Last Sunday after the Epiphany (Luke 9:28-43a)

​The story of the Transfiguration presents a moment of profound significance: Jesus standing with Moses and Elijah, two towering figures in Jewish tradition. Moses represents the Law—the moral foundation of the people—and Elijah represents the Prophets, who called Israel to live out its ethical obligations to God and neighbor. For us today, they can symbolize two guiding principles in life: morality and ethics. Morality concerns the personal precepts we hold ourselves to, while ethics governs how we interact and coexist with others.

For morality, think of the Ten Commandments: principles that help us live rightly, protecting us from sabotaging our ability to encounter the presence of God within. Without such moral boundaries, we risk losing ourselves to destructive tendencies. Ethics, on the other hand, concerns how we relate to others. A good example in our context is the biomedical ethical framework of beneficence (acting for the good of others), nonmaleficence (avoiding harm), justice (being fair), and autonomy (respecting others’ freedom). Both morality and ethics are essential—but they are incomplete without something more.

Jesus represents that “something more”: the presence of God within us. He is not merely a moral teacher or an ethical guide; he embodies divine presence. In the Transfiguration, Jesus stands with Moses and Elijah, showing us that while morality and ethics serve to deepen our spiritual life, they point beyond themselves to the living presence of God at the core of our being.

At this moment of glory, Jesus invites Peter, James, and John into a deeper realization: they, too, are meant to encounter this divine presence within themselves. Yet, like us, they struggle to grasp it. Their response—“Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”—shows that they are content to remain spectators. They want to preserve the moment by externalizing it, as though building dwellings for these great figures will somehow anchor the experience. But they forget to include themselves in that sacred space. They don’t yet understand that the presence of God is not something outside of them; it is within.

This is a mistake I recognize in myself. How often do I, like Peter, James, and John, hear profound wisdom—from the writings of Teresa of Avila, Hildegard of Bingen, or St. Francis—and act as though I share in their experience simply by understanding their words? But I cannot clone their spiritual journey or borrow their awakening. Their experience can inspire me, but it cannot replace my own effort to encounter the presence of God within. I must do the inner work myself.

Even in their misunderstanding, Jesus does not rebuke the disciples. Instead, he wakes them up and redirects them. He doesn’t allow them to linger on the mountaintop. The experience of God’s presence is not an endpoint; it is a source of fuel for the journey ahead. His message is clear: don’t settle on the mountain. Don’t remain satisfied with a fleeting moment of peace, grace, and equanimity. Such experiences are gifts, but they are meant to prepare us for something greater—descending into the messy, broken world below, where peace, grace, and equanimity are absent. “Be peace. Be grace. Be equanimity,” Jesus seems to say. Carry what you have encountered into the places where it is needed most.

This, then, is the call of the Transfiguration: it is not merely about beholding Jesus’s transformation but about answering the challenge to undergo our own. We are invited to transfigure our way of seeing. This involves more than simply facing life’s challenges with courage or hope. It requires a radical shift in how we perceive reality—seeing with the eyes of God, breathing with the breath of God. True transfiguration begins here and now, in the present moment, when we dare to look within and encounter the divine presence for ourselves.

This journey of inner transformation is what Lent calls us to. It is a season of preparation, a time to strip away the distractions that prevent us from experiencing God’s presence fully. The goal of Lent is not merely to arrive at Easter unchanged, content to witness the resurrection from a distance. Rather, it is to stand at Easter’s threshold ready to rise—to become, ourselves, transformed by the presence of God within, ready to be sent back into the world as bearers of peace, grace, and equanimity.

So, let us not remain satisfied with witnessing Jesus’s transfiguration. Let us dare to transfigure ourselves—our way of seeing, our way of being, our very breath. Let us be bold enough to embrace the divine presence within, to let it change us, and to carry that transformation into the world. The true call of the Transfiguration is not to remain on the mountaintop but to descend, transfigured, into the valleys of life, death, and resurrection.