March 2, 2025

Exodus 34:29-35; Luke 9:28-36

When Aaron and all the Israelites saw Moses, the skin of his face was shining, and they were afraid to come near him.

Moses had been atop Mount Sinai speaking with God. The mountain was sacred because it shone with divine light and Moses had climbed up into that light. He comes down resplendent, much like the shining white garments of angels mentioned in other passages of the Bible.

The word is translated here as “shining.” The Hebrew word is qaran and historic attempts to translate it have caused confusion. The word is only used here this one time. Therefore, there is no ready means for assessing its meaning beyond the context, so people have taken a stab at it over the centuries. One meaning is to send out rays of light, like the light of the sun piercing through the clouds.

A second less credible translation of the word is to bear horns, like the horns of a goat or a ram. This mistranslation appeared in the Vulgate, a Latin translation of the Bible in the fourth century prepared by Saint Jerome. This led to artistic depictions of Moses with horns on his head, such as famously on a statue by Michelangelo. This translation was a stretch, even in the days of Jerome, whose Ancient Hebrew was spotty at times. And yet this translation has historically been used as an excuse for some Christians to depict Jews as devilish in nature. I wish that were only an historical footnote.

The image of light shining from a god or some other divine presence was common in this era. This would have been a familiar idea because light had, and has, a holy connotation, with “Let there be light” being the first proclamation about God’s creations. We will see this in the weeks to come when a man in white is seen by the tomb of Jesus. The white color is more than a fashion choice—it represents brightness like a flash of lightning, marking the wearer as someone connected to God.

In the case of Moses, he has spent weeks communing with God, setting down the tablets bearing the Ten Commandments. We might speculate as to whether Moses had absorbed the light of God or if he had become a channel for it. This event is then echoed in our Gospel reading:

And while [Jesus] was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became as bright as a flash of lightning. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking about his exodus, which he was about to fulfill in Jerusalem.

Jesus’ face changed and his clothes flashed like lightning, like both the description of Moses and accounts of other angelic messengers. Then we see Moses and Elijah, two prophets who each had extended personal contact with God. They are also glowing with light. The phrase here is “appeared in glory.” Glory can mean many things, but in this context, it likely means shining with rays of light. These three figures are directly reflecting the light of God.

Today is known as Transfiguration Sunday. To be transfigured is just as we have been describing, someone shining with the light of God. They have not been changed in any way, again undercutting that image of Moses with horns. This is not about transformation, a physical alteration. The person transfigured has become a conduit for the light of God.

Most other prophets in the Bible were not transfigured, even though a prophet is said to speak for God. These three men in particular were each prophets, but they were also bathed in the presence of God. And beyond just speaking on behalf of God, they served as a gateway of sorts from and to God.

Godly people we find in the Bible have various titles. Again, there were the prophets who spoke on behalf of God. They had a specific role to play, and jobs to perform, often in light of some pressing need in the community. God’s words were necessary, either as a reminder of what to do and not do, or there might have been some new lesson to be followed. Moses and the commandments are an example of that.

After the time of Moses and the Book of Exodus, a new group of leaders would come into being. These were the so-called judges. These were military leaders who rose up in times of crisis. They would be looked to when some existential threat appeared, like looming war with the Philistines or some other enemy of the Israelites. That role was conditional. You would not always be a judge, meaning a war-time general leading the unified armies of the Twelve Tribes of Israel. You might then fade back into a less celebrated role because the crisis had passed.

This seems like the story of Cincinnatus, a Roman leader, who famously retired from public life to be a simple farmer. When Rome was threatened, however, Cincinnatus was called back into service. He quickly achieved victory and then just as quickly relinquished the reins of absolute power. This story became a shining example of Roman civic virtue, as one should rise up to serve without regard for selfish desires. Sadly, this story seems to be more of a fairy tale than a life lesson at our moment in history.

So, in the Bible, we have the prophets, and we have the judges. They would coexist at times, one being the word of God and the other being the shield of God. You might also say the sword of God, for the judges were not always focused on merely defending. Some prophets were judges as well, such as Moses himself.

There was also one woman who was both a prophet and a judge, Deborah. She was called a “woman of Lappidoth” which has been translated as the name of her husband. However, it could also mean literally a “woman of lightning.” I must confess to being partial to the “woman of lightning” idea. It is reminiscent of these various figures shining forth with the light of God.

In time, the age of judges would come to an end. The people of Israel decided that they needed a king like all the other kids on the block. And I do not mean that jokingly—it does seem that this was a desire to be considered a larger player in the region able to compete with all the other kingdoms.

Bear in mind that historically the Israelites were nomadic tribes that did not plant farms or build cities. They travelled from place to place and lived in tents as wandering people. Even the tabernacle of the Ark of the Covenant was a literal tent that would be disassembled and moved around frequently long before the Temple in Jerusalem was built.

