Made For Transformation
Why the Transfiguration Changes Everything
Feast of the Transfiguration: Last Sunday of Epiphany
Exodus 24:12–18 • Psalm 99 • Philippians 3:7–14 • Matthew 17:1–9
What if the most spectacular moment in Jesus’ earthly ministry wasn’t meant to be a one-time display, but a preview of what God intends for you? What if that blazing light on the mountain was actually showing us our own destiny? Every year the Church stands on this bright summit before we begin the long walk of Lent. The Transfiguration is not a bright ornament hung beside the Gospel; it is a doorway through which the Gospel invites us to walk. This feast day isn’t just about remembering what happened to Jesus—it’s about understanding what God wants to happen to us.
What Salvation Is Actually For
What happened to Jesus on the mountain is what God intends, in His mercy, to happen to us—slowly, painfully, joyfully: transfiguration, transformation, sanctification, theosis—the sharing in the life of God. This day tells us what salvation is actually for. Not only rescue from sin, but transformation and transfiguration as new creation people drawn into and even fed by the very life of God. The story of the Transfiguration, found in Matthew 17:1-9, connects to a much larger narrative that begins all the way back in the Old Testament. To understand what happened on that mountain with Jesus, we need to see how four witnesses—Sinai, the Psalm, Paul, and the mountain of Jesus—all telling the same story: God draws near in order to remake a people.
Glory That Comes Down: From Sinai to Jesus
In Exodus 24:12-18, we read about Moses climbing Mount Sinai, where the glory of the Lord settles on the mountain, and Moses is invited inside it. God is forming a people who can live in His presence. Moses, the great leader who led the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, waited six days before God called him into the cloud of glory. Six days Moses waits; on the seventh he is called in. Creation’s rhythm is being replayed. God is shaping a new humanity out of a redeemed people. But here’s what’s crucial: Also notice the direction of the story. Glory does not stay above. It descends. It makes room for a human being. God comes down so that we may be lifted up. The Holy One refuses to remain a distant brightness; He chooses nearness, conversation, covenant, companionship. This is how God saves the world—not by shouting instructions from the clouds, but by stepping into the cloud Himself and inviting us to stand beside Him. He draws close so that our fear can unlearn itself, so that dust might remember it was made for light.
Learning the Language of Holiness
Between Moses’ mountain and Jesus’ mountain, Psalm 99 teaches us something vital about God’s nature. “The Lord reigns—holy is He.” But what does holiness actually mean? Holiness is the blazing aliveness of God—reality at full strength. The psalm remembers Moses, Aaron, and Samuel—biblical figures who called on the Lord and were answered. Holiness speaks. Holiness forgives. Holiness makes a home among a praying people. This is important: holiness is not a wall to keep us out; it is a fire meant to warm us back to life. Every act of worship trains us for transfiguration. Week by week we are turned toward the face of God, until the heart slowly learns a new shape. Kneeling, singing, confessing, receiving—these are rehearsals for glory. In the small faithfulness of liturgy our loves are rearranged, and the scattered pieces of our lives are gathered into a single direction. At the altar we practice becoming what we receive, and the ordinary hours of life begin to echo the brightness of Christ.
The Mountain That Reveals Our Destiny
When we come to Matthew 17:1-9, we see Jesus take Peter, James, and John up a high mountain. What happens there is breathtaking: On Tabor the inner life of Jesus shines through His skin. The light does not fall on Him; it comes from Him. For a moment the disciples see that the carpenter from Nazareth carries within His humanity the very radiance of God. For a moment the veil lifts and the disciples see what has always been true: the man before them is the eternal Son in human flesh. Moses and Elijah—representing the Law and the Prophets of the Old Testament—appear with Jesus, as if the whole Old Testament is leaning forward saying, “This is where we were going.” Peter wants to build tents, to keep the moment safe. He treats glory like a museum piece to be preserved. But the Father interrupts and settles the matter: “This is my beloved Son. Listen to Him.” The voice from heaven wasn’t just making an announcement—it was giving direction for life. Listen to Him when He speaks of mercy—when He calls sinners by name and gives them a future—when He refuses to abandon the broken and the ashamed.
The Light Entering Ordinary Life
The apostle Paul, in Philippians 3:7-14, shows us how this mountain experience translates into daily Christian living. “I want to know Christ,” he says—not as an idea, but as a life that takes hold of his own. This is what the Church has always meant by our transfiguration—not escaping our humanity, but seeing it healed and brightened by the life of God. So God means to share His life with us—until patience, mercy, courage, and love begin to shine through ordinary faces. This transformation shows up in surprisingly ordinary moments:
• when forgiveness interrupts an old argument
• when generosity outgrows fear
• when a tired prayer is offered anyway
• when a marriage learns again how to be gentle
• when a parent chooses patience instead of the sharp word
• when grief does not harden into bitterness
• when someone kneels at this very rail with a trembling heart and still says “Amen”
Putting It Into Practice: Next Steps for Transformation
This feast asks us a gentle question: Do we believe transformation is possible? Not just better behavior. Not just a slightly improved version of ourselves. But real participation in the life of Christ. The Transfiguration says yes. Our wounds are not the final word because mercy has a longer memory than pain and the gospel speaks a better sentence. Our temperament is not a prison because the Spirit can widen even narrow hearts and knows how to remake what feels fixed or stuck. What practices help us remain before the light of Christ—rather than hiding behind busyness, noise, or self-protection? As we approach Lent, consider “what one small step—prayer, reconciliation, fasting, generosity—could open a wider door for God’s light? What suffering or obedience might be the very place where Christ is transfiguring us right now?
The Transfiguration prepares us to understand that glory does not avoid the world’s wounds. Glory enters them to heal them. In Christ, human nature has already reached the Father’s right hand. Our journey is to follow where He has gone. The face that shone on the mountain is the face that bends toward us at the altar, and one day—by His mercy—it will be the face reflected in His people. The light that blazed from Jesus on that mountain wasn’t just a moment of divine Revelation—it was a preview of what you were made for. God draws near in order to remake a people, and you are part of that people. The question isn’t whether transformation is possible, but whether you’ll open yourself to receive it.