We stand at the edge of Lent like people poised on a cliff, blinking in bright light
and waiting for our vision to clear before taking the next, risky step.

When the smoky cloud of the Transfiguration fades,
we will be left mute like the disciples.
No more smoke. No more sound.
Just a smudge of ashes on our foreheads and the desert's silence streching out before us.

Epiphany began with the baptism of Christ. John poured water on his cousin, Jesus,
just as he had done to hundreds, or thousands, of others. But that one time the heavens where torn apart and a voice said, " This is my Son, my Beloved, with who I am well pleased."
Epiphany began with the baptism of Christ.

Epiphany ends with the Transfiguration.
Moses and Elijah - symbols of the coming of God's kingdom and the end of the earth -
stood with Jesus in a cloud on the top of the world.
Peter, James and John faced the end of all things for a blinding moment.
James and John became so still or so quiet that they do not appear in the rest of the text by name. Peter, the extrovert, babbled briefly in his terror.

The light faded. The cloud dispersed.
But first a voice announced, "This is my Son, the Beloved, listen to Him!"
Then Jesus, standing alone told Peter, James and John not to speak of what they had seen.
Not to speak until after. . . . after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

Let's review what Peter, James and John had witnessed:
The end of the world; the voice of God;
then Jesus, their beloved teacher, announcing his own impending death.

Was it any wonder that the disciples were silent during their descent?
Even if Jesus had not warned them to hold their tongues,
could they have found any words sufficient to encompass what they had seen?
Into what context would the disciples have fit this utterly unique experience?

The disciples had the after-image of one brilliantly bright point
in an out of focus dot to dot picture.
There were still too many unencountered dots and not yet enough clear lines
for Peter, James and John to see the cross taking shape, much less the resurrection.
Who could draw the conclusion of like after death from the outlines of a cloud on a mountaintop?
Epiphany ends with the Transfiguration, not an explanation.

John Westerhoff, in his book, "Will Out Children Have Faith?" Writes:

I learned that there are two ways to think and know, the intellectual and the intuitive. And it is the intuitive, the pre-rational. . . that is foundational to religious life. I also learned that people don't really learn unless they are passionately searching. This learning also requires that someone be willing to let his or her life be a resource to the searcher. Any truth that is revealed is revealed to them both.

Jesus went up to the mountain, and he took Peter, James and John with him.
Jesus took a boat across the sea of Gailee, and he took his disciples wit him.
Jesus went to Capernaum, to Samaria, to some hillside somewhere with five thousand people on it.
Jesus went to an upper room in Jerusalem where he broke bread.
And he took his disciples with him.

Jesus broke open the word. He divided the loaves and fishes until there was enough for everyone.
He poured our his life as a resource to the searcher,
as an offering for those who hunger and thirst.
And the truth dwelt among us, as one of us,
Showing us the light of God on level ground.

Not in a blinding flash, but in as glimmering in the darkness that grows in our awareness until at some point we realize a new day has dawned.
Jesus is God present, not God explained.

We are bound up in slow light. A Transfiguration that is building one photon at a time.
A kingdom resolving its image pixel by pixel, person by person, illumination spreading
from one witness to another until the whole world shall be gathered up in a ray of light.

We need intellect and intuition to begin to make sense of an encounter with God.
A God who wills to be found.
But we cannot sustain a journey that includes rivers, mountains, deserts,
and the deep blue sea if we do not have passion for the search.

It can take years to integrate and understand events that flash in our faces when least expect them.
We must be persistent so that the slow light already in our faces when we least expect them.
can change us day by day, and breath by breath, into a new creation.

Peter babbled on the mountain.
Later, when he found his voice, he denied Christ, three times, when the cross loomed clearly into view.
But after. . . after the Son of Man had risen from the dead,

Peter recounted the truth which had dawned in him. The light may have flashed on the mountain, but it rose slowly to a zenith bright enough to illuminate the way for others. Then Peter knew with his whole being.

"We did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power
and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty. . . .
We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven . . . You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in you hearts."

The voice of God announces: "This in my Son, the Beloved, listen to Him!"
Let us listen attentively and look for the lamp in darkness, the dawn of the risen Son
Until we feel the warmth on our face and in our hearts.

As the Psalmist wrote: You speak in my heart and say "seek my face" your face, Lord, will I seek.