A Sermon for
Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
2 March 2025
1. What Are We Hiding Behind?
We all wear masks.
In fact, look around you… we’re wearing them right now.
I’m not talking about the cloth or disposable kind
we became so familiar with a few years ago,
but the kind that help us blend in, hide our struggles,
or present a version of ourselves we think others want to see.
We wear them at work,
as we pretend we have everything under control
even when we feel out of our depth.
We wear them in our friendships,
smiling when inside we’re carrying grief or doubt.
We even wear them in church,
where we fear that being fully honest about our struggles,
our questions, or our failures might make us feel out of place.
But the truth is, we are not alone in this.
The desire to hide, to control how others see us,
to retreat from vulnerability, is deeply human.
Our masks keep us from revealing, from unveiling,
who we truly are.
And today’s story of the Transfiguration
gives us a glimpse of what happens when the masks start to come off,
—but also how quickly we, like Peter, try to make safe
that moment of vulnerability, to keep it contained.
The disciples had followed Jesus for months, perhaps even years,
and yet they hadn’t yet fully seen him for who he was.
But when they did
—when the dazzling light upon the mountain revealed the truth
—it turned out that they didn’t know what to do with it.
You see, the Transfiguration wasn’t just about Jesus being revealed
—it was about the disciples being called to see differently.
To remove their masks.
To step beyond fear. And to listen.
And the question for us, as we hear this story again, is this:
what are we still hiding behind?
And are we ready to see clearly?
Yesterday, here in this space, was a conference
held by one of the Anonymous Groups.
It was a meeting of people who gather with their metaphorical masks removed,
with their brokenness on display in a space made safe
because everyone else there has their brokenness on display too.
I sometimes winder what it would be like
if church was more like an Anonymous meeting.
“My name is Simon, and I’m broken…”
But back to our story from Luke’s gospel.
2. The Transfiguration: A Glimpse of Glory
The journey to the mountain began like any other.
Jesus took Peter, James, and John with him,
just as he had done so many times before.
Perhaps the disciples thought this would be another moment of quiet prayer,
another retreat from the crowds, another time to rest.
But what happened next was beyond anything they could have imagined.
As Jesus prayed, something changed.
His face shone like the sun, his clothes became dazzling white
—suddenly, he was transfigured before them.
And if that weren’t enough, Moses and Elijah then appeared,
standing beside him, speaking with him.
For any devout Jew in the first century,
this was clearly a moment of unspeakable significance.
They saw Moses, the great lawgiver, and Elijah, the prophet of fire
—both figures who had encountered God on mountaintops I their own time—
now standing with Jesus, as if to say,
He is the fulfilment of all that we proclaimed.
He is the one in whom the law and the prophets find their meaning.
The disciples were stunned. Overwhelmed.
And then Peter, never one to be silent in an awkward moment,
blurted out, “Master, it is good for us to be here!
Let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”
It’s an instinct we can all understand.
When something extraordinary happens, we want to hold onto it.
When we glimpse the divine, when the masks slip,
when honesty and integrity enter the room.
We want to capture that moment,
to keep it safe, to make it last.
Peter was doing what we all do when we experience something powerful
—he wanted to hold on to it, to manage it,
to build something permanent around it.
But before he can even finish speaking,
a cloud descends and covers them.
And this isn’t just any cloud—it is the cloud of divine presence,
the same cloud that led the Israelites through the wilderness,
the same cloud that filled the temple when God’s glory was revealed.
And from the cloud comes a voice:
“This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”
Not This is my Son, worship him from a distance.
Not This is my Son, build a shrine in his honour.
Not This is my Son, preserve this moment forever.
But listen to him.
This is my Son, listen to him.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over.
The cloud lifted, Moses and Elijah were gone,
and the disciples could see only Jesus—just as before.
The dazzling light faded, the mountain was still,
and they were left with a simple but life-altering question:
Now that we have seen, what will we do?
The transfiguration isn’t just about a revelation of Jesus’ glory.
It’s a moment of decision.
A moment where the disciples were confronted
with the truth of their humanity, of their brokenness.
And now they must choose how they will respond.
And the same is true for us.
When we see Christ more clearly, and understand ourselves more deeply,
—when we catch glimpses of God’s presence in ways we didn’t expect,
in ways that lay us bare
and expose our inner being to the light of God’s love.
—do we try to hold onto the moment,
or do we allow ourselves to be changed by it?
