a well worn path

Following are some musings from reflecting on Mark 9:2-13...

"We heard this voice which came from heaven when we were with him on the holy mountain...we were eyewitnesses of his majesty.”

So says Peter.

At least that explains a few things.

Can you imagine being Peter or James or John — James and John who were called “Thunderheads” by Jesus and Peter whose name roughly translates to “Bloke with foot firmly wedged in mouth” — and not saying something about this to the rest of the guys when you rejoined them in the valley below?

“Tell the vision to no man.”

And they didn’t. Luke reports that “they kept silent and told no one in those days anything of what they had seen.” They may not have said anything, but I wonder how else this spilled out of them.

I can just hear the three disciples coming down the mountain behind Jesus and quietly asking each other, “So, is my face glowing, just a little bit?” It’s hard to imagine them not dropping some hints. “Bet you can’t guess what we just saw…”

Something. Anything.

Of course, considering the track record of the disciples when it came to drawing sound conclusions from the things Jesus said and did, the three probably could have all but said, “SHEKINAH GLORY! VOICE OF GOD! WE JUST SAW JESUS GLORIFIED ON THE MOUNTAIN — AND HE WAS TALKING WITH MOSES AND ELIJAH!” and they still wouldn’t have picked up on it.

But though they kept silent, the spectacle they witnessed (whatever it meant) no doubt reinforced at least a subconscious feeling that they had a preeminent position among the twelve. That potential feeling of smugness was no doubt fed by the blatant failure of the other disciples who had been “left behind” in the valley below as they had been trying to cast out a demon.

Isn’t it interesting that it’s after all this, on the way back to Capernaum, that the first recorded debate takes place over “who is the greatest”? And not too long after that James and John take the subtle approach of asking Jesus directly for the two greatest seats of honor in the kingdom.

No sooner had Jesus answered this argument by placing a child in their midst, identifying anyone like a child as greatest in the kingdom, than John blurts out, “We saw someone casting out demons in your name and we tried to stop him because he was not following us.”

How deep our propensity towards comparison! Spiritual experiences that should humble us, that should fill us with wonder and awe and reverence, with a lasting “Who am I?” glow on our face, instead leave us pompous and snarky and smug.

Epiphanies that should reinforce our great need for one another, that should remind us of our essential unity, our common ties, lead us instead to a biting and dismissing sectarian smartness as we “measure ourselves by one another and compare ourselves to each other” (see 2 Corinthians 10:12).

It’s a well worn path we still walk quite nicely — with each step only demonstrating our personal need for “transfiguration”; that no matter how firm we imagine our grasp of the Word, we have missed the whole point of his coming and of the revelation on the mountain.