Chapter 9 of 10

Chapter Six: Transfiguration

Chapter Six: Transfiguration

Chapter 6

Transfiguration

Back in 1820 there was a little six-week-old baby who had an inflammation of the eyes. And the doctor applied hot poultices and burned the corneas so that the child was blind for life. When she was nine years old she wrote these words, “O what a happy soul am I although I cannot see. I’m resolved that in this world contented I shall be. So many blessings I enjoy that other people don’t. To weep and sigh because I’m blind, I cannot nor I won’t.”22

And that little girl grew up to write 8,000 hymns—among them, “To God Be the Glory,” “Blessed Assurance,” “Rescue the Perishing,” “Face to Face.” Her name was Fanny Crosby. I had heard the story of Fanny Crosby years ago but I hadn’t come across that little poem until much later, written at the age of nine. “To weep and sigh because I’m blind, I cannot nor I won’t.” I love that.

And there’s a verse in the 58th chapter of Isaiah, which very nicely links together what I said about offering in the last chapter with what I want to address with you now. Transfiguration. These are the words from Isaiah 58:10–11, “If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your desire with good things, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters fail not” (rsv).

It’s that deep principle articulated here that I want to talk to you about. I’ve given it the one-word title of transfiguration. I’ve chosen that word rather than transformation. The two are almost identical. But I love the word transfiguration because it implies an aspect of glory that is not always implied in the word transformation.

Transfiguration. You remember the story of Jesus on the Mount when He was transfigured. The two things—suffering and glory—are brought into contact because it was about suffering that Moses and Elijah were speaking when Jesus was transfigured. And this verse from Isaiah speaks of pouring yourself out for the hungry and receiving, in exchange, the satisfaction of your own needs, strength of limb. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.

I think Fanny Crosby, at the tender age of nine, had begun to glimpse the fact that there was more joy in giving than there would ever be in receiving. And she was broken bread and poured out wine for the life of the world. Only God knows the ripple effect of Fanny Crosby’s obedience in the offering up of herself. In Proverbs 11:25 we read, “The generous man will be prosperous, and he who waters will himself be watered” (nasb). I’m sure that all of us who have ever tried that therapy have found it to be extremely effective.

The idea of transfiguration follows very naturally and logically from acceptance, gratitude, and offering. If we receive the things that God wants to give us, if we thank Him for them and if we make those things an offering back to God, then this is what’s going to happen—transfiguration, the great principle of exchange that is the central principle of the Christian faith—the cross. We know that the cross does not exempt us from suffering. In fact, the cross is a symbol of suffering. In fact, Jesus said you must take up your cross.

There are kinds of suffering which we would never have to endure if we were not believers. We read that through much tribulation we must enter into Heaven. And Jesus explained that if we are His followers, then they are going to arrest us, imprison us, drag us into court, and even the day will come when they will kill us and think that they’re doing God a favor. He told us these things so that when they do happen, our faith in Him will not be shaken. If your faith rests in your idea of how God is supposed to answer your prayers, your idea of heaven here on earth or pie in the sky or whatever, then that kind of faith is very shaky and is bound to be demolished when the storms of life hit it. But if your faith rests on the character of Him who is the eternal I AM, then that kind of faith is rugged and will endure.

I’m very keenly, painfully aware of the fact that this message on suffering is barely skimming the surface. And I think of the words of one of the ancient mystics who said that God is a mountain of corn from which I, like a sparrow, pluck a single kernel. That describes what I’ve succeeded in doing if I have succeeded in doing anything at all. Perhaps we’ve plucked a single kernel, just enough to satisfy the hunger of a tiny bird from this immense mountain of corn, which is the reality of God Himself.

We’ve thought about the truth, the terrible truth, the message, the matter of acceptance, of gratitude and of offering. Now let us think about transfiguration. Again, I’ll give you three principles that connect transfiguration to suffering. This time I will help by adding alliteration. I don’t work very hard trying to get things alliterative, but it happens to be three Ps this time: the principle of, the perspective, and the paradoxes.

The first principle is that of the cross: Life comes out of death. I bring God my sorrows and He gives me His joy. I bring Him my losses and He gives me His gains. I bring Him my sins, He gives me His righteousness. I bring Him my deaths and He gives me His life. But the only reason God can give me His life is because He gave me His death.

