MATTHEW 17:1-13, 22, 23
THE SUMMER OF MY junior year of high school, I attended the prestigious Five Star basketball camp. Each morning at the coach’s session, a particular coach taught a new drill to all the campers. The first day of camp Coach Dave Odom, then the assistant coach at the University of Virginia, asked a camper named Bobby to demonstrate the drill. When Bobby got up and walked onto the court, I was surprised by Coach Odom’s selection. Unlike many athletes around me who were tall and strong, Bobby was short and scrawny. Also he had on runner’s shorts—those tight, kind-of girlish shorts worn high above the thigh muscles (trust me, we all wore our shorts high in those days, but not that high). Anyway, little Bobby with his little shorts did a fine job with the drill. In fact, a very fine job! I remember thinking to myself as he made 80 percent of his shots, “Not bad for a short, scrawny kid.”
That afternoon I was reading the local newspaper. As I rifled through the sports page, I stopped to read the list of the top high school boys basketball players in the country. And as I looked at the First Team All-Americans, one name and picture jumped out at me. The best point guard in the nation was a boy named Bobby—Bobby Flurley—the short, scrawny kid I had just seen an hour ago. Of course, if you know anything about basketball, you know that Bobby Hurley lived up to the expectations—a four-year starter for Duke University, three Final Four appearances, two national championships, in one of which he was named MVP, a first-team All-American his senior year, NCAA all-time assists leader, seventh overall pick in the NBA draft.
In our text I want you to see that as it relates to the person of Jesus, appearances can be deceiving, and to see this truth both in his transfiguration on this high mountain and also in his death on that lowly hill.
This High Mountain
First we will look at this “high mountain”—the transfiguration—recorded for us in 17:1-8. Here I want you to see, as I walk you through many of the details of it, how the transfiguration shows us, as it showed Peter, James, and John originally, that Jesus is more than a teacher, healer, and king. He is the glorious, holy, sovereign, preeminent, beloved Son of God.
But first we start with the seemingly simple setting: “And after six days Jesus took with him Peter and James, and John his brother, and led them up a high mountain by themselves” (v. 1). Note three important details. First, Matthew starts by saying, “And after six days.” Why add that detail? Mathew usually starts a transition text like this by mentioning something of the geographical location—“Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi” (16:13) or “When they came to Capernaum” (17:24). He rarely mentions time—“Then four days later” or something like that. So the mention of “six days” strikes us as odd and thus is potentially significant. Does Matthew want us to relate what happens here with the days of creation (Genesis 1, 2)? Does he want us to make some connection with Moses on the mountain, where the cloud of God’s glory covered it, and after six days the Lord’s voice called out to Moses (Exodus 24:15, 16)? Does he want us to see Jesus as the new Moses, the new exodus, the new lawgiver, all of the above? (He does.)
“And after six days”—that’s significant. Also significant are the three men. “Jesus took with him Peter and James, and John.” Why three? There were three because both Old Testament law (Deuteronomy 17:6) and New Testament law state that official testimony is “established by the evidence of two or three witnesses” (18:16). So here we have three eyewitnesses. In fact, in 2 Peter 1:16 Peter writes about the transfiguration, saying “we were eyewitnesses of his majesty.” So, that’s likely why three.
But why these three? Why elect them from the elect? It could be that they just needed to be put in their place—consider Peter’s rebuke of Jesus in 16:22 and James’s and John’s thoughts about being the greatest in the kingdom, which will surface in 20:21. Or it could be, and I think it is, that they were chosen because they mattered. Not only did they matter to Jesus personally (he loved them), but they mattered missionally. They mattered to the Messiah’s mission to the world. You see, these three would become the three pillars of the Ecclesia (see Galatians 2:9), not perfect pillars, but pillars nonetheless.
I don’t know about you, but I can’t imagine Christianity without them— their leadership, their missionary work, their writings. And this seems to be the focus Peter takes in 2 Peter 1:12-21 when he talks about this event—they have been given the sure “prophetic word,” a word on equal inspirational plane with the prophets (cp. 2 Peter 3:1,2; Ephesians 2:20). Jesus chose them because these three (along with Paul later) would become most instrumental in building, sustaining, and growing the Ecclesia.