When God calls us to listen, are we paying attention?
3. The Descent from the Mountain: Facing Reality
If the story had ended on the mountain, it would be a beautiful vision
—Jesus in dazzling glory, the voice of God,
the great figures of the faith standing alongside him.
But the story doesn’t end there.
Because it can’t end there.
Jesus doesn’t stay on the mountaintop.
He doesn’t bask in the glow of divine revelation
or take up residence in the shrines
that his disciples build to prolong the moment.
Instead, he turns and leads his disciples back down
—back into the world, back into the messiness of life,
back into the suffering and struggle that awaits.
And almost immediately,
the contrast between the two scenes is stark.
At the foot of the mountain, a desperate father cries out,
begging Jesus to heal his son, a boy who is tormented by seizures.
Quickly the glory of the mountain feels far away.
And this is the rhythm of discipleship:
moments of revelation, followed by the call to action.
The disciples have seen Jesus transfigured in light,
but now they must follow him into the darkness of human suffering.
They have heard the voice from the cloud,
but now they must listen as Jesus speaks to the brokenhearted.
They have stood in awe,
but now they must serve.
Peter had wanted to stay on the mountain,
to contain the experience, to make it something permanent.
But Jesus is showing them that true discipleship
is not about staying where things feel safe and holy
—it is about going where healing is needed.
And here, at the bottom of the mountain, just hours later, the disciples falter.
They have tried to heal the boy and failed.
Perhaps they were still caught up in the memory of the Transfiguration,
still dazzled by what they had seen.
Perhaps they assumed that having witnessed such glory,
they would now have power at their command.
But faith is not about basking in past revelations
—it is about trusting God in the present,
even when the moment is hard.
Jesus sighs: “You faithless and perverse generation,
how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?”
It’s a painful moment,
one in which we see both his frustration
and his deep longing for his followers to understand.
They are still looking for glory in the wrong places.
They are still trying to grasp power without first embracing humility.
They are still hoping for a Messiah who will shine in victory
rather than walk the road to suffering.
But Jesus doesn’t turn away from them.
He doesn’t return to the mountaintop and leave them behind.
Instead, he acts.
He rebukes the unclean spirit, heals the boy,
and returns him to his father.
The work of God is done
not in the brilliance of the mountaintop,
but in the struggle of everyday life.
And then, Jesus turns to his disciples
and says something they don’t understand:
“Let these words sink into your ears:
The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into human hands.”
It is a reminder that the Transfiguration was never about power and status
—it was about the road ahead,
a road that leads not to a throne but to a cross.
The disciples had seen his glory,
but now they must prepare to see his suffering.
They had seen the light,
but now they must walk into the shadows.
And so must we.
It is tempting to want to keep faith in the safe places
—within church walls, in moments of beauty and clarity,
in experiences that feel holy and uplifting.
But the call of Christ is not to stay in those places.
It is to go where healing is needed,
where injustice must be confronted,
where love must be lived out.
The Transfiguration is not just about seeing Christ in glory.
It is about following him into reality.
4. Transformation as Discipleship
Peter, James, and John had seen Jesus transfigured,
but their real transformation was still to come.
That transformation would take time.
It would take failure—Peter would deny Jesus,
James and John would argue about power,
all of them would flee when the cross came into view.
But eventually, they would understand.
Eventually, they would see that the Transfiguration
was not an escape from reality
but an invitation to see reality differently.
And so it is with us.
Too often, we treat faith as something to inspire us,
rather than something that changes us.
We sing about love,
but struggle to embody it in difficult situations.
We proclaim justice,
but hesitate when it demands something of us.
We want to see Christ in glory,
but are less eager to see him in the poor, the suffering, the rejected.
But listening to Jesus means being willing to be changed
—to let go of our assumptions, to step beyond our fears,
to embrace the radical call of love and justice.
It means recognising that moments of revelation
are not meant to be contained but carried with us into the world.
This is why the Transfiguration matters.
Not because it gives us a fleeting glimpse of Jesus in glory,
but because it challenges us to be transformed ourselves.
As Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 3:18:
"And we all, with unveiled faces, beholding the glory of the Lord,
are being transformed into the same image
from one degree of glory to another."
This is discipleship
—not standing still, not staying where it feels safe,
but being changed. Being transfigured. Becoming un-masked.
Learning to see Christ more clearly, not only on the mountaintop,
but in the world around us.