So these things continually work not only in the spiritual life, but in the natural world as well. Jesus used the very simple illustration of the natural world in the incident where just after His entering into Jerusalem where He was hailed with palm branches and hosannas, two of the disciples came to Him and told Him that there were some Greeks there who wanted to see Him because they had heard about the raising of Lazarus from the dead.

Well, we all love miracles and we all love a miracle worker. If you want to be popular, you perform as many miracles as possible in as visible a medium as possible and people will flock to you. People flocked to Jesus, he said, not because of the words that He spoke, but because of the loaves and fishes. In this case it was raising Lazarus from the dead about which word had spread abroad. So people were crowding into Jerusalem to see this man and the disciples came and told Jesus that they wanted to see Him.

Well, Jesus took that opportunity to turn His disciples’ idea into glory upside-down. The world has an idea of what’s important, what really is the glory of God. Do all the miracles that you can and get everything all sorted out and healed and paid for and solved and that’s God’s glory. And of course, I believe in a God who can make the sun stand still. And He can turn water into wine and make dry land out of rivers. Don’t misunderstand me.

But when I hear a preacher say what you need is a miracle, I want to say, “I might think that’s what I need, but very often my prayers are really asking for stones. And what God wants to give me is bread, something that will not only feed myself but feed the world as well.” So I can pray. I might even pray for a miracle. I don’t think I’ve done that very often. But when I was praying for healing for my husband’s cancer, I knew that I was praying for a miracle, humanly speaking. But the bottom line was, “Lord, Thy will be done.”

We need our definitions revised just as the disciples needed to have their definition of glory revised and turned upside-down. Jesus said, I’m going to show you what glory is. He said, “Now the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit” (kjv). Now that is the principle of the cross. He was on His way to the cross. Is there anything less significant and distinctive than a seed? You’ve seen one corn of wheat, you’ve seen them all. You’ve seen one grain, one seed, one apple seed, you’ve seen them all. So there isn’t anything terribly distinctive, noticeable about a seed.

I give Him my deaths and He gives me His life. My sorrows, He gives me joy. My losses, He gives me His gains. This is the great principle of the cross.

And when that seed falls into the ground, it’s gone. It may never been seen again. But we know for sure that nothing is ever going to come out of that seed unless it falls into the ground, into the dark, into the unknown, into ignominy and death. But out of that seed, then, comes the great harvest, the golden grain. So that is the principle of exchange. I give Him my deaths and He gives me His life. My sorrows, He gives me joy. My losses, He gives me His gains. This is the great principle of the cross.

Some of you, I’m sure, know the story of George Mathison, the hymn writer, who became engaged. And while they were engaged he went blind and his fiancé, not wanting to be saddled with a blind man, broke the engagement. And it was then that George Mathison wrote those wonderful words, “O love that will not let me go. I rest my weary soul in Thee. I give Thee back”—here we are with this offering—“I give Thee back the life I owe, that in Thine ocean depths its flow may richer fuller be.”23

And I think of the words that my first husband, Jim Elliot, wrote when he was twenty-two years old. “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” He was paraphrasing the words of Jesus, “If you lose your life for My sake, you’ll find it” (Matt. 10:39, author paraphrase). He exchanges my weakness, my losses, my sins, my sorrows, my sufferings. When we offer them to Him, He has something to give us in exchange, and that might feed a multitude.

So the principle of exchange is the principle of the cross. And that principle goes all the way back to before the foundation of the world. The Lamb was slain. The blood sacrifice was made in the mind of God before there was such a thing as sin. Sacrifice and suffering and glory. There is no getting away from them.

We live in New England where we love September and October. Lars always groans about it because he’s a Southerner and he thinks the winters are so long. But when the acorns begin to fall, I love the season because, for one thing, we do have the most spectacular colors in the country because we have those rock maples that turn blood red and salmon and mauve and unbelievable colors. But the glory of the autumn is a symbol of death. That blood red reminds me of blood, which is the symbol of death.

If it weren’t for the oak tree letting go of all those precious little seeds, those acorns, they would never fall into the ground and die so that there would never be any more oak trees and the squirrels would starve to death. Everything that you and I eat means that something has died in some way. Even an egg, even a glass of milk, the chicken and the cow have not died, but they have given life, haven’t they? And practically everything else on the table tells us that something has died, whether it’s corns of wheat or animals. So life comes out of death. It is the principle of the universe, the principle of exchange. Even stars die. We’re being told more and more, these fascinating things that astronomers are discovering.