The last of the judges was named Samuel. He was also a prophet, and he bluntly told the Israelites that having a king was a terrible idea. They persisted in that desire, however, and God told Samuel that he should comply with their request. Not because it was a good idea, mind you. God told Samuel that the people’s desire for a king was evidence that they were rejecting God.

Let me say that again–the desire to have a king meant that the people were rejecting God. It meant that they no longer had faith in God and that they were placing their faith in a king, meaning something other than God. That is what God thought. It is in 1 Samuel 8 if you care to look it up.

And so, the age of Israelite kings came about, and it was a mixed bag, to put it mildly. Saul, the first king, was replaced by David after the very brief kingship of dear old King Eshbaal. Not a frequent flyer in Sunday school lessons, Eshbaal.

And, of course, David had a few issues. Issues such as desiring so-to-be Queen Bathsheba who happened to already be married to a loyal man named Uriah the Hittite. That did not end well. Uriah died in a pointless battle, as staged by David. The pregnant Bathsheba lost her child. And David was denounced by the prophet Nathan.

A rather chaotic period of civil war follows David’s troublesome reign, with Solomon rising to the top. Solomon seems to have been, on the surface, mostly successful. He was renowned for being extremely rich and wise, representing the height of Ancient Israel’s influence.

Solomon also had 700 wives and another 300 concubines. Many of these were foreigners and were often blamed for the introduction of polytheistic religious influences into the Kingdom of Israel. There is no way of knowing if that is entirely true, because all the historic accounts were written down by priests several centuries later and they had a clear agenda to justify their control of everything religious.

There was to be only one more king of a unified Israel. King Rehoboam reigned for 17 years but his rule was greatly diminished when ten of the Twelve Tribes rebelled and split away from the southern remnant of the country. Solomon had raised taxes significantly to build the First Temple, a grand structure of great opulence that God at no point in time requested. And Rehoboam doubled down on such taxes and ruled with a heavy hand because he thought that was what one needed to do. Again, the desire to keep up with the Joneses in the Biblical world seems to have been at the root of some expensive decision-making and misguided notions of leadership. Remember that God flatly stated that having a king was a bad idea.

The Kingdom of Israel broke into two, the Northern Kingdom of Israel and the Southern Kingdom of Judah containing Jerusalem. The two nations squabbled for a while and even fought one another. Both of those little kingdoms eventually fall, conquered by the big empires of the time, first the north then the south. And there would be no Israel as an independent, self-governed nation until 1948, after about 2500 years.

The people still wanted a king, though. That desire did not change even as there was no country to be ruled over. But kings had not been working out for them. And this is where I will slip into some historical speculation.

Previously, there had been the judges, military leaders who helped the people fight off enemies and kept them independent. Bearing in mind that it was easier to remain independent as travelling bands of nomads leading flocks hither and yon than it was to defend cities like Jerusalem. Listen to God next time.

But the idea of judges endured. I think that ancient idea transformed over time into an image of a liberator, someone sent by God to free the people from their oppressors. And the term for such a liberator is quite familiar to us. It is familiar not because we understand its original meaning but because we know someone who has been given that title. And the title is messiah.

Jesus is the Messiah. When we refer to him as Jesus Christ, we are simply using the Greek and Latin words for messiah, Khristos and Christus. But one confusing aspect of this word is what we mean by saying Jesus was the Messiah differs from the meaning of the word “messiah” from the Second Temple period.

I say Second Temple very specifically because you cannot say “Judaism” in this context with any meaningfully modern accuracy. Bear in mind that the religion of Abraham looked nothing like the religion of Moses which looked nothing like the religion of Solomon. Therefore, Judaism in this moment does not look like the Judaism we might recognize in our neighborhoods, even if the same words are used.

The word “messiah” does not mean the Messiah, or Christ, as Christians might understand it, assuming various Christians completely agree on that subject. The messiah that the people of Judah were expecting was someone, like a Biblical judge, who would overthrow their oppressors and allow them to practice their religion freely.

That did not necessarily mean rule over themselves. The King of Persia was deemed a messiah because he freed the Judeans from the Babylonians. He allowed their return home, a home that Persia would rule over.

Eventually the Romans take over. And the Romans generally did not care about local religious practices. They gave the people of Judea a degree of religious control. But the Romans did not like to be questioned—what empire does? And they expected their heavy-handed taxes to keep on rolling in. And so, the people wanted a messiah to come and save them, perhaps both religiously and financially.

Jesus is called the Messiah. He has also been called a prophet, a priest, and a king. I have mentioned all these roles this morning and each role had a specific meaning to the people alive in the time of Jesus.