5. What Masks Do We Need to Remove?
We began by thinking about the masks we wear
—the ways we hide our true selves,
the ways we try to manage how others see us.
Some of these masks are worn out of fear, some out of habit,
some because we have been taught
that certain parts of who we are must remain hidden.
But if the Transfiguration shows us anything,
it is that real transformation happens when we stop hiding.
When we dare to let the truth be seen.
So what are the masks we need to remove?
Perhaps it’s the mask of certainty
—the one that makes us afraid to admit
when we have doubts or questions about faith.
Perhaps it’s the mask of strength
—the one that stops us from admitting when we are struggling,
from allowing others to see our weakness and offer support.
Perhaps it’s the mask of control
—the one that keeps us from trusting God fully,
from stepping into the unknown with faith rather than fear.
Perhaps it’s the mask that hides our true identity,
- as we hide who we have been created to be because of fear
at how others will receive us and react to us.
As individuals, we wear masks.
But churches do, too.
Churches can hide behind the mask of tradition,
avoiding the difficult work of change.
They can hide behind the mask of respectability,
preferring to keep things polite rather than confront injustice,
by building meaningful relationships across difference.
They can hide behind the mask of spiritual busyness,
filling every moment with activity
but never allowing themselves to stop and truly listen to Christ.
And yet the voice from heaven says to us:
‘This is my son, listen to him.’
And the call of the Transfiguration is to take off the masks.
To allow ourselves to be seen. To allow ourselves to be changed.
6. A Call to Unveiled Faith
So the journey of faith is not about staying on the mountaintop.
It is about coming down.
It is about following Christ into the world,
into the places where healing is needed,
into the struggles of daily life.
And the call for us today is the same as it was for those first disciples:
To listen to Christ
—not just when it is easy, but when it challenges us.
To remove our masks
—to stop hiding behind fear, pride, or pretence.
To embrace transformation
—to allow the light of Christ to change us,
so that we can reflect that light in the world.
All this because true faith is not about clinging to moments of revelation
—it is about carrying those moments into the reality of our lives.
It is about living with unveiled faces,
about stepping into the world as people who have been transformed
and who are willing to be agents of transformation for others.
So may we listen.
May we be changed.
And may we, with unveiled faces, reflect the light of Christ in all we do.
Amen.
We all wear masks.
In fact, look around you… we’re wearing them right now.
I’m not talking about the cloth or disposable kind
we became so familiar with a few years ago,
but the kind that help us blend in, hide our struggles,
or present a version of ourselves we think others want to see.
We wear them at work,
as we pretend we have everything under control
even when we feel out of our depth.
We wear them in our friendships,
smiling when inside we’re carrying grief or doubt.
We even wear them in church,
where we fear that being fully honest about our struggles,
our questions, or our failures might make us feel out of place.
But the truth is, we are not alone in this.
The desire to hide, to control how others see us,
to retreat from vulnerability, is deeply human.
Our masks keep us from revealing, from unveiling,
who we truly are.
And today’s story of the Transfiguration
gives us a glimpse of what happens when the masks start to come off,
—but also how quickly we, like Peter, try to make safe
that moment of vulnerability, to keep it contained.
The disciples had followed Jesus for months, perhaps even years,
and yet they hadn’t yet fully seen him for who he was.
But when they did
—when the dazzling light upon the mountain revealed the truth
—it turned out that they didn’t know what to do with it.
You see, the Transfiguration wasn’t just about Jesus being revealed
—it was about the disciples being called to see differently.
To remove their masks.
To step beyond fear. And to listen.
And the question for us, as we hear this story again, is this:
what are we still hiding behind?
And are we ready to see clearly?
Yesterday, here in this space, was a conference
held by one of the Anonymous Groups.
It was a meeting of people who gather with their metaphorical masks removed,
with their brokenness on display in a space made safe
because everyone else there has their brokenness on display too.
I sometimes winder what it would be like
if church was more like an Anonymous meeting.
“My name is Simon, and I’m broken…”
But back to our story from Luke’s gospel.
2. The Transfiguration: A Glimpse of Glory
The journey to the mountain began like any other.
Jesus took Peter, James, and John with him,
just as he had done so many times before.
Perhaps the disciples thought this would be another moment of quiet prayer,
another retreat from the crowds, another time to rest.
But what happened next was beyond anything they could have imagined.
As Jesus prayed, something changed.
His face shone like the sun, his clothes became dazzling white
—suddenly, he was transfigured before them.
