On the Sunday before Lent, we always read about transfiguration – the turning point of each synoptic gospel that opens the final chapter of Jesus’ life. The OT readings that complement it are often about Moses on Mt Sinai and his radiance of face that he acquires there, because that’s similar to what happens to Jesus on his mountain, possibly Tabor. The synoptic gospels are full of such parallels that position Jesus as the one who epitomizes his faith, rather than makes it obsolete; and such echoes aren’t only found with Moses’ stories. Today we read about Elijah, who is also said to be talking to Jesus, as all scriptures “talk” to each other. I wondered what it was they discussed. 

Maybe, first, they joked about the gospel characters who thought that Jesus or John the Baptist were Elijah’s reincarnations. You could see why though, as Elijah is the only OT character who has both ascended into heaven instead of dying and is promised to return (Mal 4:5). Maybe, they also shared what it is like to give someone a new chance at life. Elijah and Elisha are the only OT characters who raise people from the dead, like Jesus did, and empowered Peter and Paul to do so. Maybe, we all have such an ability to renew and elevate the lives of those around us. Finally, they could have reminisced about the special place where they had all once stood – opposite Jericho, on Jordan’s bank. How easy it was for Elijah to tap the swelling waters with his mantle and walk over. It was not so for his ancestors who had first crossed into their promised land in that very spot, but could only do so in the wake of the special chest (“arc”) that held the artifacts symbolizing God’s presence and parted the waters for them. Maybe, Jesus mentioned how he didn’t think it worth parting the waters at all, and instead plunged right into all that mud stirred up, literally and figuratively, by those whom John baptized. In doing so, he showed that the presence of God, now embodied by him – Emanuel, God with us” – still leads, and always has led, the way through the passage towards eternal life. He has walked ahead of us through the suffering with which we can identify, and towards resurrection, which we don’t yet know, but we do occasionally glimpse in the fleeting moments of transcendence. In those moments, we too might see the supernatural light (as it is, for example, the objective in Eastern Orthodox meditation), or hear the voice speak out of nowhere. What does the voice say to you?

In Jesus’ case, the voice said similar words at baptism and transfiguration: “This is my beloved Son”. I think whoever wrote this down echoed the desire all of us have for belonging and purpose. That’s exactly what Elisha desired when he asked for the double measure of Elijah’s spirit – not the double amount of what Elijah had, but the double portion of the inheritance if it was parcelled out among his heirs. In the legal language of his times, he formally requested to become the adopted eldest son; which he did achieve by taking on Elijah’s mantle – this is where we get the idiom to “take/pass the mantle” of responsibility/authority. He found a home, parent, purpose, and understanding all at once.

Now, at Jesus’ baptism, the voice went on: “with whom I am well pleased”; but at transfiguration, it was, “listen to him”. Peter did hear, and as a result, in every gospel, proclaimed Jesus as his Lord immediately after the transfiguration. It’s as though he had finally understood Jesus, only to lose him almost immediately to the Passion, and to his own betrayals. None of them knew this at the moment though. It was in hindsight that the memory of this vision might have helped the disciples to make some sense of the tragedy of Jesus’ suffering and death, which is also the reason for us to read it right before Lent. Many of us do try to ease the suffering through looking for meaning in the face of pain and loss. (It generally works better in hindsight). This reminds me how, whenever we face the aging or terminal illness of our loved ones, their “crossing of Jordan” always catches us by surprise, even as we know intellectually that it is coming. As Elisha knew that Elijah was about to be taken away from him; and yet the loss still left him devastated. This is despite receiving the mantle and inheritance, so that Elijah would go on living in him, as we hope our loved ones do through us.

So both stories evoke many mixed feelings inherent to life itself: continuity and closure; awe and sadness; the hope of eternity and desire to prolong this life. In the words of the well-known spiritual, we may be “sometimes up and sometimes down, but still the soul feels heavenly bound”, which is to say that an element of eternity accompanies us in all our joys and struggles, and connects us to heaven well before the sweet chariot finally “swings low”. As most spirituals do, it expresses the grief of the people who knew that only their death would set them free. But it also conveys the hope that there does exist that land beyond Jordan, where “sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting”.

May we keep noticing the eternal light in our lives. The explicit awareness of Emanuel, “God with us”, is fleeting. Life always brings us down from the mountain and over to Jordan’s East bank. But, remembering the light and voice helps us discern our purpose, which then enables us, somewhat, to endure the pain, and loss, and the lack of belonging and freedom, until we are “carried home”. 

Reflection Questions

1) In the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke), Jesus never states explicitly that he is God. Others do, and the key events of his life, including Transfiguration point to it; but as a whole, the synoptic gospels maintain “The Messianic Secret”. How and why is John’s gospel different? Hint: John does not have the theme of secrecy, it is considered to have been written last. 

2) “Chariots of Fire” (1981) is a well-known film about two British track athletes — one is a determined Jew, and the other is a devout Christian — who wrestle with issues of pride and conscience, as they strive to win the 1924 Olympic Games. Why do you think the title of the film employs the reference to Elijah’s chariot that took him up into heaven? Hint: first, you might need to look up the poem “Jerusalem” by William Blake. The poem was set to music as a hymn with the same title. At the end of the movie, this hymn is sung at Harold Abraham’s funeral and carried over into the beach running scene, where it transitions to the famous theme by Vangelis. This is exactly how the movie opens — minus the hymn. But what’s the connection between running and representing the country, industrial age bleakness conveyed by the poem, the church hymn, and the Old Testament story we read today?