Climb Every Mountain
“I don’t want to do it.”
How often have we muttered that phrase, either silently to ourselves (over-and-over) or even out loud to anyone who will listen?
I don’t want to move. Begin a new job. Go to the doctor’s appointment. Put Mom in a care facility. Tell my best friend she’s heading down the wrong path. The list could be endless.
We often have many “I don’t want to do it” moments, don’t we?
For some reason this thought struck me as I reflected upon this all-too-familiar Gospel of the Transfiguration of Jesus. Most homilies I have both heard and preached myself have focused either on Jesus’ divine appearance on that mountaintop or Peter’s bumbling attempt to build tents to honor the Lord and his two Old Testament visitors. There are, admittedly, many angles and hidden gems upon which to preach in this account of the glory of God.
But here’s something I never thought of until now: what were the three disciples feeling as they began the trek up the mountain that day?
Let’s face it: Peter, James and John knew something was up. Jesus had pulled them aside before and allowed them to see some pretty incredible things apart from the other apostles, most especially the resurrection of a little girl thought to be dead.
Now, here they are again, apart from the others and asked to climb a high mountain by themselves. Imagine the questions, especially from the always-vociferous Peter: “Why are we here? What’s about to happen? What’s this all about, Jesus?”
Perhaps at some point, this very thought also ran through the minds of the three climbers: “I don’t want to do this. I don’t know if I can make it any farther. I’m scared and I am tired.”
And all during the climb heavenward, Jesus uttered not a word.
I don’t know about you, but I can relate to this moment …
How many times has life seemed like a journey uphill weighed down with anxiety and uncertainty, fear and baggage that we don’t know what to do with?
How many times does it seem as though we have been asked to follow the Lord to an unknown place while he remains silent on that climb?
How many times have we been asked to share in the same journey as Peter, James and John?
And yet, the more I have been asked to climb unknown high mountains in life, the more I realize that’s exactly what we are supposed to do as people of faith.
Yes, it would be easier to stay at the base of the mountain and remain safe, clean and near society’s creature comforts.
Sure, it would be normal to start a bit of the hike upwards and then decide: “I’m good here. I like this view. I need not go any farther.”
And yet, Jesus just keeps hiking – climbing rocks and moving above the tree-line. He’s still not saying anything.
Do I follow or not?
To be honest, most don’t. There have been times I haven’t. I have turned back around. Been stubborn and refused to climb. More often than not, I would hit a rock of sin or self-centeredness and then find myself rolling halfway back down the mountainside.
But Jesus just invites me – all of us -- to keep following … keep climbing.
The question then at this moment in time, this very moment for which we were created: are you willing to go where He is leading? Because if we do, we are promised an amazing vista. If we do, there will be a transfiguration moment for us, too.
I love pondering the thought that Jesus knew his three closest disciples had fears, doubts and worries on that climb, and in His incredible love for them, he let them share in this jaw-dropping, heart-burning, Peter-babbling moment of divine revelation. Jesus – their best friend and rabbi – shows himself to be God and Savior. The fullness of the Covenantal Promise. Everything for whom they sought.
Jesus on that mountaintop showed Himself as the Answer to every anxiety and doubt, especially after such a long climb. And for that moment, Peter, James and John no longer had to be afraid.
These same three climbers now say to us the very same thing: don’t give up. Keep climbing. Look for the transfiguration moments along the journey. They are all around us if we have the courage to keep our hearts open to seeking them.
In fact, I dare say that each time we gather here to celebrate Eucharist as a community, we are experiencing transfiguration of sorts: God reveals himself – in the fullness of his humanity and divinity – hidden so humbly in the host and the chalice.
On this mountain of the Liturgy in which we participate, we are transformed by the very Lord and Savior – the beloved Son of the Father – who tells us every time we come to receive Him: “Rise and be no longer afraid.”
Rise and be not afraid to face the fears and challenges. Rise and be not afraid to go deeper, seek healing, and ask for forgiveness. Rise and find me in the very mountain journeys you face. I am with you – especially when all seems silent and uncertain.
Rise … be not afraid … and then go.