The View from the Top

February 13, 2026

The View from the Top

The Last Sunday after the Epiphany | February 15, 2026

Opening Thought

Have you ever climbed a wall, or a tree, or even a mountain? Did you make it to the top? How did it feel when you stood there, looking out? And perhaps more importantly, how did it feel when you realized you had to go back down?

Did you know you climb mountains every day? Maybe for you, just getting out of bed is a mountain. Mustering the strength to throw off the covers, to get in the car, to walk into work, or to face that high-stakes meeting. We all have our peaks to scale. Maybe you have stared at a mountain of bills and didn't know where to begin. It all seems overwhelming at first. But then, once you get started, you realize it wasn't so bad—or at least, it was manageable.

If you are facing a mountain today, I want to remind you: You got this. You are enough, simply because God says you are enough.

We all love a "mountaintop experience"—those moments where the struggle fades, the view clears, and we feel on top of the world. Whether it is a literal breathtaking view after a long hike, a moment of profound clarity in prayer, or a musical crescendo that raises the hair on your arms—we crave those moments where the veil feels thin and God feels unmistakably close.

Nowhere is this feeling more palpable than when the mighty power of the Fisk organ here at Christ Church Macon roars to life. There is something physical about the sound. When those grand Dom Bédos de Celles style reeds speak, it isn't just music you hear; it is an invigorating sensation you feel. It rattles the sternum and wakes up the senses, reminding us that the glory of God is not a polite whisper, but a consuming fire.

If you look up at the instrument this Sunday, you will see the words inscribed in gold leaf on the front of the case, just below the Great division: "Glory to God in the Highest."

That is the theme of Transfiguration Sunday. We stand on the highest peak of the Epiphany season. For weeks, we have been looking for "epiphanies"—glimpses of light in the darkness. But today, the dimmer switch is turned all the way up. Jesus is not just a teacher or a healer today; He is revealed in unborrowed, terrifying, beautiful glory.

Peter, overwhelmed by the moment, says what we all feel: "Lord, it is good for us to be here." He wants to build a tent. He wants to freeze time. He wants to stay on the mountain.

But Jesus knows something Peter doesn't: the mountain is not the destination. It is the preparation. We cannot stay here because the valley is waiting. Ash Wednesday is only three days away. We are given this vision of glory—and this mighty sound—not to escape the world, but to have the strength to go back down into it.

So today, let us soak it in. Let the reeds invigorate us. Let us sing our final "Alleluia" with full throats. Let us bask in the light, so we can carry it with us into the Lenten journey ahead.

Engaging the Word

Our readings today are full of clouds, fire, and the voice of God.

Exodus (24:12-18) takes us to Mount Sinai. Moses enters the cloud of God's glory, which looks to the Israelites like a "devouring fire." It reminds us that God is not a tame force; He is dangerous, holy, and completely other. Moses stays there forty days and forty nights—a foreshadowing of the Lenten journey we are about to undertake.

Psalm 99 is a hymn of enthronement. This week, we will offer the Henry Smart in F Major setting of this Psalm in full Anglican Chant. This glorious and triumphant Psalm is a clarion call! This is God saying, "I am King and Ruler of All!" It speaks of the people trembling at His command. He is enthroned! He is in the pillar of cloud! He is a God of justice and of mercy! He is the Holy One! The music matches this theology perfectly—regal, expansive, and full of awe.

2 Peter (1:16-21) is the testimony of an eyewitness. Peter writes, "We did not follow cleverly devised myths... but we were eyewitnesses of his majesty." He wants the church to know that the Transfiguration wasn't a dream; it was a historical reality that anchors our hope.

Matthew (17:1-9) gives us the event itself. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up the mountain. He is transfigured—metamorphosed—before them. Moses and Elijah appear, representing the Law and the Prophets witnessing to the fulfillment of God’s plan. But my favorite detail is what happens when the disciples are terrified. Jesus comes and touches them, saying, "Get up and do not be afraid." The same God who shines with blinding light is the same Jesus who reaches out a hand to comfort his frightened friends.

A Journey in Song: Our Musical Guides

Our music today is a celebration of light, featuring the brilliance of British composers, the joy of our youngest singers, and the fiery colors of the French Baroque.

Opening Voluntary: We begin with the noble "Prelude on 'Hyfrydol'" by Ralph Vaughan Williams. This piece is a wonderful "musical foreshadowing." Vaughan Williams takes the famous Welsh tune Hyfrydol—which we will sing at the very end of the service as "Alleluia! sing to Jesus"—and weaves it into a rich, sweeping prelude. It sets a tone of majestic anticipation.