And if that weren’t enough, Moses and Elijah then appeared,
standing beside him, speaking with him.
For any devout Jew in the first century,
this was clearly a moment of unspeakable significance.
They saw Moses, the great lawgiver, and Elijah, the prophet of fire
—both figures who had encountered God on mountaintops I their own time—
now standing with Jesus, as if to say,
He is the fulfilment of all that we proclaimed.
He is the one in whom the law and the prophets find their meaning.
The disciples were stunned. Overwhelmed.
And then Peter, never one to be silent in an awkward moment,
blurted out, “Master, it is good for us to be here!
Let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”
It’s an instinct we can all understand.
When something extraordinary happens, we want to hold onto it.
When we glimpse the divine, when the masks slip,
when honesty and integrity enter the room.
We want to capture that moment,
to keep it safe, to make it last.
Peter was doing what we all do when we experience something powerful
—he wanted to hold on to it, to manage it,
to build something permanent around it.
But before he can even finish speaking,
a cloud descends and covers them.
And this isn’t just any cloud—it is the cloud of divine presence,
the same cloud that led the Israelites through the wilderness,
the same cloud that filled the temple when God’s glory was revealed.
And from the cloud comes a voice:
“This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”
Not This is my Son, worship him from a distance.
Not This is my Son, build a shrine in his honour.
Not This is my Son, preserve this moment forever.
But listen to him.
This is my Son, listen to him.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over.
The cloud lifted, Moses and Elijah were gone,
and the disciples could see only Jesus—just as before.
The dazzling light faded, the mountain was still,
and they were left with a simple but life-altering question:
Now that we have seen, what will we do?
The transfiguration isn’t just about a revelation of Jesus’ glory.
It’s a moment of decision.
A moment where the disciples were confronted
with the truth of their humanity, of their brokenness.
And now they must choose how they will respond.
And the same is true for us.
When we see Christ more clearly, and understand ourselves more deeply,
—when we catch glimpses of God’s presence in ways we didn’t expect,
in ways that lay us bare
and expose our inner being to the light of God’s love.
—do we try to hold onto the moment,
or do we allow ourselves to be changed by it?
When God calls us to listen, are we paying attention?
3. The Descent from the Mountain: Facing Reality
If the story had ended on the mountain, it would be a beautiful vision
—Jesus in dazzling glory, the voice of God,
the great figures of the faith standing alongside him.
But the story doesn’t end there.
Because it can’t end there.
Jesus doesn’t stay on the mountaintop.
He doesn’t bask in the glow of divine revelation
or take up residence in the shrines
that his disciples build to prolong the moment.
Instead, he turns and leads his disciples back down
—back into the world, back into the messiness of life,
back into the suffering and struggle that awaits.
And almost immediately,
the contrast between the two scenes is stark.
At the foot of the mountain, a desperate father cries out,
begging Jesus to heal his son, a boy who is tormented by seizures.
Quickly the glory of the mountain feels far away.
And this is the rhythm of discipleship:
moments of revelation, followed by the call to action.
The disciples have seen Jesus transfigured in light,
but now they must follow him into the darkness of human suffering.
They have heard the voice from the cloud,
but now they must listen as Jesus speaks to the brokenhearted.
They have stood in awe,
but now they must serve.
Peter had wanted to stay on the mountain,
to contain the experience, to make it something permanent.
But Jesus is showing them that true discipleship
is not about staying where things feel safe and holy
—it is about going where healing is needed.
And here, at the bottom of the mountain, just hours later, the disciples falter.
They have tried to heal the boy and failed.
Perhaps they were still caught up in the memory of the Transfiguration,
still dazzled by what they had seen.
Perhaps they assumed that having witnessed such glory,
they would now have power at their command.
But faith is not about basking in past revelations
—it is about trusting God in the present,
even when the moment is hard.
Jesus sighs: “You faithless and perverse generation,
how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?”
It’s a painful moment,
one in which we see both his frustration
and his deep longing for his followers to understand.
They are still looking for glory in the wrong places.
They are still trying to grasp power without first embracing humility.
They are still hoping for a Messiah who will shine in victory
rather than walk the road to suffering.
But Jesus doesn’t turn away from them.
He doesn’t return to the mountaintop and leave them behind.
Instead, he acts.
He rebukes the unclean spirit, heals the boy,
and returns him to his father.
