The wonder and glory of the Transfiguration wasn’t meant to just stay on the mountain. Our own mountaintop encounters with God restore our spirits and carry us through the valleys.
Vicar Erik C. Nelson
February 15, 2026
Texts: Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 2; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9
Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
The first time I ever preached in public was for Transfiguration Sunday in 2018. I was a youth worker at a church in Jamestown, North Dakota, and I think my pastor wanted Super Bowl Sunday off.
My sermon was 37 minutes and kind of wandered all over. There are things in that sermon that I probably wouldn’t preach today, but there’s one thing I stand by: this mountaintop story is not about the mountaintop.
It is about a moment of encounter with the divine, how we respond to it, and what God invites us to in the time after.
I can only imagine what the disciples were thinking in the moment of the Transfiguration, when earth melts away and the curtain between heaven and earth is ripped open.
In this unbelievable moment, Peter, James, and John fall to the ground in fear. I wonder if they were thinking about the God described in today’s Psalm, the one that demands you submit with fear and bow with trembling. I wonder if Peter was regretting his attempt to fill the silence.
I wonder if they were thinking about the impossible things Jesus had already told them… “If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also;” “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” “Take up your cross and follow me.”
Even so, the voice from heaven tells them, and us, to listen to Jesus. And like the disciples, we can be scared when we hear that, when we consider how high the stakes really are. When we follow Jesus, we follow him to a cross.
But we’re not alone in it.
After this voice proclaims, “listen to him!” Jesus could have followed that up with his own commands. A normal ruler would have told them to do something or serve him in some way.
But instead, he doesn’t speak. He comes over to them, touches them with love and care, bringing them back into their bodies, into the moment. And then he says to them, “Get up and do not be afraid.”
This is Jesus’ word for us today as well. Get up and do not be afraid. When he tells us not to be afraid, this isn’t just spiritual bypassing. These aren’t empty words telling you to get over what you’re feeling and move on.
This is Jesus reminding them and us that he is with them, so they really do have nothing to fear. This God of glory and majesty from our Psalm is with them, but doesn’t demand trembling submission. He comes to them in compassion and tenderness.
He is with them on the mountain. He comes to humanity in these celestial moments where heaven and earth come in direct contact. He is with us in our sacramental life.
He is also with the disciples as they go down the mountain. He remains with humanity in the everyday, not just in those moments of spiritual peak. He is with us as we leave this place, going out to serve our neighbors.
We need moments on the peak. We need experiences where God comes close to us in power and majesty.
And we also need moments down in the valleys. If we spent all day every day here, in this room, always in prayer and worship, who would pack boxes of groceries to deliver to our neighbors? Who would patrol the streets? Who would take the kids to school? Who would shovel the sidewalk? God is with us in our holy everyday moments.
Because we have these mountaintop experiences, we are able to go out and do all the other works God has prepared for us. When we hear Jesus say to us, “get up and do not be afraid,” when we have this reminder that he is here with us always, the other words he says maybe don’t seem so hard.
Because we know Jesus is with us, we are able to love our enemies. We’re able to pray for those who hate us. We hear him say, “blessed are the poor,” and we rise up to bless the poor. We hear him say, “blessed are those who mourn,” and we rise up to mourn with them.
The things that Jesus says, the life that he calls us into, those things are hard and costly and contrary to the way of the world, but we have these promises that we don’t do it alone.
These promises feel especially close this week, in the life of this congregation. Today, as we welcome new members to join us in this mission. Later this week, as we lay our sisters Marilyn and Rhoda to rest.
The God whose glory covered the mountain is the one who now holds Marilyn and Rhoda in love. The God who accompanied Peter, James, and John down the mountain is the one who guides us in our mission now.
God is heard in this booming voice from heaven. And God is seen in the compassionate person of Christ. This title Jesus uses for himself, the Son of Humanity, the Son of Man, is a reminder that he is truly one of us.
He’s not just far away, demanding perfect answers and constant fear and trembling. He comes close and reaches out to us in love.
At the end of my sermon eight years ago, I said, “And there’s no better, no dearer friend we can have than Jesus. He knows all things, he sees every trial, and He’s there to support us through it all. He’s with us when we feel like we’re on top of the world, and he’s with us when we feel like we’re in the lowest valleys.”
I stand by that. There is no dearer friend we can have than Jesus. Rhoda and Marilyn knew that in their lives on earth, and they experience the fullness of it now. And when we come to the table in a few minutes, we too will have a glimpse of that eternal feast.
Just like on that mountain, the glory of God will come to us in bread and wine, the body and blood of our Lord. Together with Peter, we can say, “Lord, it is good for us to be here.”
And then, when we leave, God will go with us.
Thanks be to God.
In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