But there’s a verse hidden in 2 Chronicles 29, verse 27 that has been a great encouragement and cheer to me ever since I found that verse back when I was a senior in college and dying a thousand deaths over the fact that I was in love with somebody that I didn’t think was ever going to be in love with me, and thinking that I was very foolish to even entertain any hopes for this man. So I put my feelings on God’s altar. I can’t handle a lot of my emotions. And so I just say, “Lord, here it is. You take it and You make something out of it if You can. If You can make something out of a little boy’s lunch and out of the widow’s cruse of oil, then maybe You can do something with this.”

So I turned over all those passions, that veritable tornado of passion that I felt for this young man whose name just happened to be Jim Elliot, to God. And God gave me this verse in 2 Chronicles, “When the burnt offering began, the song of the Lord also began” (2 Chron. 29:27 nasb). Isn’t that terrific? It works. When the burnt offering began, the song of the Lord began also. It’s just referring to the actual ritual of sacrifice. And yet, it has it has implications for our spiritual lives, doesn’t it?

Now, let’s look at this perspective, the second principle of transfiguration tied to suffering. Our perspectives need to be transfigured, changed into something that has glory in it. And that wonderful chapter of Hebrews 11 tells me many things about perspective. It says in verse 13, after going through the stories of Abel and Enoch and Noah and Abraham and Sarah, all these impossible things that they did by faith, it says, “All these died in faith, without receiving the promises, but having seen them and having welcomed them from a distance, and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth” (nasb). Those who use such language show plainly that they are looking for a country of their own. If their hearts had been in the country they had left, they could have found opportunity to return. Instead we find them longing for a better country. And is there anything that makes you long for that better country more keenly than suffering of one sort or another?

Even as my poor little granddaughter was suffering over the fact that she’d gotten spanked three times in one day, and she said, “Oh, if only Adam and Eve hadn’t sinned.” Just when the washing machine runs over with company in the house, I mean you do kind of, at that point, long for a better country, don’t you?

Then we see in verse 27 in the same chapter of Hebrews, speaking of Moses, “By faith he left Egypt, not fearing the wrath of the king; for he endured, as seeing Him who is unseen” (nasb). That’s a transfigured perspective. Then if we go back up to verse 20 in Hebrews 11, we see that, “By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau, even regarding things to come” (nasb). A transfigured perspective.

Now it’s one thing to get that perspective on other people’s lives, isn’t it? Do you find it easier to see the will of God at work in somebody else’s life than in your own? Would you like to have the story of Daniel without the lions’ den? Of course we wouldn’t, because we know the end of the story. Well, we Christians, we’ve got this whole book full of wonderful stories like that and the end of every single one of them is the same. It’s glory every time.

Would you like to have the story of Joseph without all his trials and tribulations, without his going into the pit? What would you know about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego if they’d never gone into a fiery furnace? The blessing of Fanny Crosby’s life has been enormously increased through knowing that these words of these beautiful gospel hymns came from a woman who never saw the light of day, or at least never remembered seeing it from the age of six weeks. Everything has been transfigured in their lives because we know the end of the story.

I remember when Jeannette Clift George was playing the part of Corrie Ten Boom in the movie called The Hiding Place. She was interviewed on one of Billy Graham’s programs. He asked her what was the characteristic, as she studied Corrie Ten Boom’s life, that most impressed her about Ten Boom? And without any hesitation Jeannette’s answer was, “Joy.” And for all who saw Corrie Ten Boom either in person or on the screen saw a radiant old face filled with the joy of the Lord.

Now where did that come from? Was it because everything in her life worked so beautifully? Was it because she had had a happy life as the world would define happiness? Of course not. Her perspective was transfigured. And she, herself, was transfigured for the benefit of the rest of us. We were given a visible sign in the face of Corrie Ten Boom of an invisible reality—another country, another level, another perspective.

Paul was able to sing in prison. And he wrote those prison epistles which are filled with joy. The book of Philippians is called the epistle of joy. And he wrote these stunning words in the first chapter of Philippians, verse 29, words which to me are loaded. He said, “For he has graciously granted you the privilege not only of believing in Christ, but of suffering for him as well” (nrsv). You have been given a gift of suffering.

And then in Colossians, also the first chapter, verse 24, this even more stunning and loaded verse, “I am now rejoicing in my sufferings for your sake” (nrsv). Sounds like gobbledygook, doesn’t it? Until he goes on to say, “I am completing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church.” Now to me that is the most profound statement about the subject that we have been discussing in all of Scripture, of human suffering. We cannot come close to the statements about the sufferings of Christ.

