Last Sunday before Lent year C

So this is the last Sunday before Lent, and we find ourselves moving swiftly away from the plain that we were on only a couple of weeks ago and onto a mountain where unexpected things are happening. We’re shifting our focus from the solid teaching that cemented Jesus’ place as Messiah in who and how he was, and seeing his identity reinforced in a dramatic turn of events. The Gospel passage we heard this morning is usually referred to as the Transfiguration. Luke doesn’t use that word, but it appears in the other synoptic Gospels.

Transfiguration isn’t a word that is in general use, although it was one of the forms of magic that appeared in the Harry Potter books, but it’s language that we have brought into regular use within the church, and defines something that we think we understand. In day-to-day life, we routinely talk about transformation and I wonder to what extent we conflate the two in our minds. Clearly, they are similar words with a linked etymology. To transform is to change the shape of; to re-form what already is. To transfigure is to gloriously alter the appearance of; the word transfigure carries with it an assumption of the presence of divine light or radiance. God is there.

An offer of transformation is something that comes around fairly routinely in our consumerist society – transform your kitchen or your bathroom; follow this suggestion and transform your garden; eat this or don’t eat that and transform your health – and so on. We live in a world that appears to put great value on transformation, a world that sees it as the solution to many ills. We transform in order to improve. To improve appearance or functionality or impact, perhaps minimally. If I go in for a kitchen transformation I will, hopefully, end up with a space that it more efficient, perhaps more comfortable to use. It will look fresh and clean and modern and be easier to maintain. But, truth be told, it will do pretty much the same job as my old kitchen.

When we think about transforming situations rather than physical spaces, we are usually thinking about a change in approach or attitude. We think perhaps about transforming the lives of those who live in challenging situations. We talk about transforming the attitudes of those who diminish others, those for whom inappropriate behaviour appears to have become a norm. Transforming change is usually a good thing, something to be celebrated.

And yet, is it enough? Having sat with this morning’s reading for a week, I want to suggest that we sell ourselves and God short if our goal is transformation. Transformation is undoubtedly about change for the good. But it lacks ambition. Transfiguration on the other hand brings the Divine, the presence and movement of the Holy Spirit, into places and situations. Transfiguration has the potential to change not just the form but the substance of whatever concerns us. If we could find a way to pray, really pray, that a situation might be transfigured, we would be fully putting our trust into the hands of the God whom we attempt to follow, the God into whose hands we put our trust.

And maybe there’s a reason that this particular Sunday turns our focus to Transfiguration. We’re at that point in the church year where we pivot from a focus on the Epiphany, the revelation of Jesus to the people, towards Lent and the much more solemn journey towards Holy Week and Easter. This is the last week that we’ll sing Alleluias before Easter. It’s the last week that our vestments will be green. The last week that we will sing the Gloria.

The pace has changed and we are being invited to journey with Jesus and the disciples in a different way as the story reaches its climax. We are being invited in the coming weeks to observe less and participate more. We are being invited to get more involved in the narrative; to allow ourselves to be changed, not just in appearance but in substance. To allow ourselves to be transformed by the divine light; to be open to God working in and through us.

And that I think is where we can find that we begin to back off. Most of us, if pushed, will say that we don’t really like change. We recognise that some change is inevitable, but we don’t always welcome it. And when we are thinking about change that is fundamental, change that isn’t reversible with a coat of paint or visit to the garden centre, that can feel a bit scary.

So I think that we are faced with a choice. We can stay, more or less, in our comfort zone. We can make minimal changes and perhaps even pat ourselves on the back. Or we can take a risk. Take a risk with God. Take a risk that we may find ourselves in a place that is uncomfortable, may not quite recognise ourselves as we change. Lent is a time of the year when we often commit to making small changes. Giving something up; reading a worthy book; taking more exercise; giving to charity. All worthwhile and good. But, frankly, not likely to significantly change even our small corner of the world.

What would it look like if we invited transfiguring change? If we prayed, and meant it, for God’s light to shape and form who and how we are? What if we could find a way to let go of at least some of the false security that we surround ourselves with and risk taking a step into the unknown?

I wonder what that would look like. You may wonder where on earth we would begin. The only place to begin is in the presence of God. This isn’t something we can do for ourselves or do alone. This is about letting go, trusting that God knows what we need. It’s about identifying what is life giving, right now in our lives, and making the space for whatever that is to be a priority.


We like to be in control, or at least to imagine that we’re in control. The scariest thing is to let go, to really trust in God. That takes courage and confidence. It takes a commitment to being changed ourselves, even as we long for the world around us to be changed. But if we can find a way, then we will open ourselves to the impact of the divine light, open ourselves to the infinite possibilities that are beyond what we could ever imagine. We would be truly exercising ambition.

We’re talking here about finding what is life giving and committing to it. Recognising the cross that is set before us and taking it, journeying with it, picking ourselves up when we stumble, and turning our focus over and over again towards the divine light that is the source of all that is and all that could be. Lifting our eyes. Remembering the mountain side.

My prayer for each one of us this Lent is that we will find a way to make the space and opportunities to go up onto the mountain, to risk being in the presence of the Divine and to ambitiously choose life.