Bright ideas, simple reflections — a little light for every step of the way.
What do you do with a bunch of old sermons? Turn them into a blog – refined, condensed, made for today’s world – feel free to use as written, or as fodder for your own message. It’s For you! No permission needed or credit given. (Please scroll down for previous posts)
Sunday Feb 15 – Transfiguration of Our Lord
Last Sunday after Epiphany
Readings: Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 2 (7) or Psalm 99 (9); 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9
Holy, Sacred Moments
Grace and peace to you, in the name of our beloved Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
Many years ago, before seminary, I worked at a Methodist church as a financial coordinator. I started at about the same time as several new staff members, including a pastor named Jim Stiles. Whenever there was a funeral—or sometimes even a Sunday sermon—he would come into my office and read his message out loud.
And there was one line he used often:
“This is a special moment. This is a holy moment. This is a sacred moment.”
At the time, I’ll admit—I used to smile a little and think, There it is. There’s the line.
But then I went to seminary. And then I became a pastor. And over time, I started to understand what he meant.
Because when you really begin paying attention to God’s presence—to the story of Jesus, to the movement of the Spirit—you start to realize how often holy moments are happening all around us. Not just in church. Not just in worship. But in ordinary life.
And today’s Gospel reading gives us one of the most powerful holy moments in all of Scripture.
Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a mountain. And there, right before their eyes, Jesus is transfigured. His face shines. His clothes become dazzling white—brighter than anything on earth could produce. And then Moses and Elijah appear. And then a voice from the cloud says: “This is my Son, the Beloved… listen to him.”
It is overwhelming. Awe-filled. Terrifying and beautiful all at once.
And Peter does what many of us would probably do—he wants to stay there. He says, essentially, Let’s build shelters. Let’s stay in this moment. Let’s hold onto this feeling forever.
And honestly—who could blame him?
Because mountaintop moments are powerful. Moments when God feels close. Moments when things suddenly make sense. Moments when hope feels stronger than fear.
But here’s the truth the Transfiguration shows us:
We are not meant to live on the mountain.
Jesus leads them back down.
Back into real life.
Back into a world that is complicated and messy and often painful.
Back into a world where people are sick and hungry and divided and afraid.
And that feels very familiar right now, doesn’t it?
We live in a time when many people feel overwhelmed—by constant news, political division, violence, uncertainty about the future, concerns about the economy, about health, about what kind of world our children and grandchildren are inheriting. It can feel like we are constantly living in the valley, not on the mountain.
And yet, the Transfiguration reminds us that even if we don’t stay on the mountain, the mountain changes us.
Jesus tells the disciples not to go talking about it yet—but I don’t think it’s because the experience didn’t matter. I think it’s because what really mattered was how it would shape them going forward.
They saw who Jesus truly is.
And once you see that—you can’t help but live differently.
There’s a quote from Oswald Chambers that still speaks powerfully:
“We cannot stay forever on the Mount of Transfiguration… but we must obey the light we saw there.”
In other words, holy moments aren’t meant to be souvenirs.
They are meant to be fuel.
Fuel for loving harder.
For serving more deeply.
For standing with people who are hurting.
For choosing compassion in a world that often rewards cruelty.
For working toward justice, mercy, and healing—especially for those pushed to the margins.
That’s very much in line with who we are called to be as church—living out God’s love in real, tangible ways.
And maybe that’s especially important as we stand right on the edge of Lent.
Lent invites us to slow down.
To listen.
To notice God’s presence—not just in dramatic moments—but in quiet ones.
In a conversation with a friend.
In caring for a spouse or parent.
In laughing with a grandchild.
In sitting in silence.
In walking outside.
In showing kindness when it would be easier not to.
We are so often “human doings.”
Lent reminds us we are also called to be “human beings.”
People who pause long enough to notice that God is already here.
God is speaking—sometimes in ways that are loud and unmistakable.
And sometimes in ways that are quiet, almost easy to miss—but still very real.
Every moment can hold the possibility of being sacred.
Not because life is perfect.
But because God is present.
So maybe the invitation of Transfiguration Sunday is this:
Pay attention.
Listen to Jesus.
Let the light you have seen shape how you live in the world.
And trust that even when you are back down in the valley—God has not left you.
The light still shines.
And nothing—not fear, not division, not uncertainty—can overcome it.
Let us pray.
Open our eyes, Lord,
So we may see what you are revealing to us.
Prepare us for those holy moments—big and small.
And help us respond to them with faith, courage, and love for one another.
In the name of Jesus, we pray.
Amen.
God's Yes + My Amen 