But Paul is in prison and he says, it is my happiness to suffer for you because this is my way of helping to complete in my poor human flesh. I understand Paul was chained between two soldiers. Can you imagine the discomfort of that, not to mention the lack of privacy, twenty-four hours a day? But in his poor human flesh, in some very mysterious way that I can never explain to you, but I believe it, he said I am helping to complete the full tale of Christ’s afflictions still to be endured for what? For the sake of His body, the church.

And I know that some of you are sitting there saying but what has that got to do with my sufferings? My sufferings are not for the sake of the gospel. And for years I died a thousand deaths over that one because I thought, I’ve never really had any sufferings that were directly for the sake of the gospel. And even the death of my husband Jim who had attempted to take the gospel to some people, he did not get literally killed because of the word of his testimony. He had never spoken a word to those Indians. They didn’t have any idea why he was there and surmised that he was a cannibal. And so they thought they’d better bump him off in self-defense before they got eaten themselves.

So for years and years I pondered this. And I have come to the conclusion that there is a mystery here much deeper than the fact that Paul was literally suffering in prison because of his testimony. Christ suffers in me. Now if I suffer because I am a member of His body, I may be a sore member, but He suffers with me and for me and in me. And when I suffer, He suffers. Christ suffered on the cross. He bore all my sins, all my griefs and all my sorrows. And yet there is a full tale yet to be fulfilled. I don’t understand it. I simply affirm it. I accept it.

He bore all my sins, all my griefs and all my sorrows. And yet there is a full tale yet to be fulfilled. I don’t understand it. I simply affirm it. I accept it.

Finally, let’s look at the paradoxes as they relate to transfiguration and suffering. We need a transfigured view of these paradoxes. Scriptural metaphors for suffering speak of pruning. The best fruit comes out of the most drastic pruning. The purest gold comes out of the hottest fires. I have certainly learned the deepest lessons of my life through going through the deepest waters. And the greatest joys come out of the greatest sorrows. Life comes out of death.

Let’s think of Mary. Probably just a teenage girl who, in her humility and her poverty, offered herself, her plans, her hopes, her fears of what might be thought of her if it appeared that she had been unfaithful to her fiancé, Joseph. Her instant response to the word of God was, “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord; let it be unto me according to thy word” (Luke 1:38 kjv). And it was out of this sacrifice, this offering of herself that the Savior of the World was born. Transfiguration. She was called the most exalted among women, most highly exalted. That came from humility. If you lose your life for His sake, you’ll find it.

There is, in fact, no redemptive work done anywhere without suffering. And God calls us to stand alongside Him, to offer our sufferings to Him for His transfiguration and to fill up in our poor human flesh. If I’m not given the privilege of being crucified, if I’m not given the privilege of being martyred in some way, some literal way for God, I am given the privilege of offering up to Him whatever He has given to me. I offer to Him all that I am, all that I have, all that I do and all that I suffer for His transformation, transfiguration, exchange for the life of the world. That is what it’s all about.

You may be suffering as a father because your son has rejected you. You may be suffering as a son because your father rejected you thirty years ago. We have a young man living in our house right now, a student, who was rejected at the age of ten months by his father and his mother. Put into a foster home where he stayed for fifteen years.

I made a list of these amazing paradoxes. These are some of the things that the Scripture tells me God transforms. The wilderness into pasture. Deserts into springs. Perishable into imperishable. Weakness into power. Humiliation into glory. Poverty into riches. Morality into immortality. This vile body into a resplendent body. My mourning into the oil of joy. My spirit of heaviness, He gives me in exchange a garment of praise. And beauty for ashes.

In Revelation 7:16 and 17 we read, “They shall neither hunger anymore nor thirst anymore; the sun shall not strike them, nor any heat; for the Lamb who is in the midst of the throne will shepherd them and lead them to living fountains of waters. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes” (nkjv).

In closing, I want to give you a poem written by Grant Colfax Tuller. “My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me; I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily. Oft times He weaveth sorrow and I, in foolish pride, forget He sees the upper, and I the under side. Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly, shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why. The dark threads are as needful in the Weaver’s skillful hand, as the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.”24

Everything that happens fits into a pattern for good. Suffering is never for nothing.

There is, in fact, no redemptive work done anywhere without suffering.

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