Prophets were historic figures who spoke on behalf of God and were featured in the scriptures. Malachi might be called the last prophet, and his book is dated to five hundred years before Jesus.

Kings were even more historically remote. No new king had arisen since the Babylonians took over centuries before. And note that King Herod was never in the running, having been appointed to his role by the Romans. So, kings were more legendary than familiar.

Then there were the priests, the men who ran the Temple and guided the people of Judea religiously. They were everyday figures who were not entirely popular or thought well of. They asked for lots of money, imposed strict rules, and seemed to be happy to collaborate with the Romans as the only local authority.

So, the title messiah held out the most hope for the people. Someone like the king of Persia might swoop in and save them by kicking out the Romans.

Jesus was called the Messiah and that term has developed a specific meaning to Christians. However, he was not a messiah, lower case. meaning the liberator of the people who did so through flexing his military power. Not like one of the judges, someone who would seize control from an oppressing empire. Jesus was not a messiah meaning someone who would take earthly control as a king like David.

And you might ask, why was Jesus not a man of worldly power? Why was he not like a general tasked with saving his people from some enemy? Why would the Son of God not have had the power, or have used that power, to throw out the Romans? Why did Jesus not lead the people in the world as a right and proper king?

That was exactly what the disciples wanted him to do. It was probably the reason Judas betrayed him because Jesus was not going to save the people in the way Judas had expected. So why not?

I can only speculate, of course. I can only offer to you my interpretation of texts that are thousands of years old and that have been poured over with a fine-tooth comb by countless theologians and writers. But here goes.

In our passages this morning, Moses and Jesus were transfigured by the light of God. The holy light from God that we might say was the very first thing ever created. We might assume that this light shines forth into the world all the time, but we generally do not see people who shine with its light.

We do not have people Moses or Jesus walking around emitting such light. But that lack of light is not because the light is no longer there. I think there is another reason we sit in relative darkness.

Human beings are standing in the way of the light. They are blocking the light. We are blocking the light.

And kings completely block out that light. Because they are kings. Because they care about their power and their prejudices like each of the kings of Israel who wanted more to do with women and wealth than they did with what the people needed or what God wanted. Again, because placing your trust in kings means you are rejecting God and bowing down before a graven image of worldly power.

Light is a metaphor for the presence of God in our lives, but I think the idea of light works well as a core image. If we think of God like the sun, shining down upon everyone, we can imagine any number of things blocking that light. There are clouds in the sky, there are buildings casting shadows.

Even if the sun shines endlessly, the earth itself stands between us and the sun about half of the time–we call that night. And night itself is not a bad thing, because we can take time away from the chores of daylight. We can rest. We can sleep.

But each of us in a way can stand between the light of God and others. That same light passed through Moses and Jesus. We can speculate about the special nature of those men, but we might also wonder about how we might at times block the light of God.

Do we allow such light to pass through ourselves into the world? Like a king, are we more focused on our desires of power or wealth or whatever than the expectations of God?

 

What if instead of being a wall blocking the light, we were instead a prism. Like how the light sparkles through a window, leaving a spray of rainbow-colored lights across a room.

That light of God represents the presence of God, like Moses up on the mountain. And that light of God can be thought of as the love of God entering the world. But it can only get there through us. Through each of us. The light passes through us, and we in turn filter it through the ways we present ourselves to the world.

We might do it through kindness. We might do it through laughter. We might do it through good deeds. No, we do not see the light of God beaming off our faces like Jesus, which honestly would probably freak me out.

But if we allow the presence of God into us, and we then allow the love of God to pass on through, we are in a real sense allowing ourselves to be transfigured in the same way. Because we are taking in the light, and we are passing it onto those we come across in this life.

Again, I am speculating about a lot this morning. I am taking stories about the light of God and extending the metaphor into the present. But when I think about these Biblical ideas about prophets and judges, kings and messiahs, I do not find them to be particularly helpful for us to understand what we should be doing in this life. The words become shiny objects we pass around without understanding what they mean. They distance us from a practical sense of the light of God, the love of God, we might find in our lives.

And if we do not always feel that light, that love, of God it may be because we have been standing in the way of it. We have sealed ourselves away from it. Being open to the light might make us uncomfortable because it comes with an expectation that we pass it on. That we not stand in its way. But that we are instead serve as a gateway it may pass through.

And when we allow the light in, when we allow it to shine forth upon others, that is when we not only will see the light shine upon others, but we will feel that light in our bones like a warm summer’s day. That does not mean getting out of the way of the light, but instead taking even more of that light into us.

It is hard to describe. But you will know it when you feel it. When someone thanks you for your kindness. When someone is lifted up by simple words of appreciation or praise. When it is not so much about me and more about them. It is then that we might feel it.

The light of God passing through our hearts and minds and souls. The light of God shining into us and eventually through us. Amen.