So the setting is significant: first six days, second three men, and finally a high mountain. “[Jesus] led them up a high mountain” (v. lc). I’ve said this before, and it’s worth saying again: mountains matter in Matthew. In chapters 5—7 we have the Sermon on the Mount. In 14:23 Jesus prayed on the mountain; in 15:29-38 he healed and fed the multitudes on the mountain; in chapters 24, 25 he taught on the mountain (the Mount of Olives) about the sign of his coming and the close of the age; and in 28:16-20, the Great Commission (the final word from Jesus in Matthew), we are told that the disciples went “to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them” (v. 16). Then we also have, in chapter 4, the temptation of Christ, where “the devil took him [Jesus] to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms and of the world and their glory” (v. 8). Some scholars surmise that the high mount of transfiguration is the antithesis of the high mount of temptation—true glory versus false glory. I like that.
Mountains matter in Matthew. They matter in Matthew because they matter in the Old Testament, most significantly for our text—Moses on the mountain, where Lord spoke to him (Exodus 19, 20), and Elijah on the mountain (1 Kings 19, the same mountain), where God’s reassuring voice came in “a low whisper” (v. 12).
So six days, three men, and a high mountain—a good name for a sitcom, an even better name for a setting. That’s the setting (v. 1), an awesome setting! And here’s the even more awesome story, starting in verses 2, 3.
And [on this high mountain] he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light. And behold, there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him.
The Greek word here for “he was transfigured” is metemorphothe, from which we get the word “metamorphosed,” which means to change in constitution or physical form (like a caterpillar into a butterfly). But here the emphasis is not on a change of form. Jesus doesn’t turn into a dove or an angel. He remains fully human, at least so it seems from Peter talking to him in verse 4, as well as from Jesus’ touching and then talking to all three of them in verse 7. Here the emphasis is on the change in his complexion, if I can put it that way. Jesus lights up.
Jesus’ face gets as bright as that bright star in our solar system—the sun. (John's vision of Jesus in Revelation gets a similar description: “his face was like the sun shining in full strength” [Revelation 1:16j). That’s a lot of light! And that abundant light that is on Jesus’ skin and seemingly coming from within radiates out, bleaching his clothes. There’s a poetic parallelism here (see below): his face is has ho lieolids (“like the sun”) and his clothes hos to phos (“white as [the] light”).
and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as [the] light (v. 2bc).
Face/clothes; sun/light. He’s all very bright! That’s what we are to see here.
Now, what's with Jesus looking like this self-producing, self-sustaining, and self-projecting light? What’s all the brightness about? It’s about divine glory—“a revelation of Jesus as he always was and is.” I say that because in verse 5 the Father shows up with or within “a bright cloud.” I italicize “bright” for a reason. The Son (Jesus) is bright; the Father (God) is bright. They are both bright, and they are both bright because they are both “one substance,” to use the later language of the church. The Shekinah glory that led Israel in the wilderness (Exodus 13:21), came upon Moses at Sinai (Exodus 24:15-18), and filled the tabernacle (Exodus 40:34, 35) and temple (2 Chronicles 7:1-3) is here. Jesus’ brightness is about Jesus’ divine glory.
So there is Jesus Christ superstar (in the brightness sense of that word— he is like a super star), and then next to him, stars in their own right, but seemingly not shining (unless you take “glory” to equal “light" in Luke 9:31, which I do not) are Moses and Elijah (v. 3).
We know who they are. But how did the disciples know who they were? And, more basic than that, how did these two prophets get there? Are they real and resurrected or what? We don’t know the answers to those questions. But we do know (or can take an educated guess at) why these two were there at this moment.
They were there as representatives of the Law and the Prophets, the whole of the Old Testament. I say that because of what Peter says in 2 Peter 3:1-2. There he connects the New Testament apostolic ministry to the Old Testament prophets’ ministry by means of Jesus. I also say that because Jesus, as he relates to the Law and Prophets, is never far from Matthew’s mind. Four times in Matthew’s Gospel the apostle speaks of Jesus’ relation to the “the Law” and “the Prophets” (5:17; 7:12; 11:13; 22:40).
Therefore, here’s how I see it. I see Law (Moses) and Prophets (Elijah) showing up and both shaking hands with Gospel (Jesus). “Hello,” they say. “Nice to finally meet you.” I take 17:3 as a visual of 5:17, where Jesus said. “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them.”
So, if you put the transfigured brightness of Jesus alongside the living testimony (note that somehow Moses and Elijah, in whatever form they took here, are as alive as Jesus and Peter and James and John) of these two Old Testament saints, what do you get? The picture is worth a thousand words, or at least sixteen words. Here are my sixteen words: The radiant Son of God, who enlightens all of Scripture, is the light of the world (see John 8:12; 9:5; cp. 4:16). That’s what I think we’re to see in verses 2, 3.