The work of God is done
not in the brilliance of the mountaintop,
but in the struggle of everyday life.
And then, Jesus turns to his disciples
and says something they don’t understand:
“Let these words sink into your ears:
The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into human hands.”
It is a reminder that the Transfiguration was never about power and status
—it was about the road ahead,
a road that leads not to a throne but to a cross.
The disciples had seen his glory,
but now they must prepare to see his suffering.
They had seen the light,
but now they must walk into the shadows.
And so must we.
It is tempting to want to keep faith in the safe places
—within church walls, in moments of beauty and clarity,
in experiences that feel holy and uplifting.
But the call of Christ is not to stay in those places.
It is to go where healing is needed,
where injustice must be confronted,
where love must be lived out.
The Transfiguration is not just about seeing Christ in glory.
It is about following him into reality.
4. Transformation as Discipleship
Peter, James, and John had seen Jesus transfigured,
but their real transformation was still to come.
That transformation would take time.
It would take failure—Peter would deny Jesus,
James and John would argue about power,
all of them would flee when the cross came into view.
But eventually, they would understand.
Eventually, they would see that the Transfiguration
was not an escape from reality
but an invitation to see reality differently.
And so it is with us.
Too often, we treat faith as something to inspire us,
rather than something that changes us.
We sing about love,
but struggle to embody it in difficult situations.
We proclaim justice,
but hesitate when it demands something of us.
We want to see Christ in glory,
but are less eager to see him in the poor, the suffering, the rejected.
But listening to Jesus means being willing to be changed
—to let go of our assumptions, to step beyond our fears,
to embrace the radical call of love and justice.
It means recognising that moments of revelation
are not meant to be contained but carried with us into the world.
This is why the Transfiguration matters.
Not because it gives us a fleeting glimpse of Jesus in glory,
but because it challenges us to be transformed ourselves.
As Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 3:18:
"And we all, with unveiled faces, beholding the glory of the Lord,
are being transformed into the same image
from one degree of glory to another."
This is discipleship
—not standing still, not staying where it feels safe,
but being changed. Being transfigured. Becoming un-masked.
Learning to see Christ more clearly, not only on the mountaintop,
but in the world around us.
5. What Masks Do We Need to Remove?
We began by thinking about the masks we wear
—the ways we hide our true selves,
the ways we try to manage how others see us.
Some of these masks are worn out of fear, some out of habit,
some because we have been taught
that certain parts of who we are must remain hidden.
But if the Transfiguration shows us anything,
it is that real transformation happens when we stop hiding.
When we dare to let the truth be seen.
So what are the masks we need to remove?
Perhaps it’s the mask of certainty
—the one that makes us afraid to admit
when we have doubts or questions about faith.
Perhaps it’s the mask of strength
—the one that stops us from admitting when we are struggling,
from allowing others to see our weakness and offer support.
Perhaps it’s the mask of control
—the one that keeps us from trusting God fully,
from stepping into the unknown with faith rather than fear.
Perhaps it’s the mask that hides our true identity,
- as we hide who we have been created to be because of fear
at how others will receive us and react to us.
As individuals, we wear masks.
But churches do, too.
Churches can hide behind the mask of tradition,
avoiding the difficult work of change.
They can hide behind the mask of respectability,
preferring to keep things polite rather than confront injustice,
by building meaningful relationships across difference.
They can hide behind the mask of spiritual busyness,
filling every moment with activity
but never allowing themselves to stop and truly listen to Christ.
And yet the voice from heaven says to us:
‘This is my son, listen to him.’
And the call of the Transfiguration is to take off the masks.
To allow ourselves to be seen. To allow ourselves to be changed.
6. A Call to Unveiled Faith
So the journey of faith is not about staying on the mountaintop.
It is about coming down.
It is about following Christ into the world,
into the places where healing is needed,
into the struggles of daily life.
And the call for us today is the same as it was for those first disciples:
To listen to Christ
—not just when it is easy, but when it challenges us.
To remove our masks
—to stop hiding behind fear, pride, or pretence.
To embrace transformation
—to allow the light of Christ to change us,
so that we can reflect that light in the world.
All this because true faith is not about clinging to moments of revelation
—it is about carrying those moments into the reality of our lives.
It is about living with unveiled faces,
about stepping into the world as people who have been transformed
and who are willing to be agents of transformation for others.
So may we listen.
May we be changed.
And may we, with unveiled faces, reflect the light of Christ in all we do.
Amen.
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