Winter is making up for lost time. Back in January, it seemed that we Central New Yorkers were getting a pass for the season. While our neighbors in New England were being walloped with blizzard conditions, we were dusting off our cars after the occasional light snowfall. I used the snow blower only one time all month. At the end of January, the National Weather Service measured our snowfall as 30 inches below normal for the season.
Then came February. In two weeks, we’ve gotten twice as much snow as in all of January. It has snowed every day, piling high on our roofs and creating ice dams over the eaves that lead to water damage inside. The snow blowers are working fulltime. Maybe more challenging than the snow is the frigid cold (often below 0 degrees) and bitter winds. It’s exhausting just to “hang” with these conditions. Even when we aren’t physically moving snow, our bodies are working hard to generate warmth.
And yet, Christians who observe the church calendar will soon enter the penitential season whose name – “Lent” – comes from an Old English word that means “springtime.” We likely won’t see our lawns for a month or more. Our hardwood trees won’t produce buds until after Easter. But, alas, it’s nearly spring on the Christian calendar. Well, not really. The season leading up to Easter is no more about the climate than the resurrection is about butterflies and daffodils. But that’s a subject for another time.
On the Sunday before Lent begins, the lectionary bids us to join Peter, James, and John on their hike up a mountain with Jesus. The story of Jesus’ transfiguration at the top of that mountain is about the only event in our Savior’s earthly ministry that bears any connection to Central New York winters. The traditional site of the Transfiguration is Mt. Tabor, located in southern Galilee near Nazareth. But this tradition is almost certainly wrong. Like a lot of other holy sites in Israel, Tabor
It makes more sense that this pivotal moment in Jesus’ ministry took place much farther to the north. According to the gospels of Matthew and Mark, Jesus and his disciples were in Caesarea Philippi before making this hike. The ruins of that city are located in the Golan Heights at the headwaters of the Jordan River, and right at the foot of Mt. Hermon.
Hermon is not one peak, but a series of high peaks that tower over everything else in the Middle East, and thus fit the description of a mountain “high apart” (Mark 9:2). The highest point in this range sits at 9200 feet above sea level. By contrast, the Sea of Galilee, only 30 miles south, is 600 feet below sea level. Hermon is visible from most of Galilee, but thick clouds often obscure it. For much of the year, it is covered in snow. Today, in fact, the highest point on Hermon is a downhill ski resort.
When I was in the Holy Land, I hiked a trail that extended from Caesarea Philippi straight up one of the peaks on Mt. Hermon. It was a steep trek. Early Christian scholars surmised that this peak, or another near it, was the site of the Transfiguration, but they were concerned about pilgrims trying to scale the treacherous slopes. Cyril of Jerusalem in particular was quite agreeable to naming the smaller Mt. Tabor as the Mount of Transfiguration so that pilgrims would not place themselves in unnecessary danger.
But if we imagine Jesus and those three disciples somewhere on Mt. Hermon, then we Central New Yorkers will have a better appreciation for what happened there than our brothers and sisters who dwell in warmer climates. It’s cold on Herman. It’s entirely possible that it was snowing when they got to the top. The changeable weather could easily have produced ice crystals when the sun burst through the clouds. The disciples were surely exhausted when they reached the summit. It seems entirely credible to me that all these conditions could have combined to produce an image of Jesus “transfigured before them” in clothes that were “dazzling white” (Mark 9:2-3). I remember climbing up Blue Mountain with Aaron on a winter day a few years ago. Just before we got to the summit, a snow squall and high winds whited out everything – including each other’s faces. I have experienced many moments during winter when the moisture in the air turns to ice, which, when reflected by the low winter sun, makes everything so bright I have to shade my eyes to see anything. This phenomenon is especially brilliant on open mountain summits.
Is this wishful thinking? Perhaps. But it’s not implausible. Maybe, just maybe, the transfiguration was the one moment when Jesus and three of his disciples got high enough in elevation to experience a climate that we Central New Yorkers understand better than most people. Or, to put it another way, Jesus took his disciples to a spot where they could see Jesus the way we might have seen him on a winter’s day had he lived here instead of in the hot Middle East.
Winter is harsh right now all across the Northeast. It is testing our patience and our stamina, both physical and psychological. But even when it is most severe, winter is not without its beauty. In fact, there is a kind of dazzling brilliance that can only be seen in the wake of the conditions we are battling right now. Look for it and let the landscape be transfigured before you.
Christ is with us, even in the depths of winter. And spring is coming soon.
©2015 by J. Mark Lawson
Looking at this blog and the sermon you gave this morning, it really comes down to a role of submission for me. In general, I think as a human society we are a glass that is always "half empty" and are never satisfied where we are in life. Resistance is the norm and to submit to anything is a form of "caving in" and a sign of weakness when we look at one another. Thanks for reminding me that I need to look up at the big picture instead of right in front of me in the here and now.
Posted by: Dave Rosenfeld | 02/15/2015 at 04:10 PM