Service for February 15 Transfiguration of our Lord

Sermon for  February 15, 2026                                        Transfiguration of Our Lord

The ground beneath us feels unsteady. Institutions wobble, authority is contested and trust feels fragile. Scripture does not avoid that unease. Across the readings, one question presses in: when the world feels fractured and loud with competing claims, whose voice carries weight enough to follow?

Mountains become the lens. They orient ordinary life and shape vision. They tell us what can be seen and what is hidden, and that difference matters. In the biblical story, Moses enters cloud and fire while the people wait below, unsure whether he will return. Psalm 2 exposes rulers who rage and posture, reminding us that not all power is real authority. Peter insists that faith is not a clever story meant to soothe anxiety, but testimony grounded in what has been seen and heard. Then comes the mountain where Jesus is transfigured, his face shining, his clothes blazing with light, joined by Moses and Elijah. The law and the prophets bear witness. Luke calls the conversation an exodus. Glory does not cancel suffering; it confirms the path through it.

The disciples want to stay. Peter wants to build shelters, to preserve the moment, to hold holiness in place. We recognize that impulse. We want faith that protects us from grief, conflict and cost. The Transfiguration interrupts that desire. Authority is not held in buildings, rules or captured experiences. It is given in a voice: “This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him.” Then the light fades. The mountain does not become a shrine. Jesus touches his friends and leads them back down.

Grace arrives without permission and cannot be managed. It overwhelms, then sends us back into the ordinary world, marked but still vulnerable. Faith is not private certainty but trust that carries us when the vision is gone. It frees us from needing to justify ourselves or save the world alone. It anchors us in presence rather than control.

What matters most is where Jesus goes next. He descends into crowded streets, sick bodies and places shaped by crushing power. Listening becomes action, alignment and movement. The story leaves us without guarantees, but not without direction. Glory appears and fades. A voice speaks and then grows quiet. What remains is a path downward and a question that refuses easy answers: in all this noise and fracture, whose voice will we trust enough to follow when the light does not stay?

God's Peace,

Pr. Jim Odden