Transfigured by the Mountaintop

“Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became bright as light.” – Matthew 17:1-2

Bright with light, walking with the prophets, hailed
by holy voice that stunned the clouds
and silenced even Simon Peter:
Jesus the Beloved Son of God.

Transfigured on the mountaintop.

At mountain’s foot, however, trouble lay,
because a demon would not be rebuked
by any of the nine disciples there. “Where can
I find the mustard seed of faith?” they asked.

I grant you they had missed the mountaintop.

But Peter, James, and John, who’d seen the sight,
had heard the voice, been silenced clean:
how had they been transfigured? Were they changed?
Did they bring nourishment to their own mustard seeds?

For they had known the mountaintop.

Yet Peter asked if there were limits on
forgiveness. He wondered what he’d gain
from following his Lord. While James and John
coopted their own mother to secure a place of power.

Though they had been upon the mountaintop.

When Jesus brought the three apart again,
this time into a corner of Gethsemane,
their bodies ruled their spirits, and they slept,
while Jesus wept the bitter tears of grief and fear.

Had they forgotten about the mountaintop?

Approaching soldiers woke them. Weariness
no longer slowed them. As blood streamed from
a stricken servant’s ear, the three who’d seen
and heard the most took to their heels and fled.

Had they been changed upon the mountaintop?

One found his courage and his way back to
the courtyard of the trial, but did not bring
his name. Three times they asked, three times
he cried, “I do not know the man!”

He’d known him on the mountaintop.

So Jesus, here I stand, at best an image
in a mirror darkly of those first disciples. I
am not the person I would like to be,
say nothing of the follower whom you expect.

And I was never on that mountaintop.

Yet truly, you have summoned me by less
dramatic means than brilliant clouds
and stunning voices on the wind, to be
your follower, your servant, and your friend.

But have I been transfigured by the mountaintop?

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 17:1-9, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Transfiguration Sunday.

The image is “Studies for the Transfiguration” by Raphael (Raffaello Sanzio da Urbin) ca. 1519 – https://collections.ashmolean.org/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=96040396.

Redemption of the Rock

“But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them…” – Acts 2:14 

Has there been enough time to redeem me?

“You’re the Rock,” smiled Jesus. Oh, yes. I’m the rock.
Always first to reply, always first to be chided. They smirked,
those eleven, every time I was caught
being first to say things they were thinking in silence.

Can a month or two’s passage possibly remake me?

“You’re the Rock,” they have said since the day that he rose.
“You’re the first to have seen him” – I open my mouth
to remind them of Magdalene, then shut it again.
“You’re the Rock.” Well, at least we’re a dozen again.

I wonder what time could refashion a rock?

I told them my shame which the Teacher predicted.
How could I hide it? They’d heard, and they’d seen
the look on my face on that terrible morning
when the heart of the Rock was as brittle as flint.

Passover to Pentecost can’t be enough time.

They never have heard what the Teacher said to me
that glorious day when his death turned to life.
My flint heart had shattered, and molten, ran over.
What words could declare the forgiveness he gave?

But can I be reborn in these brief fifty days?

The wind rushes madly. Lights leap on our brows.
Only the Marys sit silent, serenely. We’re out in the street.
My God, we look drunk. I’m speaking a language I don’t think I’ve heard.
How can I explain what has happened to me?

Fifty days weren’t enough, but a moment transformed me.

Now they look to the thick one, the Rock, to say something.
I have no skill with words. I was trained to the net.
But Jesus stayed with me, and I recall some things.
I’ll start with this verse that he taught me from Joel.

I guess fifty days is enough to redeem.

A poem/prayer based on Acts 2:1-21, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year B, Pentecost Sunday.

The image is The Penitent Saint Peter by El Greco (between 1590 and 1595) – https://collection.sdmart.org/objects-1/info/1090, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=119297661. The eyes contain some of the apostle’s self-doubt which I’ve tried to express in this poem.