The Problems with Pious Peter
Having looked at the setting of the transfiguration, the actual transfiguring (and figuring that out), we next come to Peter’s reaction (v. 4). Notice here that we only get Peter’s reaction. Why? What are the other two up to? We don’t know. Not talking? Yes, they are not talking. But look who is talking. It’s Peter. No surprise here. And Peter talked to Jesus and said, “Lord”—that’s a good way to start a sentence. “It is good that we are here”—that’s a good way to finish a sentence and a speech. “If you wish”—oh, Peter, now is the time to stop talking—“I will make three tents here, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.”
Luke and Mark, in their versions of this event, tell us that Peter didn’t know what he was saying (see Luke 9:33; Mark says it more tamely: “he did not know what to say,” Mark 9:6). Matthew, however, thinks such a clarification is unnecessary. It is obvious that Peter has goofed.
But how so? What’s wrong with his pious short speech? There are at least two problems. First. Peter misunderstands the temporary nature of this glorious vision. One almost has to wonder, has he forgotten the cross (what Jesus said in 16:21-23)? That cross thing hasn’t happened yet, has it? Remember, Peter, that it goes first death, then resurrection; first cross, then crown. But here Peter wants to build tents, mini-dwellings (reminiscent of the Feast of Tabernacles), mini-temples for these three holy people, two of whom, I would surmise, would prefer to go back to where they have come from and another of whom most certainly needs no temple, for he himself is the living, walking, talking, healing, dying, and rising temple of the living God. Do you think Immanuel needs a tent from Peter? It’s a pious gesture, but an ill-informed one. By wanting to hold on to the glory of the transfiguration Peter has no place for the glory of that gory cross.
That’s the first problem with Peter’s three-tent idea. The second problem follows. Peter, why the three tents? What’s he thinking? Is he implying an equality of personhood? I can’t imagine that he would, but it seems like he is. Even after confessing to Jesus, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (16:16), has Peter now been swayed by the popular opinion of the day, that Jesus is just a prophet? Is he seeing this vision and thinking like Muhammad would six centuries later—“One tent for the prophet Moses, one for the prophet Elijah, and one for the prophet Jesus, the greatest prophet of all”? I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know if he knows what he’s thinking. But whatever he is thinking, God thinks little of it. And so comes the heavenly corrective, the lesson for Peter (and for us) about this grand event:
He was still speaking [I love that—it tells us he is interrupted from his no-end-in-sight blabbering] when, behold, a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud [cuts in and] said, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.” When the disciples heard this, they fell on their faces and were terrified [ah, the holiness of God], But Jesus came and touched them, saying, "Rise, and have no fear.” And when they lifted up their eyes, they saw no one but Jesus only. (vv. 5-8)
Do you see the corrective here? God cuts into Peter to do some brain surgery using two key concepts, summarized well in two key phrases. The first phrase is the last phrase in verse 8, “And when they lifted up their eyes, they saw no one but Jesus only.” In the Greek it ends, “him [emphatic] Jesus only.” Jesus alone! You see (Matthew wants us to see), Jesus was the last man standing, the only man standing. Where did Moses and Elijah go? Who knows? Who cares? The point has been made, quite visually. Look up. Who do you see? Jesus! Jesus only. Right. Look neither to Moses nor to Elijah (they have done their job), but now look to Jesus and to him alone.
The second key phrase is, “listen to him,” (v. 7) which is at the very center of this story structurally (vv. 1-8). In Matthew, God the Father only speaks twice—once at Jesus’ baptism and the other time here. And on those two occasions he only has one line: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (3:17; 17:5). Even that one line is unoriginal, if I can be so bold as to put it that way. It comes from Psalm 2:7 (about the anointed king, “You are my Son”) and from Isaiah 42:1 (about the Suffering Servant, “in whom my soul delights”). “You are my Son in whom I delight.”
But notice what is added here to that line: “Listen to him,” and perhaps implied, as Moses and Elijah have gone bye-bye, “Listen to him only”, or “Listen to him as the supreme interpreter of Scripture and authority over Scripture.” Moses is a prophet, Elijah a prophet, but Jesus is the “prophet” of Deuteronomy 18:15 (exclamation point) and moreover and more importantly “the beloved Son of God” (triple exclamation point). Listen to him! Yes, listen to his commandments in the Sermon on the Mount—his “but I say to you’s.” And listen to his talk about the cross to come—his “here is what I'll do for you.”
