"A Fearsome Thing" | The Rev. Heidi Thorsen | March 2, 2025
Sermon Preached: March 2, 2025 at Trinity on the Green
Last Sunday after Epiphany, Year C: Exodus 34:29-35 | 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2 | Luke 9:28-36 | Psalm 99
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be pleasing to you, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.
As a kid, I loved to hear the story of how my Uncle Norman once hiked to the top of Half Dome in Yosemite and, getting caught in a thunderstorm, had to stay there overnight.
A bit of background first: the hike to the top of Half Dome is a rite of passage in our family. The journey from the valley floor to the top of Yosemite’s most recognizable landmark is over 16 miles round trip, with a 4,800 foot elevation gain. The last half-mile is the steepest. Hikers can only make it to the top by pulling their way up on steel cables, drilled into the rock that goes up at about a 45 degree angle. I had nightmares about this hike for months before I turned 13 years old– which is the age in my family when we are allowed (you might say expected) to make the hike to the top. I made it, as many of my sisters and cousins did, and it is one of the things that I am most proud of in my life. I’m sure we got back to the campsite that evening with our faces glowing like Moses and Jesus, in our scripture passages today. Part of that would have been sweat, to be sure. But part of that would have been the glow of seeing and being a part of something incredible; so high above the world and so close to creation.
I look back on those memories with pride, but also a little bit of fear. Now that I’m older I know that a number of people have died on the hike to Half Dome. Some of those casualties are due to overcrowding; some of them due to weather, such as thunderstorms. You can imagine that holding on to a long metal cable isn’t the safest thing to do when there is a chance of lighting in the area. But staying on the top of Half Dome isn’t necessarily safer. This is exactly what my Uncle Norman did, in the story that my family tells. He decided to hike Half Dome on his own, at a time when the trail was not so crowded. The thunderclouds rolled in, and he was stuck there overnight– almost 9,000 feet above sea level. I wonder what was going through his mind that night. Which ridge of granite did he sleep beneath? Where did the lightning touch down? And when did he decide that it was safe to climb back down those cables, down miles of switchbacks, and make his way home?
Some of you may be familiar with the phrase: a “mountaintop experience.” It’s a term that comes from our Gospel passage today, the story of the Transfiguration. In this story Jesus goes up on a mountain to pray, and he takes with him three of his disciples: Peter, John, and James. As Jesus is praying his appearance changes– he dazzles. And Moses and Elijah appear next to him, talking with each other. The disciples are amazed.
When I think about the Transfiguration, I think of that moment of revelation. That moment of hope. We always read this story on the last Sunday after the Epiphany, and it’s there in our liturgical calendar for a reason. The Transfiguration stands as a beacon of hope on the threshold of Lent, the coming season of reckoning and repentance. We are about to embark on 40 days of spiritual wilderness, a practice that Christians have followed for centuries, modelled on the 40 days that Jesus spent in the wilderness in preparation for his own ministry. Some of us mark this season with prayer or fasting. But even if you aren’t taking on any personal practice this year, Lent will still be apparent to you in the changes in our liturgy, the emphasis on repentance, and the tone of our scripture readings. It all culminates in Holy Week, our observance of Jesus’ journey to the cross. The Transfiguration is one final glimmer of hope before this season of intentional gloom and serious reflection. I often look forward to the last Sunday of Epiphany, for this very reason. It is sustenance for the journey ahead.
However, I have to admit that the Transfiguration feels a bit different this year. The last few months have been a difficult season in which to find joy. The weather has been exceptionally cold, in ways that have had a sharp impact on our everyday lives and especially those who live without adequate housing, or any housing at all. Vast political changes have put many people on edge. In some ways, it kind of feels like Lent came early. I hear this story of the Transfiguration, and wonder when was the last time I had a mountaintop experience? In many ways it feels like I have to grasp at crumbs to get close to anything like what the disciples felt on the mountaintop.
It is incredibly important that we look out for those mountaintop experiences, and hold them close. They don’t always come exactly when we need them to. Life doesn’t always work with the same elegance as our liturgical calendar. But we all have these moments: beacons of hope and clarity, whether the memories that most sustain us happened a week ago, or five years ago, or fifteen years ago. Save those mountaintop memories for the days when life feels impossibly complicated.
At times like this, it’s also important to remember that mountaintop experiences aren’t all sunshine and butterflies. When we read a little further in the Gospel of Luke today we learn that the mountaintop can be a terrifying place. Peter has just suggested that they stay there together forever, building three dwellings (Peter does not fully understand what he is asking for, the Gospel states) when suddenly, a cloud overshadows them. The disciples are terrified. A voice from heaven proclaims Jesus as the Son of God, and then– it is over. Jesus is alone, all of the clouds and dazzle retreat, and the disciples head back down the mountain, keeping silent about all they have seen and heard.
The ending of this story makes me wonder if we have misunderstood the meaning of the mountaintop, at least in part. The mountaintop experience isn’t just about light and hope. The mountaintop experience is, ultimately, about truth. It is about revelation. It is about seeing things as they actually are. Truth isn’t always sunshine and butterflies and rainbows. Sometimes the truth is dazzling, but in a different way. It is dazzling like a lightning storm in the Sierra Nevada mountains. It is dazzling like a cloud descending on the tallest mountain for miles, and raining down wind and hail. It is dazzling, like the weather that made my uncle stay on the mountaintop longer than he wanted to be there.
Although we might not like the experience of that kind of truth, it still has the power to set us free. That is what the mountaintop is all about: not just joy, and hope, and excitement– but truth. Truth that will guide us forward in the days to come. Truth that helps us see more clearly who we are: as individuals, as a community, as a country, as beloved children of God. And this truth draws us closer to God– who knows us completely, even when we don’t know ourselves. The Transfiguration is a reminder for us to seek out the truth, both when that truth is beautiful and when that truth is a little scary– because, as Jesus says in the Gospel of John, “the truth will set you free” (John 8:31-32).
On this last Sunday after the Epiphany, I invite you to think about what it might look like to take on a practice of truth-seeking in the coming season of Lent. What truths about yourself might you need to understand more clearly? What stories in the world do you naturally gravitate towards, and what stories do you need to pay more attention to, to be more attuned to the realities that our neighbors face? And how can you stand up for truth– not in a self-righteous way, but through relationship, and with love?
It’s important to remember that, when the disciples went to the mountaintop, they didn’t go there alone. They went with other disciples, who were walking on the journey with them, and they went with Jesus– who is always there to walk with us into greater truth; into the heart of all things. We don’t go to the mountaintop alone, and we don’t get to the truth on our own either. We need to listen to each other, and learn from each other, and encourage one another when the truth is a fearsome thing to behold. And still, as Jesus says, “the truth will set us free.”
I’d like to conclude with these words from Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians, words that remind us of the importance of truth; of seeing ourselves in the mirror clearly. Paul writes:
“Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And all of us, with unveiled vases, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in the mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another, for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit. Therefore, since it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart. We have renounced the shameful things that one hides; we refuse to practice cunning or to falsify God’s word; but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the conscience of everyone in the sight of God.”
Let truth be your guide through the wilderness to come, and know that other disciples of truth are on the road with you. Know that God is on the road with you. Amen.