Do Not Build the Tents
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all. Amen.
There is a lot going on in this text. Jesus is transfigured. Moses and Elijah appear on the mountain. Peter wants to build houses—booths, tents—for them to stay in, because here is God on His holy mountain. Here is God dwelling in humanity richly with His grace. Here is not just the forgiveness of sins, but a new world. And Peter wants to hold on to that. Who wouldn’t?
We want to hold on to good things. That’s why they’re good. We want that bit of ice cream to last a little longer. We want that beloved car to make a few more miles. We want a few more years with our children, with our parents, our brothers and sisters and friends. We want the good things in life. And the best thing in life is Jesus Christ. The best thing in life is God Almighty—Emmanuel, God with us—walking with us and talking with us like He did with Adam and Eve in the garden at the very beginning.
We don’t want what is bad. We don’t want a continuation of this world as it is, because this world is infected with sin. Things are going sideways. It seems like there’s one story after another on the news. Bad news keeps piling up and piling up: diagnoses, loss of jobs, failing grades, broken relationships.
We don’t want those things. Nobody does. Nobody wants what is bad. We want what is good. And so, when Christ is transfigured in front of Peter and James and John, when the glory of God shines through and the humanity is no longer hiding the divinity that dwells within, Peter rightly wants to hold on to that.
But Peter is also getting it wrong.
God didn’t come to give us good things today. God didn’t come to give us sunny skies. Back in December, my wife and I took a vacation to Hawaii. I’m going to remember those sunny skies and warm weather very fondly this weekend while we’re talking about inches of snow and ice, road closures, and power outages in southern Oklahoma that are putting people in danger. I’ll remember those warm days fondly.
But God didn’t call me to live in Hawaii. God called me to Oklahoma—and I love Oklahoma. I was born and raised here. I want my kids to grow up and live here. I love my church and the people here at Christ Lutheran. They are a special, beloved family that I hold dear, and who, by their words and actions, hold me and my family very dear as well.
God didn’t come the first time to leave everything as it is. He didn’t come for political power. He didn’t come to raise an army and overthrow the Romans or any other evil government of His time. In fact, this same Peter—who just last week we heard rebuke Jesus for saying that He must be crucified—was told by Jesus, “Your mind is on the things of man, not the things of God.” That same Peter later writes, when the evil emperor Nero is in power, that we are to honor Caesar.
Even evil governments are still there to give law and order.
So God didn’t come to overthrow evil governments then. He didn’t come to heal all illnesses then. He did raise the dead. He healed the lame, cured lepers, healed those with paralysis—the deaf, the mute, the blind. He cast out demons. He even fed thousands of people, giving them their daily bread.
But He didn’t come just for those things. Those things pointed to something greater. The reason He came—the reason it is God on that holy mountain—is this: Jesus came to die. He came to die on a cross. He came to take our sin and our death upon Himself. He came to rebuke the grave, to rebuke Satan, and to say, “You will have no more claim on these people. These are mine.”
“I came for the whole world. I want all to be saved. I came so that they may have eternal life—not just a good life now, but life in its fullness, everlasting life.”
Jesus came so that we may live with Him forever, that we may experience the good government then—the government of God—when He dwells with His people in the new heavenly Jerusalem. Jesus came to overthrow that which is wrong with the whole world, to deal with the root cause and not just the symptoms, to heal the disease and not merely relieve the pain.
Jesus came, and He gives us a better life—a life of hope, a life of peace, a life of love.
If God can love me, a miserable sinner—if God can love me, someone condemned to death by my own actions, my own words, and my own thoughts—if God can love me, the worst of the worst and the most damned of the damned, so much that He would die for me and remove that curse from me, then how can I not love my neighbor? How can I not work for what is good in this world?
How can I not help but discipline my tongue, my actions, and my thoughts, striving for better things—working with all my might and energy to love God with all my strength, soul, and mind, and to express that love in caring for my neighbor, standing up for what is right, condemning what is evil, and seeking what is best for the world, knowing that the best is yet to come?
To discipline this body, this mouth, this mind—so that I am not led astray and do not lead others astray. To keep my mind on the things of God rather than the things of man. To not desire what is merely temporal, what moth and rust destroy, but to desire the treasures in heaven that do not decay.
That is the good.
Christians are in the world, but not of the world—and that distinction matters. We do not forsake the world. We do not abandon it. We are not detached from it. We care deeply about what happens to this creation, because we have been given stewardship over it. We care deeply about our neighbor, because God died for them as well.
God made them, and God has placed me where I am to minister to them—whether that means caring for physical needs, or, when I cannot do that, praying for them, helping them in whatever way I can.
And not just those who live close by. Yes, my family receives the greatest share of my love. Then it expands outward—to my neighbors across the street, to the members here at Christ Lutheran Church, to my community, my state, my nation, and even to people around the world.
I can’t go and build a well for them, but I can donate a few dollars. I can’t take a Bible to them, but I can support those who do. I can support missionaries. I can’t visit every household that needs food, but I can support the food pantry. I can pray with people—and I do—especially when they are in need, in the midst of suffering, when there are no answers and no certainties.
I can walk with people. I can examine myself, see where I sin, recognize my own depth and depravity, and lean on the forgiveness of Jesus Christ—who calls me friend and brother, who calls you a beloved child of God, who calls all believers to Himself.
Christ is God Himself, and He calls us to holy living. He calls us to be His light in the world—the light that shines in the darkness, which the darkness cannot overcome. He calls us to be the Church that confesses Jesus as the Christ, a confession that the gates of hell cannot overcome. Satan is made powerless and trembles at the name of Jesus Christ.
Christ came so that our graves will one day be empty.
Christ came because God is love—and we know this because He died on the cross for us.
Christ came, God Himself, for me.
And Christ came for you.
This is just one of the lessons of the Transfiguration—just one of the truths we encounter when we hear God’s Word on a cold day like this, a day when we are separated from gathering in person. May this Word of God warm not only your heart and your mind, but your very soul. May you know that God is with you. May you know that God is active. And may you rest in the peace and comfort He brought the first time, knowing that He will come again.
In Christ’s name. Amen.
