Today is the last Sunday before Lent, and that always feels to me like a kind of gentle tap on the shoulder from God. It’s a reminder that Lent isn’t meant to be a gloomy endurance test, but a gift — a season that invites us to grow, to pay attention again, to rediscover God who has never stopped paying attention to us. And our readings today help us do that by taking us up a mountain.
Some of you may have visited the Holy Land, and if you have, you might have been to Mount Tabor — one of the traditional sites of the Transfiguration. Whether or not it’s the exact mountain, it’s certainly a place where Christians have remembered that moment for centuries. It’s a beautiful spot, with views that stretch out for miles. I once spent a night in the monastery up there, and it’s one of those places where the peace of God feels intermingled with the air.
But the journey up is… well, memorable! There’s only one road, and you go up in minibuses that take the corners at a speed that makes you pray with great sincerity. The drivers often chat on the phone as they go, which does nothing for your sense of calm. The journey is bumpy, sometimes frightening, but the view at the top is worth every moment.
And that, in many ways, is the story of faith. We all travel difficult paths at times. Sometimes we all face discouragement, fear, disappointment. But God doesn’t simply wait for us at the top like a teacher ready to mark our achievements. He walks every step with us. He knows the twists and turns, the moments when we cling on for dear life, the moments when we wonder if we’re going to make it. And still he calls us upwards.
In Exodus (24:12-end), Moses is invited up the mountain to meet with God and receive the commandments. He goes faithfully, and he waits — forty days and forty nights. That number echoes through the Bible, including Jesus’ own time in the wilderness as he began his ministry. Sometimes God does incredible things through us being called to wait…
Then in the gospel (Matt 17:1-9) , Peter, James and John are invited up another mountain, and there they see Jesus transfigured before them. Moses and Elijah appear, representing the law and the prophets, and suddenly it becomes clear: Jesus isn’t replacing them, but fulfilling them.
Humanity had struggled to live as God intended, and now Jesus comes offering grace, mercy, and peace. The mountain becomes a place of revelation — a place where the disciples see Jesus as he truly is.
We’re called to live mountain‑top lives — not in the sense of escaping the world, but by recognising God’s presence and power in every part of it. The journey isn’t always easy, but the life God offers is worth it.
Let me share a little story. A man once decided he wanted to climb a small mountain while on holiday. He’d read online that it was “a gentle walk suitable for all ages.”
What the website didn’t mention was that the person who wrote it was clearly part mountain goat. Halfway up, the man was clinging to a rock, convinced he’d made a terrible life choice.
He said he’d never been so aware of his own heartbeat. But when he finally reached the top, he said that the strangest thing happened: he forgot the fear. The view was so breathtaking that the struggle suddenly made sense. “If I’d known it would look like this,” he said, “I’d have climbed it twice.”
Faith can feel like that sometimes. We don’t always see the point while we’re in the middle of the climb. We don’t always understand what God is doing. But God keeps inviting us upwards, promising that what he has for us is worth it.
And that’s really what Lent is about. It’s not about giving things up for the sake of it. It’s not about proving how disciplined or holy we are. It’s about making space to see God again. It’s about letting God take us by the hand and lead us a little further up the mountain.
All of us probably have places where we feel closest to God — a church, a mountain, the sea, a favourite chair. Those places matter because they help us pause long enough to notice God again. It’s so easy to be busy in church life, even busy doing good things, and lose sight of the One we’re doing them for. It’s easy to be active in faith but not attentive. Lent invites us to slow down, to breathe, to listen.
And God calls us to the mountain top — to know that he sees our pain, feels our disappointments, shares our joys, and loves us without condition. He calls us to remember that we have seen his glory in the face of Jesus — that we know his power and his unchanging love. And he calls us to let that change us.
Because the mountain top isn’t just a place of comfort. It’s a place of challenge. When the disciples saw Jesus transfigured, they didn’t get to stay there. They had to go back down the mountain into the ordinary world — the world of arguments and illness and confusion and need. And that’s where Jesus led them. The mountain top wasn’t the destination; it was preparation.
And that’s true for us. Lent isn’t just about feeling close to God. It’s about letting that closeness shape how we live. Later in the service we’ll pray words that remind us that we have seen God’s glory in Jesus, and we’ll pray that our lives will reflect his in what we say and do. That’s not just a prayer for today; it’s a challenge for the whole of Lent. It’s a challenge to ask: where do I need to grow? What needs to change? Where is God inviting me to climb a little higher?
Maybe it’s in our relationships — choosing forgiveness, patience, kindness.
Maybe it’s in our priorities — making space for prayer, Scripture, silence.
Maybe it’s in our courage — speaking of our faith when we’d normally stay quiet.
Maybe it’s in our compassion — noticing the people who are often overlooked.
Maybe it’s in our trust — letting go of the fear that keeps us clinging to the rock halfway up the mountain.
Whatever it is, God doesn’t ask us to do it alone. He walks with us. He strengthens us. He lifts us when we stumble. And he promises that the view — the life he is shaping in us — is worth it.
As we enter Lent, I want to offer a simple challenge. Not a heavy one, not a guilt‑laden one, but just an invitation…. Choose one thing — one small thing even — that will help you climb a little higher with God. It might be a daily prayer. It might be reading a gospel. It might be giving something up that distracts you. It might be taking something on that nourishes you. But choose something that helps you see God more clearly.
Because as we draw closer to Jesus, others will see something of him in us. And as our lives are changed, the lives of others may be changed too. That’s the heart of evangelism — not pressure, not clever arguments, but lives that quietly, consistently reflect the love of Jesus and point to him.
May everything we do and everything we say this Lent draw people closer to God. May our lives become “thin places” — places where the barrier between heaven and earth grows wonderfully small. And may we discover again that God is not only waiting for us at the mountain top, but walking with us every step of the way. AMEN.
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