Last Epiphany - 2026

Sermon for the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
The Rev. Andrew McLarty

At the conclusion of today's Gospel, we get Jesus' instruction to Peter, James, and John to not tell anyone about the Transfiguration they have just witnessed until after the Resurrection?? Why? We know about it in all three synoptic Gospels. So that makes me wonder-- who is this narrative for? Is is for Jesus? Is it for the disciples themselves? For the other apostles and followers they meet back up with? For the early church? For us today?

For comparison, let's consider Abraham Lincoln. At the time, he did not consider himself a pillar of American history, but a worn-down leader making the best choices he could under impossible pressure. To many who lived with him, he was confusing, divisive, and even dangerous. For us more than a century later, the full importance of his life comes into focus a great leader. The significance of his life could not be understood in the moment; it had to be tested in the crucible of history before it could be admired.

Back to the Transfiguration? Who is it for?

For a children’s Sunday School lesson, it might seem like it’s for Jesus. A moment of affirmation. A reminder of who he is before everything unravels. But the text doesn’t really support that.

Narratively, the Transfiguration is for the disciples. They need reassurance and further knowledge so they are ready for what’s about to happen in Jerusalem. Christ’s arrest, trial. Crucifixion. The silence, loss, fear, and doubt. Amidst their fear, kneeling to the ground, the voice speaks, the theotokos: “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him.” The mountain is a gift meant to be carried into the valley.

And that’s why the Church gives this story to us right now.

Liturgically, for us centuries later, the Transfiguration is for us as we are about to walk the Lenten path with Jesus into the wilderness, into hard truths, into repentance and restraint and honest self-examination. Lent asks us not to look away from suffering—our own or the world’s.

The Lectionary is giving us a gift…

Before the ashes. Before the fast. Before the long road to the cross. We are shown the light.

Emotionally, that matters more than we often admit. Because there are seasons—long ones—when the world feels dim. When prayer feels thin. When fear gets loud. When doubt creeps the Transfiguration invites us to ask: What do we know about God that we can hold onto when we can’t feel God?

This is the substance on which “be not afraid” relies.

Not denial. Not naïve optimism. But memory. Memory of God’s faithfulness. Memory of God’s power. Memory of God’s promise that Jesus is the Beloved Son who cannot be undone by death.

Notice how the story ends. The vision fades. Moses and Elijah disappear. The light dims. And Jesus touches them and says, “Get up. Do not be afraid.” And when they look up, they see no one but Jesus, and are in awe of the Divine.

Romans 11:33 tells us: “Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and how inscrutable His ways!”

We may not get to see a metamorphosed Jesus liek Peter, James, and John do. We can only hold awe for God and Christ in our prayers and contemplations. Our prayer life is vitally important.

That’s the gift we carry into Lent.

The mountain is a gift meant to be carried into the valley.