The Transfiguration

Everywhere we went, whether it was a small town or city, there had been a familiar pattern. Now that we were in the province of Perea, after the unsettling event in Bethabara and the tepid response of the its citizenry, we understood Jesus’ concern. Even travelers on the road gave us mixed reactions. While some of them treated Jesus with awe and respect, they also seemed afraid of him. It appeared as though growing bands of Pharisee, scribes, and temple agents were alerting townsfolk of the great heretic and blasphemer in our land. Though they should have known better than make light of this threat, Peter and Andrew tried dispelling his fears.

“Master, you worry too much,” Peter said with a wave of his hand. “They have no power over you. With one breath, you blew them away!”

“It’s true!” Andrew slapped his shoulder. “After your success, they’re afraid of you. What can anyone do against the Son of God?”

“You still don’t understand—none of you!” Jesus replied with great weariness. “Let’s take a break in this grove of trees.”

As we gathered under a massive oak tree, we made an upsetting discovery. Our snacks prepared by Esther were almost gone. There were only a few crusts of bread and a handful of moldy cheese left of our provisions. After checking our own packs for more food, Peter walked over to Jesus, who sat on the opposite side of the tree brooding, informing him of our dilemma.

Addressing all twelve of us, Jesus spoke strangely then. “You of little faith,” he appeared to scold us, “why are you worried about having no bread? Do you still not comprehend? Don’t you remember the five loaves for the five thousand and how many basketfuls you gathered? Or the seven loaves for the four thousand, and how many basketfuls you gathered?”

“We are greatly impressed by those feats!” Peter said defensively. “No one questions that, but the fact is, master, we’re hungry!”

“Yes, master.” Philip rubbed his stomach to make his point. “We have a long journey again!”

“Ho-ho,” Jesus face broke into mirth. “Peter, Andrew, Philip—I wasn’t talking about bread that you eat, but food for thought. Don’t underestimate the yeast of those Pharisees, scribes, and temple agents. The yeast, which poisons the bread, can turn the people against us.” “If you say something over and over again,” he tried a different tact, “many people will believe it. Why do you think Satan is afoot? He has willing allies and unsuspecting cohorts, who serve his ends.”

The overwhelming strain of his ministry was taking its toll. For the first time I could remember, Jesus was beset by fear. We understood the crux of his words now (‘don’t underestimate our enemies’), but, after the way he had handled them so far, we had become, in Jesus’ eyes, overly confident and too complacent.

After his short lecture, Jesus asked Peter to gather together the remnants of our food. We knew what was coming next and quickly presented him with a pack half filled with pieces of bread and scraps of cheese.

“No,” he waved impatiently, “give me all the packs. Line them in a row under that big tree.”

“What about the first pack?” Peter gave him a dumbfounded look.

“Sprinkle its contents into each of the remaining twelve packs and set it at the end.” Jesus instructed.

Having done this chore, Peter backed away, and we stood there facing the oak. Jesus, who must have said a quiet prayer or at least ‘thought’ one in his mind, stood there staring into space. Soon, to our renewed astonishment, the thirteen packs were puffed up with food, almost bursting at the seams. This time we actually saw them grow fatter as we watched. Running to each of our packs, we opened them and found warm bread, fresh cheese, and even a few boiled fish. Almost as an afterthought in my haste, I remembered to hand Jesus his pack. After thanking our provider profusely, we began gobbling up our provisions. As if it was part of the same miracle, we discovered a spring bubbling from a nearby rock. Slacking our thirst, we filled our water skins and returned to the business of eating, until by late morning, we lie beneath the great tree surfeited, chatting about this marvelous event.

Jesus was still standing in the shade plunged into thought. Seldom have I seen him stand so still. He hadn’t touched the food in his pack nor slacked his thirst. A stream of light from the alms above him cast an eerie patter on his head and clothes.

“What’s he doing now?” Judas scowled.

“He’s listening to God,” I looked at him in disbelief. “What else?”

“Jesus doesn’t need to pray,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’ve watched him. He just says the word and it happens!”

“Judas,” Peter took him to task, “you can’t be serious! Jesus isn’t like that. That’s not how it works. Does a son not listen to his father? Get it through your thick skull: he’s God’s Son!”

