^{“There’s something about [the Transfiguration] that feels fitting for my first Sunday back from maternity leave. It’s a story about a strange, wonderful, kind of terrifying period of time in which the disciples see the glory of God– and then they have to go back to their everyday lives. In a lot of ways, that is what maternity leave feels like. Strange, wonderful, and kind of terrifying.”}

Sermon Preached: Sunday, August 10, 2025 at Trinity on the Green

Transfiguration (Transferred): Exodus 34:29-35 | 2 Peter 1:13-21 | Luke 9:28-36 | Psalm 99 or 99:5-9

Between the words that I speak and the words that are heard, may God’s spirit be present. Amen.

Today’s Gospel reading may be very familiar to you. We read it at least once a year, since this story of the Transfiguration, in which a few of the disciples go up on a mountaintop and see Jesus transformed, is always the last reading on the Sunday before Lent. We read this passage again today– for the second time on a Sunday this year– as we mark the feast of Transfiguration that takes place in early August.

There’s something about this story that feels fitting for my first Sunday back from maternity leave. It’s a story about a strange, wonderful, kind of terrifying period of time in which the disciples see the glory of God– and then they have to go back to their everyday lives. In a lot of ways, that is what maternity leave feels like. Strange, wonderful, and kind of terrifying. 

Let me elaborate on some of the ways that maternity leave and the Transfiguration are similar. 

First of all, it is a sleepy time. When Peter and his companions arrive at the top of the mountain they are weighed down with sleep– and doesn’t that feel familiar? How many parents of newborns are beset by sleepless nights, weighed down by sleep, struggling to stay awake. 

Secondly, both maternity leave and the Transfiguration involve experiences of profound beauty and revelation. When the disciples arrive at the mountaintop they are able to see Jesus as he truly is, in all his glory. They clearly recognize Jesus as the Son of God. It’s similar to the gift of maternity leave, which is the gift of looking down at a tiny newborn baby and realizing that this is a beautiful and precious thing. This is the image of God; what God chose to become, in sending Jesus into this world. As one of our own members, Bob Windom, reminded me in a note after my daughter was born: this is what the incarnation looks like. What an incredible revelation; a kind of mountaintop experience.

Third, and finally, there is another common thread between maternity leave and the Transfiguration. In both cases, these experiences cannot last forever. In the case of the Transfiguration, the disciples are quite literally scared off the mountain when a cloud overshadows them. It’s as if the clarity and intensity of the mountaintop isn’t compatible with their everyday human lives. It’s simply too overwhelming. Maternity leave also does not last forever– in part because there is only a certain number of weeks that are paid for, according to our laws here in the State of Connecticut and the policies of the Episcopal Church. And also, much like the Transfiguration, there is a part of this maternity leave experience that feels just a little too intense to sustain forever. The work of parenting can be all-encompassing, exhausting, and overwhelming. Finally, even those who might wish to stay on maternity leave forever, including those who take extra time without pay, or end up leaving their jobs– even those people can’t freeze time in place. That precious newborn phase only lasts so long. And then, just like the vision of Jesus on the mountaintop, it is gone. We head back down the mountain to our everyday lives, and are left with the task of seeing the divine in small glimpses, in different places, and in different phases of our journey.

This week, as I’ve been reflecting on the similarities between maternity leave and the Transfiguration, I’ve also been grappling more deeply with this question: why is it that the disciples can’t stay on the mountaintop forever? Why can’t they stay, when they so clearly want to? In the midst of their encounter Peter says to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” And yet, they don’t build those dwellings. They go back down the mountain, and don’t tell anyone about what they have seen. 

What is it that keeps the disciples from staying there forever?

Well, for one thing, the weather changes– as I’ve already mentioned. Clouds overshadow them, and suddenly the mountaintop becomes a less hospitable place. But surely it isn’t just the weather that prevents the disciples from staying. 

I think there is a more significant reason, and it is this: the disciples can’t stay there forever because the mountaintop isn’t big enough for everyone. What about the other 9 disciples, we might ask? What about all of the crowds of people that Jesus included in his teachings of salvation? Peter, John, and James are so quick to forget the others, in this mountaintop moment. They are eager to build houses that are just big enough for the people who are already on the mountain. But that’s not how the kingdom of God works. The kingdom of God isn’t an exclusive club for just a few of Jesus’ disciples. Instead the kingdom of God is a tree, expansive enough for all the birds of the air to nest in its branches, as the Gospel says elsewhere in the parables of Luke (Luke 13:18-19). The kingdom of God is a banquet, where everyone is invited to sit at the table (Luke 14:15-24). 

Today’s scripture says that Peter did not know what he was asking for, when he suggested that they build three dwellings. Peter did not know what he was asking for– because he lost sight of what the kingdom truly is. The kingdom isn’t a fleeting vision for a few, here today and gone tomorrow. Instead the kingdom of God is an ever-widening circle. And it is our calling, as followers of Christ, to think about how we can draw the circle wider each and every day, to make this world a bit more like the kingdom of heaven. The kingdom of God can’t exist on a mountaintop. The kingdom of God can only exist in the valley and the fields down below, where there is more than enough room for everyone. These are the spaces where Jesus spent most of his ministry, walking in the midst of everyday humans living their everyday lives. These are the places where the kingdom of God is born.

Each of us is a little like Peter, John, and James. We are selfish, without even meaning to be. When something is good for us we want that thing to continue, and we want it to last forever. We want to wrap ourselves up in the simple, clear moment instead of descending back down into the messy, complicated reality of life. But the mountaintop is not, and never can be the kingdom of God. The mountaintop simply isn’t big enough for God’s expansive dream for us.

It is God’s desire that we go back down the mountain, and draw the circle wide. Be intentional about getting to know someone who you might not naturally connect with, and learn to see the face of God in them. Let yourself be seen and known by someone who looks, or thinks, or acts differently than you do. Do everything you can to draw the circle wider in our church, and in the wider community. Stand up for those who are forcibly being excluded— and I think especially of those immigrants and refugees in our community who live in fear of their lives being forever disrupted, and those in our own community, such as a New Haven high school student named Esdras, who have already been detained by ICE. It’s no secret that America is not the kingdom of God. And yet, what can we do to make our local community and our country more in line with the values that Jesus professed? How can we step down off our own personal mountaintops, and walk alongside each other—just as Jesus walked with us?

God has something far better than the mountaintop in store. It’s time to trek back down the mountain, and help build the kingdom of God in the valleys and the plains, in the city and the suburbs, in our church and beyond those doors. Amen.