Mary and I had much in common.

Like me, she was an aspiring academic working on her PhD––

albeit in a very different discipline––

and the only person I knew who was interested in the intricacies of academic referencing and style manuals.

We could talk for hours!

But Mary also enjoyed cooking…

and was particularly fond of a good red.

She was also the least maternal woman that I had ever met––

adamant that she and her husband were never going to have kids.

All she wanted was to be a high-flying academic…

to have a small property with dogs and horses…

and a house with a commercial kitchen.

We became very close friends.

Then, one day, she announced that she was pregnant…

but reassured me that nothing would change.

And nothing did.

Until after the baby was born––

when it was like someone flipped a switch;

and she became a completely different person––

almost a mirror opposite.

I struggled to know how to relate to Mary.

Inevitably, we drifted apart.

 

How often do we presume to know someone?

How often do we look at someone and simply see the mental image that we have constructed?

How often do we see someone according to some stereotype or caricature?

Until something happens, which may be quite dramatic––

forcing us to see them in a new light…

forcing us to realise that we don’t really know them at all.

And, when that happens, we can react in a number of ways.

We can turn away––

disillusioned and disappointed––

because the person hasn’t lived up to our expectations… 

or the image that we have created of them.

Perhaps some of the disillusionment and disappointment may be with ourselves––

with our ability to read people or judge character.

Of course, we can also keep pretending that they’re still the person we thought they were.

We can continue to see them as we always have.

We can continue to respond to them as though nothing has happened…

even more effectively turning them into a caricature.

Or, we can begin trying to know them all over again––

as a deeper, richer, more complex, real-life person…

rather than a caricature.

 

In our story from Luke’s Gospel, Jesus went up a mountain…

taking Peter, John, and James with him.

He went to pray.

And, while he was praying, something extraordinary happened.

But what are we to make of it?

The author’s description is not meant to be taken literally.

It’s symbolic or pictorial…

reflecting ancient beliefs that, in certain states of consciousness––

like in a trance…

near death…

or in that drowsiness immediately before sleep––

that people could experience an alternate reality;

that they could actually enter the divine realm.

And here we have these three disciples…

battling to keep their eyes open…

drifting in and out of sleep…

and experiencing an alternate reality––

as if swept up into heaven itself.

Within the context of his worldview…

and in his highly symbolic and pictorial way… 

the author is trying to say that they had an intense spiritual experience.

And, as the author describes it:

“The appearance of Jesus’ face changed, 

and his clothes became dazzling white”.

As I said, this is a symbolic description.

In the ancient world, people believed that you could tell a book by its cover––

that you could tell a person’s character from their external features:

from the shape of their nose and face…

the position of their eyes…

the way that they stood or walked.

There were written guidelines for assessing someone’s character based upon their physical appearance.

In other words, someone’s appearance wasconsidered a mirror of who they really were.

People thought––

and people expected to think––

in terms of fixed stereotypes.

 

So, on top of this mountain… 

in a vision or a dream…

in an alternate state of consciousness…

the author has the three disciples see Jesus’ physical appearance change dramatically.

In other words, the disciples saw a different person before them:

dazzlingly white…

intensely bright…

pure…

powerful…

awesome…

overwhelming.

These are symbols, metaphors, or images trying to describe the indescribable…

trying to describe the very person and presence of God…

right there among them…

right there in front of them…

in the form of someone that they thought they knew well.

And then, almost as quickly, it was all over.

They were left with Jesus…

who was back to his “normal” self, looking like he always did––

as if nothing had happened.

And that’s precisely how they responded. 

They pretended as though nothing had happened.

They thought that they knew Jesus––

because of his physical appearance…

because of how he looked and acted…

because they had been with him for some time.

But they discovered that they really didn’t know him at all.

And, faced with that, they couldn’t deal with the real Jesus.

They couldn’t cope with the Jesus that they experienced on the mountaintop.

So they retreated to an image that was safer and more comfortable.

But, in so doing, they also retreated to a safer…

more comfortable… 

more traditional image of God.

They couldn’t cope with the revelation that there in front of them––

walking with them…

living with them…

talking to them––

was God. 

That was far too confronting.

 

Now, in reality, don’t we do the same?

Deep down, don’t we want a God who’s actually somewhat distant… 

remote…

‘other’…

above and beyond human existence;

someone who you won’t run into all of the time…

causing you to feel awkward or embarrassed––

like a teenager on a hot date being chaperoned by mum.

We don’t want God right there…

in our faces…

all of the time.

But, at the same time… 

we want a God close enough to be called upon when needed.

We prefer a God who’s somewhat distant and aloof,

but a God who will step in, sort it all out, and fix it all up….

when we’re sick…

or going through personal trials…

or worried about loved ones…

or despairing over the state of the world.

We want the God of smoke and fire…

thunder and earthquake…

and blinding light.

We want the God who transcends time and space and all human limitations.

In a strange way, it’s safer and more comfortable.

We prefer living with that particular caricature of God.

But, like those three disciples in the story, what we’re confronted with––

what we have to make do with––

is a God who walks among us:

quietly…

vulnerably…

even unobtrusively.

We want a God who carries us when things get difficult.

But, instead, we get a God who walks beside us… 

and who reassuringly says, “It’s okay…

you can do this…

you’re not alone”.

 

In the end… 

that’s the God in whom we’re called to put our trust and hope––

the God who is with us on the plains of life…

not on the mountaintops.