Some Bible stories just cry out for more information. What in the world was really going on in today's gospel text? Jesus and his clothes glowing? And if there really were two other guys present, how did the witnesses know they were Moses and Elijah? They'd been dead for 500 and a thousand years. Name tags? "Hi, my name is Moses." How much of this are we supposed to believe?

More to the point: what are we supposed to believe? There are many ways to explain "what" happened in today's story. Mystics are rumored to have illuminated faces during transcendent states. Do they really, and if they do, does that prove today's story about Jesus or not? Scholars wonder if the transfiguration is a misplaced resurrection story. Scientific types, wondering about how it could really happen, suggest Jesus was radioactive and the other two figures were radiation burns to the retinas of the disciples. But you know, I don't think we are supposed to "explain" this story. Right now, my suggestion is that you just let "what" happened at the transfiguration remain a mystery and get right to asking what the story means.

The first thing we've got to do is define the story's title. Transfiguration. The Greek word for what was going on has to do with metamorphosis, and that puts it in perspective. How believable is it to see a worm spin itself into an nondescript knot of threads that sits around for weeks, only to have that knot split open and the worm emerge as something wings? Bug scientists can describe the process that is taking place, but nothing can really "explain" the mystery of that change. Nothing can prepare us for the mystery and miracle of the caterpillar-into-butterfly. So it is with Jesus on the mountain of transfiguration. We can apply doctrines and theologies, we can talk about what it "means" to the church that Jesus met Moses (the law) and Elijah (the prophets) on the mountain and that three guys witnessed what was going on, but in the end, we are still left with a mystery. In the end, we dare not "explain" what happened on that mountain.

Have you ever been to a place that just felt sacred? One of my colleagues told about taking an elderly Cuban lady up on Mount Hood when she visited our presbytery. Cuba has tall hills, but nothing like the Cascades. When Elsa got out of the car at 8,000 feet she had to be held up for the very shock and awe of what she was experiencing.

Another of my colleagues says that if Presbyterians go to hell for any reason, it will be for their teaching about the transcendence of God-or did she say immanence? I can never remember. Whichever, they are fancy words to mean the closeness or distance of God. Immanence means the closeness of God. It's what my grama said when I was little-Jesus was as close to me as my own heart. Transcendence is the distance of God. Not just the physical far-away-ness of God in heaven, but the tremendous "not-like-us"-ness of God, the holiness and terror of God. The cloud and devouring fire on the mountain before the assembled body of Israel that we read about in Exodus. The God so immensely beyond us that any uninvited human or animal touching the mountain drops dead on the spot. That is transcendence. Despite what my friend says, Presbyterians understand God as both beyond us and our comprehension-and as close as the whisper of our heartbeat in our own ears. Both of those are what the transfiguration is pointing to.

I once heard that country singer Loretta Lynn was chided for calling her long-time friends President and Mrs. Carter by their names, "Jimmy" and "Rosalyn." She defended herself by saying that she calls Jesus by his first name. There is some truth to that, but what we have to understand is that if we only concentrate on the immanence of God-using God's first name only-we are diminishing ourselves, not God. We need a God of holiness and awe in order for us to be fully human.

The clue to the meaning of this transfiguration story lies in what happens after the vision. The three witnesses had been handling things pretty well up to this point, making arrangements for housing and the souvenir concession stands. Peter's plan is interrupted by the Voice, which scares the liver out of all three. Appropriately, they fall to the ground in shock and terror. When they come to, they see "only Jesus." Moses (the law) and Elijah (the prophets) are gone. "Only Jesus" is left. Now we know who is authoritative, whose salvation story plotline takes over from this point.

Jesus gives them a course of action after the mountain top experience. "Don't tell," he says. Don't tell? The three disciples have just recognized a thousand-year-old dead man, Jesus has been too dazzling to look at, they are blasted to the ground by the Voice of God, and Jesus says, "Don't tell."

They are the elite invitation-only group to witness one of God's top secrets, and they are told to zip it. God had just told them, "listen to him," so you can be pretty sure they kept it zipped. But why? Why not tell until after the resurrection? You should have been here last week. Jesus knew that, despite what he'd been teaching his disciples, they still did not understand what "sort" of Messiah he was. They were still waiting for the Royal Savior. They were still waiting for the Messiah who would protect their interests and guard their standard of living. God had another Messiah in mind.

This goes for us, too, friends. Humans cannot begin to understand Jesus as the Son of God without some divine help. Left to our own devices, we still cling to the idea of the God-in-a-Box Royal Savior, the God who protects us at the expense of others, the God who liberates us and doesn't convict us of our oppressions of others. On our own, we prefer the Easter God, the one who is alive and never suffers, because then we don't have to suffer, then we don't have to face our failings or the suffering of others. We can just write a check, put something in the offering plate, but not actually have to get our hands dirty. "Listen to him." As the Voice claims Jesus as Beloved Son, it also affirms being pleased with Jesus.

Then, "Listen to him." The point of the Transfiguration is not "what" happens, but what it calls us to do. We're like the disciples, after all, but "Don't tell!" no longer applies. We have already experienced the suffering, death, and resurrection of the Transfigured One. If today's story were about God magically causing salvation-writing a check on the divine account at heaven's branch bank to pay for our sin-then today's story would make no requirements of us. This story is not about what we get out of it. Even Peter didn't get to pitch a tent to preserve the moment. "Listen to him!" This story is about what it requires us to do, which is why we read it with the Exodus lesson. Moses went up the mountain to receive what our children call "the ten best ways to live," God's plan for how to get along with each other, how to live our faith in daily life, the Ten Commandments. They are about the righteousness of God and about how we can learn to act in righteousness like God. "Don't tell" no longer applies. "Listen to him!" still does. This story still makes requirements of us. Today, as you pass the communion elements to each other, as you look into the face of the person who hands you the bread, the person to whom you pass the cup, know that you are holding the body of Christ. Know that you are the body of Christ. What does that require you to do?