A cloud appeared, overshadowing them, and a voice came from the cloud: “This is my beloved Son; listen to him! ” Mark 9:7
Every generation adopts a certain word that becomes their knee-jerk verbal response to something wonderful. When I was in college, groovy was our word.
It was all that needed to be said when no other word would do.
Over the decades, others of these special words have come and gone. Wow, cool, and awesome have had their share of glory along with groovy. Depending on our age, you and I have used one of these when no other words would do.
Peter, James, and John—the disciples’ executive committee—had been summoned by their Master. We don’t know if Jesus told them why they were coming or where they were going; all they knew was that Jesus led them to a high mountain. I can only imagine how these three men must have looked at one another during their trek, their faces unable to mask their uncertainty. Maybe fear.
Suddenly, Jesus’s body exploded in light. His clothing, doubtlessly soiled by road dust, instantly became a blazing purity, “extremely white as no launderer on earth could whiten them” (v. 3).
Poor Peter, James, and John. These rough-hewn fishermen had seen many interest- ing things in their day—fish nets overflowing with a midnight catch and thunderstorms instantly sweeping across their favorite lake—but this topped them all. Worst of all, they apparently didn’t have a word—no groovy, wow, cool, or awesome to draw from. As Scripture tells us, Peter “did not know what to say” (v. 6) at this incredible sight, and perhaps neither did James or John.
But God knew what to say. He sent a cloud to the mountaintop, its translucent vapors enveloping Jesus. “This is my beloved Son,” God’s voice bellowed from the mist (v. 7). What an extraordinary thing this was for these three men to experience. Do you wonder why this happened? What was God’s purpose in giving them their first look at a bursting quasar?
Do you think Peter, James, and John, even as old men during their final days, would vividly remember this experience on the high mountain? No doubt. Why? Because it was a moment for them to get a glimpse of the glory of God and the supernatural character of His Son.
I can imagine that, for years to come, when these men were tempted to treat God casually or to glibly enter His presence, they would have whispered to one another, “Remember the high mountain.” These words may have even been the predecessors to groovy and awesome.
This morning, when I said my prayers for the day, I must admit that I wasn’t thinking of Jesus on the high mountain. I spent little time kneeling there in awe, terrorized by His indescribable presence. As I often do, I foolishly and haphazardly dove into my “list.”
If I had been kneeling there with Peter, James, or John, my guess is they would have encouraged me to take a second look at the One to whom I was talking. “Remember the high mountain,” they would have said softly.
I would have taken a second look, and sure enough, I would have been rendered speechless—mute in the presence of a breathtaking, holy God. And even though I’ve got a personal backlog of knee-jerk words, none of them would have been adequate. Nothing could have come close to being appropriate.
No wonder the disciples were silent.