“You knows better than this,” accused James. “Jesus isn’t a sorcerer. If he causes something to happen without praying it’s no better than magic. He doesn’t use magic. Everything he does is guided by God.”

Jesus opened his eyes and turned to Peter and James. “That was very good. Both of you understand the importance of prayer. Of course I pray for things, but when my Father tells me to do something, it will happen regardless of whether I pray or not.”

“See?” Judas grinned at them. “What did I tell you?”

Jesus gave him a sad smile. “This time, Judas, your half right. It’s true God performs miracles without prayer. Witness the parting of the Red Sea, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, and countless acts in our scrolls of divine intervention. It’s also true that I pray for each miracle, however small. So, for our purposes, Peter and James are more correct. Prayer can be long and windy and sometimes only a few words inside the head, but without it we don’t have God’s ear.”

“God’s ear?” Matthew muttered reflectively. “There’s a poetry to that. Are we also not all motes in God’s eye?”

“You have said it!” Jesus said to Matthew. “Aptly stated Matthew! Motes in the divine wind, as Peter called it, blown by the breath of the Lord.”

Matthew and Peter nodded their heads, deeply moved. In a most poetic fashion, as was his custom, Jesus had defined our roles in the Lord’s plan. We were, I understand now, not merely herders, farmers, and harvesters; we were motes in God’s eye, blown our separate ways by the Lord’s breath: the divine wind. Perhaps deliberately Jesus had, in the last instance, used the title Lord, the Promised One and Savior, instead of God. God had set matters in motion as the Creator and Lord of the old order and His Son had taken over as the savior of the new. After the resurrection, which we couldn’t have imagined at that point in time, the title Lord would encompass God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. Before that time, after Jesus’ revelation, though we wouldn’t admit it to each other, he apparently had the power, without prayer, to perform miracles. Considering some of Jesus’ spur of the moment marvels, therefore, Judas was only reporting what he had seen. Several times I found it difficult to see Jesus lips move the moment before a miracle was performed. Jesus had explained the benefits of praying inside one’s head to his brothers and sisters when he was just a youth, something I’m certain the other men had figured out by now, but there were times, such as those instances when a spring suddenly appeared during our travels or those times when a column of dust attacked Barabbas’ gang and those Pharisees in Bethabara, when it seemed Jesus simply made it happen.

Despite the fact that Judas’ heart was in the right place most of the time, it was his mind that worried us now. Whether he was mentally addled or, as some of the men suggested, possessed, Jude wasn’t right in the head. I wanted to trust Jesus’ judgment about keeping him in our group, but I found myself once more questioning his decision. The temptation grew in me again to let him wander off if the occasion arose. He seemed to drift further and further back at times, as if a voice in him was trying to detour his path…. Another important question I asked myself was ‘what voice was Judas listening to—God or Satan?’

******

Something happened on the road to Jericho that made me question Jesus again. This time most of the disciples joined me in my concern. As we approached a mountain in Perea, Jesus halted and, in accord with his growing pattern of eccentricity, stood there motionless as if not sure whether to proceed.

“Are you all right, Jesus?” I called from the rear of the procession.

“He’s doing it again,” remarked Judas. “He’s listening to God.”

“Master?” John reached out. “What is God saying?”

“He’s saying,” Jesus responded as if in a trance, “Peter, James, and John shall go with me to the mountain.”

“What mountain?” asked our brother. “…. Which James do you mean?”

“That mountain up ahead,” Jesus moved like a sleepwalker. “James son of Thaddeus

will go!”

“Which James?” I muttered in disbelief. “Why only them?”

“God has spoken!” replied Jesus.

“But we are twelve, not three,” James protested. “Why can’t we all go? Are you certain you have God’s ear!”

“You mustn’t question my Father,” Jesus chided us, “I know you feel left out, my brothers, but this is what He said!”

“It doesn’t make sense!” I grumbled. “Why are they chosen? You’ve always been partial to them. I just don’t understand!”

“Calm down, my friends, keep your heads,” Bartholomew said, climbing off his mule. “Blame God if you dare, not Jesus. We don’t know his mind.”

“Yes,” Simon heaved a sigh. “Andrew and Philip are fishermen and they were left out,

too.”

