I grew up in Southern California, the land of eternal sunshine. So even after living in Washington, DC for over thirty years, whenever I see those nearly weightless, shining crystals floating through the cold, winter air, I get a little breathless. I stare at the magical beauty of fat, white flakes flying through a night sky illuminated by the streetlight just a few feet away from my bedroom window. I stand transfixed at my kitchen door, watching as familiar streets and houses are transformed by a brilliant, white layer that softens harsh angles into gentle, flowing curves. As I venture outdoors in my warmest coat, boots, and gloves, I listen for the now-familiar crunch as my feet break through the thin crust, leaving a trail of footprints in the pristine carpet. I marvel at the way slender tree branches and telephone wires gracefully carry their bright loads of frozen fluff, even as I am aware that physics can explain how it all works.
I imagine that my reaction to the everyday miracles of frozen water and load-bearing catenary curves is something like what Peter, James, and John must have felt when they saw Jesus glowing like the noonday sun.* They had been hiking up a mountain all morning so maybe they were dehydrated. Or maybe they had a little altitude sickness and were hallucinating. Or maybe Jesus was just standing between them and the sun, and was so brilliantly backlit in the thin air that he disappeared into glare. Or maybe they were given a vision of a reality beyond the everyday that cannot be explained by physics or psychology. Whatever the explanation, something special was revealed to the disciples. And Peter, at least, wanted to hang onto it by building little houses for Jesus, Elijah, and Moses to stay in.
Peter’s outburst is dismissed by the narrator as the foolish rambling of someone who was so overcome that he didn’t know what to say. Like Peter, I want that transient moment of revealed glory to last forever. But Jesus, in his wisdom, knows that we cannot keep holding our breath indefinitely. He takes us back down the mountain into the rich atmosphere of everyday life, where snow that stays around too long hardens into treacherous ice or turns into ugly, grey slush before it vanishes. With the disciples, we are left with only the memory of breathless wonder and the yearning to tell someone about what was revealed.
–Deborah Sokolove, Seekers Church
- What ordinary thing takes your breath away every time you see it?
- When have you been so moved or excited by an experience that you wanted share it with someone else?
- When have you tried to hang onto a special moment or feeling for too long?
