The morning chill pierced Peter's bones as he awoke before sunrise. The world was still dark, shadows cloaking the Galilean hills, yet Jesus was already stirring, inviting him—alongside James and John—to ascend a nearby mountain.
As they trudged uphill, Peter felt a mix of anticipation and confusion. Why had Jesus brought them here at such an hour?
As the first rays of dawn stretched across the horizon, something astounding happened.
Right before Peter's eyes, Jesus began to glow—not gently or subtly, but brilliantly, fiercely.
His face radiated like the sun itself, His garments became dazzlingly white. Peter squinted, his heart racing, caught between awe and terror.
Then, suddenly, they weren't alone. Standing beside Jesus were two figures Peter had known only through sacred stories—Moses, the lawgiver, and Elijah, the prophet.
The legends of Israel’s past stood conversing casually with Jesus as if eternity had momentarily stepped into their world.
Peter, heart pounding, felt the need to say something—anything—to capture this monumental moment. “Lord, it’s good for us to be here!” he stammered, words tumbling out faster than thought could restrain. “If you wish, I can put up three tents—one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah!”
But before Peter could finish, a thick cloud swallowed the mountain, swirling around them, cutting visibility to nothing.
Thunder rolled through the mist, and a voice—deep, clear, powerful—pierced the storm: “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!”
Instantly, Peter fell to the ground, face pressed into the dirt, overwhelmed by holiness.
Then, silence.
Jesus touched him gently. When Peter dared to look up, the prophets were gone. The brilliant light had faded.
It was just Jesus—familiar, reassuring, yet somehow now even greater in Peter’s eyes.
Peter’s instinct—to build shrines for Moses and Elijah alongside Jesus—reflects a very human tendency.
We often elevate good things, even sacred traditions or revered heroes, to places only God should occupy.
Moses and Elijah, the embodiment of the Law and the Prophets, deserved honor and respect. Yet, even they stood humbly in Jesus' presence.
They were not equals; they were witnesses.
In that whirlwind, God corrected Peter—and us—declaring, unmistakably, that Jesus alone deserves our ultimate focus and worship.
He is the Alpha and Omega, the fulfillment of every law given through Moses and every prophecy spoken by Elijah.
Today, perhaps we, too, need reminding: good things can never replace God Himself.
Our hearts easily build altars to things that feel noble, sacred, or important, yet the Transfiguration calls us back to singular devotion to Jesus.