I found Bartholomew’s sudden piety irritating. Andrew and Philip, who must also have felt slighted, stood in stony silence. Matthew, Thomas, and Judas, who had accepted their role as outsiders better than James, Simon, or myself, however, shrugged it off as one more detour off the road. That moment Jesus led Peter, James, and John—his innermost circle—up the rocky peak. We would learn later exactly what happened. Peter tried being humble about his experience, but, after that day, James and John would be puffed up by the event. The very nature of the experience inspired them to nickname themselves the Sons of Thunder. In deed, as the remainder of us looked up at the peak, we saw lightning flashes and heard the rumble of God’s breath. Jesus wouldn’t talk about it and, I would learn later, instructed the three witnesses not to talk about it until he was raised from the dead. According to Peter, after the resurrection, Jesus was transfigured before the three witnesses (a concept difficult for him to describe). Jesus’ face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light. When he faced the witnesses, Moses and Elijah appeared on each side of him. Though they chatted with Jesus, what they said to him wasn’t heard by Peter, James, and John. The three witnesses saw a bright cloud over Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, and heard a booming voice, saying, “This is my Son, whom I love, and I’m well pleased! Startled, the witnesses fell facedown on the ground, until Jesus touched them and told them not to be afraid. Peter recalled looking up and seeing only Jesus, as he was before. As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus instructed them not to tell anyone, even the other disciples, about what they had seen, until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead. I could make no sense out of some of the things Peter said following those dark times, until years later when I began writing down my thoughts. During the remainder of Jesus’ ministry, I resented the exclusiveness of Peter, James’, and John’s position. They had seen a mind-boggling event. The awesome truth they witnessed made them seem like a sleepwalkers, awakening from a dream.

For the remainder of us, however, what happened on the mountain remained a secret. As a result of Peter, John, and James witnessing Jesus transfiguration, a third division occurred among Jesus’ disciples. Now it seemed to the majority of us that there was an innermost circle, followed by the remaining fishermen, and then, last in line, the outsiders: Matthew, Simon, Bartholomew, Thomas, James, Judas, and me. As we drew closer to the finale, this would change, of course, but that day, out of earshot of Jesus, I discussed this disparity with my group and found unanimous agreement. Questions plagued us: Why had Jesus picked only Peter, John, and his brother? …. Why would God play favorites? …. Why didn’t he choose all of the twelve? We should all have been invited to the summit, and yet not even Jesus own brothers were allowed to attend, and to add insult to injury, the three witnesses were forbidden to even tell us about the event. Just what had happened up there that made Peter, John, and his brother so special? All of this would one day be explained to us, but until that day came, our resentment lingered.

Despite my own feelings, this whole matter was harder on James. Already his sensitivities had made him cringe at the implications of Jesus’ godhood, and now, with this new, secret dimension of Jesus added to the picture, it definitely appeared as though there were two gods. Judas, of course, given his perception of the Messiah, ridiculed the whole business. This wasn’t what he had in mind at all. Matthew, Simon, Thomas, and Bartholomew had always felt like outsiders, but it wasn’t quite the same for James and me. Jesus was our brother, and we had known him all our lives. Like James and I, Andrew and Philip, who were among Jesus first disciples, should have expected preferential treatment, but, like the rest of us, felt like outsiders, too. Dropping back on the road, as Jesus and the three witnesses walked on ahead, Andrew and Philip joined the discussion in progress. That very moment, we were listening to Judas rant about the unfairness of it all. He was the least deserving to be in the innermost circle, and yet his views mirrored our own.

It was, as usual, Judas’ tone that seemed imprudent, considering the importance of the event. As Jesus had instructed all of us when we went out on our own missions, it was not just what you said but how you said it. Instead of just being concerned like the rest of us, Judas sounded angry, glaring fiercely at Jesus and the three witnesses. As I write this down, I still wonder why Judas was so intractable. It seemed that the transfiguration was for Judas Iscariot the final straw. That hour, though, as we listened to him rant, we were certain he was just unbalanced. All the signs were there: frowning or giggling at inappropriate times, constantly misspeaking, and holding preposterous views. How could we fathom the dark spirit indwelling in his mind?

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