Jesus only. Listen to him.
Those are the lessons from verses 5-8. Now let me build on those two lessons with five more.
Five More Lessons
Lesson One: Jesus is glorious! John 1:14 (written by the John in our Matthew text) says, “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.” As they saw Jesus, so let us (as best we can) see him too. Let us see him as the glorious Son of God.
Lesson Two: Jesus was not merely a great leader (Heavenly CEO) or a profound moralist (What Would Jesus Do?), but he was/is the glorious Son of God, and thus he deserves our acknowledgment (“You are our Lord and God”), our adoration (“We fall before you and worship you”), and our obedience (“We will listen to what you have to say”).
Lesson Three: God uses not-so-bright people (and I mean not-so-bright both in the sense of a lack of holiness and of intellect) to bring to this dark world “the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6).
Lesson Four: Christians who revere holy places (e.g., Matthew’s unnamed mountain) and holy people (Moses, Elijah, et al) more than they revere the holy Son of God are wholly mistaken, if not wholly unholy (i.e., idolatrous). Here you have arguably the top six heroes of the Old and New Testaments in one place and one time, and the Father acknowledges and honors Jesus exclusively (it couldn't be plainer), and then he rebukes Peter for the first building project in church history—wanting to build holy shrines for holy people in the Holy Land. What would Peter now think of St. Peter’s Basilica?
Lesson Five: Doing something seemingly good for Jesus can be very bad for the Ecclesia and the world. If Peter had his way, with his first two encyclicals—the first De Crucis Vitatione (“Concerning the Avoidance of the Cross”) in 16:22 and the second De Tabernaculis Statuendis (“Concerning Tents to be Pitched”) in 17:4—we would not have a Christless Christianity, but a crossless one. But the gospel is Christ and him crucified. That’s how Paul would put it in 1 Corinthians 2:2, and that’s how Peter himself would preach it at Pentecost: “Let all the house of Israel therefore know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified' (Acts 2:36). Christ and him crucified—woe to us if we don't preach that gospel! Doing something seemingly good for Jesus can be very bad for the Ecclesia and the world. The world needs to hear the message of the cross.
That Lowly Hill
Keep that final lesson at the front of your minds because Jesus has it at the front of his as he travels down this high mountain heading for that lowly hill—that little hill outside Jerusalem (it’s called Golgotha or Calvary) where he will die for the sins of the world.
We come now to verses 9-13. As we looked at verses 1-8, I’ve shown you (what this actual historical event shows us) that Jesus is more than a mere man. Oh, he looks like a man, he sounds like a man, he feels like a man (yes, he is truly flesh of our flesh), but he is more than a man.
Appearances can be deceiving. He is the divine Son of God. And for a brief moment we see that. The curtain is pulled aside, the veil removed, and we witness the pure light (or as pure as human eyes are permitted to see). And Lord willing, we are permanently transformed by this momentary transfiguration.
That is all one part of the picture here. The other part comes in verses 9-13 and is later supplemented with verses 22, 23. We start in verse 9 with an important topological shift: “And as they were coming down the mountain, Jesus commanded them, ‘Tell no one the vision, until the Son of Man is raised from the dead.’” In other words, “Peter and James and John, don’t open your mouths to tell the story of salvation until the story is done.” And the story is not done at the transfiguration. There’s the resurrection. And before that, there’s the cross. The last word of verse 9 is crucial—“dead.” The Son of Man... dead.
You see, appearances can be deceiving. What Peter, James, and John had just witnessed—the glorious Son of God on this high mountain—is only half of the vision. The other half involves the glorious Son of Man (vv. 9,22) dead on that lowly hill. This is what Jesus clearly teaches not only right before the transfiguration (16:21ff.) but also right after it:
As they were gathering in Galilee, Jesus said to them, “The Son of Man is about to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him, and he will be raised on the third day.” And they [heard, it seems, only the first two phrases, because they] were greatly distressed, (vv. 22, 23).
In verse 23 they are distressed about Jesus’ death. In verse 10, however, they are confused by it. That is why they ask their question about Elijah, which is even more confusing to us. Their question to Jesus is this: “Then why do the scribes say that first Elijah must come?” This question seems out of place coming just after Jesus’ talking about getting killed. But it’s not. I’ll explain.
