A reflection on awakening, astonishment, and the quiet unfolding of perfection
Gospel Reading
Matthew 17:1-9
NRSV
“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 dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, ‘Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.’ While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!’ When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, ‘Get up and do not be afraid.’ And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, ‘Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.’”
When I sit with the story of the Transfiguration, I am struck by how naturally the disciples were taken back by what unfolded before them. They followed Jesus up the mountain expecting prayer, quiet, perhaps another teaching — yet suddenly they found themselves standing in a moment where the thin veil between life and death opened. Jesus shone with a radiance not of this world, and Moses Elijah appeared beside Him, alive, present, conversing. The disciples recognised them instinctively, even though they belonged to another realm. Their astonishment was honest; they lived in a world shaped by ordinary perception, while Jesus lived in unbroken awareness of God’s presence. They could not fully appreciate what was happening, yet Jesus wanted them to experience what He was experiencing — the continuity of life, the nearness of the kingdom, the beauty of existence beyond the surface. He asked them to keep it to themselves because revelation needs time to settle. Their own perfection, their own value, would unfold slowly. And when we meet our lives with gratitude, the same veil narrows, and we begin to see the wonder of God’s creation shining in the present moment, just as it did on that mountain long ago.
The Veil Few Will Ever See
A reflection on the loneliness of spiritual perception
When I reflect even further on this Gospel reading, I am confronted by a difficult truth: most people will never experience what Jesus invited His disciples to see on that mountain. The thin veil between life as we know it and life in the realm beyond death is not something many are willing to acknowledge, let alone recognise. The disciples were startled because they were suddenly exposed to a reality far deeper than ordinary perception. And in my own life, whenever I speak of experiences that resemble this unveiling, I am often overlooked, dismissed, or treated as irrelevant. People who surround my existence — even those of religious standing — can refuse to believe that such moments of clarity, such thinning of the veil, can still occur in our present age. Yet the scripture itself reflects this truth: only a few will ever see, only a few will ever recognise, and acceptance of this phenomenon is not something that comes easily in any generation. The Transfiguration stands as a reminder that spiritual perception is rare, often misunderstood, and quietly held by those who have been invited to see beyond the surface of life.