness. No more feeling helpless or hopeless.
At this full revelation of everything and everyone brought to perfection in that glorious light of grace and peace, Peter is filled with rapture at the whole vision. So he says to Jesus: let me make a dwelling with you Moses and Elijah. But to this proposal the Lord says nothing. And yet all that is left then, is to go back down the mountain and back into the tempestous seas of this world. But not, "just like before." Not, "on our own." Not with the veil still over our eyes but with minds filled with the hope of Christ casting the darkness out of our own hearts that flows from fear, sadness and loss. And so we hear the call and the constant whisper, if we seek it:
"Don't be afraid. These are fearful days, yes—but not new ones. The world’s always been troubled, and the work of faithful witness has never been easy. Christ didn’t call us to ease but to steadfastness, not to power but to love.
On the mountaintop, in the brilliance of the Transfiguration, Christ stood revealed in glory. Peter longed to stay, to build shelters and remain in the light. But Christ led them back down—into the dust and need of the world, into conflict and suffering, towards the cross. Their vision wasn’t an escape; it was a glimpse of glory, of God's own manifest presence, for the road ahead. So it is with us.
To bear faithful witness is to be transfigured. It’s to stand firm in truth and mercy, refusing to be shaped by the world’s darkness. It’s to resist fear, even when it’s proclaimed by politicians and preached from pulpits, and to reject the lie that we must choose between silence and savagery. It’s to shine—not with our own light, but with the light of Christ, the light no darkness can overcome.
And as we’re transfigured, so too must we become agents of transfiguration in the world. We don’t merely endure the times; we shape them. We don’t withdraw from the broken places; we enter them bearing love. In the face of hatred, we love. In the face of deception, we tell the truth. In a culture addicted to outrage and division, we build places of peace.
Be people of memory. The Church was never meant to serve empire or wave the flag of any nation. She’s outlasted emperors before. She’ll outlast this.
Be people of presence. Look to your neighbours. Speak plainly. Refuse to be swept along by the tides of grievance and rage. Plant your gardens. Visit the sick. Share your table. As St David suggested centuries ago, 'Do the little things.' The kingdom of God is sown in such things.
And above all, be people of steadfast faithfulness. The Transfiguration reminds us that the light is real, even when the valley below is dark. Don’t grow weary in doing good. We’re not called to win—we’re called to witness. Not in grand gestures but in daily, quiet resistance: loving where there’s hate, holding fast to truth when lies abound, rejoicing even in sorrow.
So, stand firm. Be transfigured. And in so doing, transfigure the world. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (The Rev'd. Dr. Mark Clavier, Transfiguration, March 2, 2025)"
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