Here they refer to Malachi 4:5, 6, the last word of the Old Testament. (Malachi 4:5, 6 is immediately followed by Matthew 1:1.) In Malachi, God speaks of sending Elijah before “the great and awesome day of the Lord” (v. 5), when Elijah will bring relational restoration, turning “the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers” (v. 6).
Now, why would that prophecy pop into their heads? Because the “scribes” of their day (the expert Bible teachers) were talking about it (cp. 27:47-49). Also because (obviously) they had just seen Elijah standing right next to Jesus and Moses. (Interestingly, Moses is mentioned in Malachi 4:4—“Remember the law of my servant Moses, the statutes and rules that I commanded him at Horeb for all Israel.”) That’s why Elijah comes to mind.
Malachi said: Elijah first; the coming of the Lord (the Messiah) second. They are thinking to themselves, We just saw Elijah, but he didn’t stay and didn’t do anything. If he’s not doing what he’s supposed to be doing, then despite what we just saw and heard, Jesus can’t be the Messiah, the one who is to bring about the day of the Lord. That’s their riddle.
And here’s how Jesus solves that riddle. He answered:
Elijah does come, and he will restore all things. But I tell you that Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but did to him whatever they pleased, (vv. 11, 12a)
The Jewish religious and political establishment killed him (see 14:1- 11). “Then the disciples understood [rightly so] that he was speaking to them of John the Baptist” (v. 13).
So here is how it all comes together. To Jesus, this Elijah-type figure (cp. Luke 1:17) has come in the person of John, and through the message of John, the preaching of repentance, and the true Israelites who responded to that message, the promised restoration has taken place. But this Elijah—here’s the shock of it, and the connection with the end of 17:9—suffered and died (he was rejected), just as the Messiah is about to suffer and die (be rejected).
Thus, the point is: as the three disciples are walking down the mountain, perhaps hoping all that talk about suffering is finally over, Jesus teaches them that the fate of his forerunner foreshadows his cross. “So also the Son of Man will certainly suffer at their hands” (v. 12b).
Paradoxical Parallels
Before Peter, James, and John get to Gethsemane (and yes, it will be these three who witness that wrestling agony), Jesus wants them to see (not yet taste from) the cup that he is about to drink. With the high mountain behind them and that lowly hill ahead, he wants them to understand both Colossians 1:19 and 20:
For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell [the transfiguration—“this is my beloved Son”], and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross [the crucifixion—“the Son of Man will certainly suffer”].
He wants them to hold those tensions together. The exalted Jesus, with garments glistening, standing on a high mountain, flanked by two religious giants from the past, where all is light, is also the humiliated Jesus whose clothes have been torn from him and divided, the one lifted upon the cross, flanked by two common, convicted criminals as darkness settles over the land. What paradoxical parallels we see between the transfiguration (17:1— 8) and the crucifixion (27:33-54)! We have light and darkness, two saints and two sinners, and between all this is him—“This is my beloved Son” (17:5) (God’s voice from Heaven) and “Truly this was the Son of God” (27:54) (that pagan soldier’s voice moments after the crucifixion)."
Jesus wants us to make the same connections Matthew does. He wants us to see, as Chrysostom nicely phrased it, that Jesus was “transfigured to manifest the glory of the cross.” He wants us to see that you can’t have the high mountain without the lowly hill. The mountaintop explains the hilltop, and the hilltop the mountaintop. And the mountaintop teaches us Jesus’ last word in this Gospel—that he has been given “all authority in heaven and on earth” (28:18). So fear not, get up, and move out, for there is a world to be won and a glorious inheritance ahead to be had. But the hilltop teaches us Jesus’ last word in chapter 16: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (v. 24). Christians, it’s a cross now and a crown then.
Appearances can be deceiving.
And here in 17:1-13 we have seen just that. As we’ve looked at verses 1-8 we’ve seen that Jesus is more than a mere man. He is the glorious Son of God on this high mountain. But as we’ve looked at verses 9-13 and verses 22, 23 and beyond to 27:33-54, we’ve seen that Jesus is also the glorious Son of Man who came to die not on some high mountain—that of Sinai or Zion or wherever—but on the lowly hill outside the holy city for our unholy souls.
And so, for the condescension, the humility, the humiliation, and the sufferings—for the cross, to him be the glory forever and ever. Amen.
(R. Kent Hughes. and Douglas Sean O'Donnell., 2013; edited Carl Hinton., 2020)