Six days later, Jesus
took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart,
by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became
dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared
to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to
Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one
for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for
they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there
came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when
they looked around, they saw no one with them anymore, but only Jesus.
- Mark 9:2-8
When
Madison Square Garden is rocking, it feels like the center of the universe. Tens
of thousands of spectators cheer and boo in full-throated unison. Lights swirl
around the building and every sound seems thunderous. What’s more, an
undefinable aura permeates the place, a much-discussed feeling that something historic
could happen at any moment. Everyone from the Knicks who have called it home to
the superstar visitors like Michael Jordan and LeBron James who have soared to
new heights in its confines to rock stars, wrestlers, presidents, and popes—everyone
seems to agree that there’s something special about Madison Square Garden when
the arena is full and the show is on.
But
a few hours after the game is won or the concert concluded, after thousands of
fans have made their way home by taxi or subway, a handful of people remain in
the arena to clean up the last few pieces of trash, lock the doors, and otherwise
shut the building down for the night. And when the last light is turned off and
those custodial workers walk out onto the streets of Manhattan, the great Madison
Square Garden is suddenly laid bare. No longer is it the capitol of
entertainment, no longer is it a stage for greatness, no longer is it the
center of the universe. When the lights go out, it’s just a building.
As
Mark ends his account of the Transfiguration, that moment when, to quote Eugene
Peterson, Jesus’s appearance “changed from the inside out” and he was first joined
by Elijah and Moses and then blessed by a voice from heaven, he ends the story
with a note of anticlimax: “suddenly when [Peter, James, and John] looked
around, they saw no one with them anymore, but only Jesus.” Having just borne
witness to a dazzling glimpse of heaven on earth, the disciples are left with
nothing but their master. Like a pedestrian looking at an empty Madison Square
Garden after a big event, they see their Lord with something almost approaching
disappointment. When the lights go out, he’s just Jesus.
I
hope you recognize the irony there—that while Jesus’s radiance had disappeared,
he remained the Word made flesh, the Son of God, the blessed Messiah, the King
of Kings and Lord of Lords. “Just Jesus” was more than enough.
Yet
sometimes we find ourselves in the disciples’ shoes, so captivated by brilliant
signs that we are disappointed by the enduring presence of God in our lives. We
rejoice at miracles, but then are underwhelmed by acts of service; we marvel at
the eloquence of the preacher while taking the nursery worker for granted; our
hearts are warmed by elaborate worship services but go cold when we pray in
silence.
It’s
human nature to be impressed by the big, bold, bright, and beautiful, but we
must remember that God works in the alleyways as powerfully as he does on the
mountaintop. So when you’re looking for God, don’t wait for Him to dazzle you.
Look around; listen closely. Sometimes God doesn’t need to put on a show to do
His best work.
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