Entrance Hymn: We stand to sing "When morning gilds the skies" (#427). The text is a cascading series of praises—"May Jesus Christ be praised!"—that fits the energy of the Transfiguration. The verses speak about everything: waking, sleeping, music and songs, prayer, sun and stars and space, the heavens, and the whole creation.

It reminds us that God created (and is creating) all things everywhere. The sun, the moon, the planets, the people, the Earth. He created love, but he also holds the hate, the humanness of humans, the nasty, the beautiful, the ugly, and the wonderful. He is in the birds singing, the animals, the oceans, the sky, the storms, and the calm. But mostly, He is in the HOPE.

"Ye nations of mankind, in this your concord find: may Jesus Christ be praised! Let all the earth around ring joyous with the sound: may Jesus Christ be praised!"

This is a hope for a world that seeks to be one in loving concord. Truly, deep down, we want to be a happy people who love one another and seek to do what is right and good. May this hymn be an inspiration for that hope!

Hymn of Praise: We have a special treat this morning. The St. Cecilia Choir and Choristers join us to lead "This Little Light of Mine," with the congregation joining in. It is a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. In the midst of high theology and grand mountains, the voices of children remind us that the light of Christ is simple enough to be held in a small hand.

Sequence Hymn: "Christ upon the mountain peak" (#129) sets the scene perfectly for the Gospel. It is more than just a hymn; it takes us on a musical journey of the event we are about to hear. The text sets the scene of Christ on top of the mountain, where Moses and Elijah appear to speak with him. We sense that all the prophets of the Law are present, and all the saints in glory.

But it is the apostles—Peter, James, and John—who are overcome with awe. They kneel before Christ in his blazing glory. The hymn captures the swift cloud and the thunder as God speaks, and then the moment where Christ is revealed as the Beloved Son of God—come to perfect the Old Covenant and establish the New. It ends with the nations crying aloud and creation adoring the Son, the First and Last and Only One. It is a powerful, cosmic "Alleluia" before the reading of the Gospel.

Offertory Anthem: The choir offers the Anglican classic "O Thou, the Central Orb" by Charles Wood. The text uses the metaphor of Jesus as the "Central Orb" (the sun) of our "wintry world." It is a dense, rich prayer asking for God’s "holy lustre" to dispel the gloom of sin. Wood’s music starts with a majestic, broad opening, moves to a quiet, contemplative middle section, and builds to a glorious "Amen."

Sanctus: We hear the music of William Mathias for the Sanctus (S 128). His setting is full of "hosannas" that dance with rhythmic vitality, bringing a modern, joyful energy to the table.

Communion Hymn: The mood shifts with "Let all mortal flesh keep silence" (#324). This ancient hymn bridges the gap between Transfiguration and Passion. We sing of the "King of kings" appearing in human vesture, foreshadowing the sacrifice he will make.

Post-Communion Hymn: We conclude our Epiphany season with "Alleluia! sing to Jesus" (#460). Since we will "bury" the Alleluia for the season of Lent starting Wednesday, we send it off with one of the most triumphant tunes in our hymnal (Hyfrydol)—bringing our service full circle from the opening voluntary.

Closing Voluntary: We finish with the "Dialogue" from Suite du deuxième ton by Jean-Adam Guilain. This piece is the perfect vehicle to unleash the full, "invigorating sensation" of our Fisk organ. In the French Classic tradition, a "Dialogue" is a conversation between the organ's most powerful sounds. You will hear the Dom Bédos style reeds in all their glory—bold, fiery, and unapologetic—sending us out with the majesty of the mountain ringing in our ears.

A Closing Note on our Journey

I have always loved Peter’s reaction on the mountain. He sees Moses and Elijah—the two greatest figures in his religious history—and he panics. He says, "Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here."

He wants to capture the moment. He wants to contain the glory in a box so he can keep it. But Jesus ignores the offer. He doesn't want to stay in a shrine. He wants to walk back down the mountain with them.

Why? Because the world at the bottom of the mountain is broken, and it needs the light that was revealed at the top. We are called to come down to spread the good news, to do the work we have been sent to do, and to live the "Way of Love" for all God's people.

But here is the truth: we cannot do this alone.

The mountain is safe; the valley is scary. The work of love is exhausting. To truly live the life Christ wants for us requires a strength we simply do not possess on our own. As we say in our Baptismal Covenant, whenever we are asked to do the hard work of faith, we respond: "I will, with God's help."

That is where our courage lies. It lies in our ability to say, "Come, Lord Jesus, and help me. Be with me. Lead me, guide me."

Yes, the mundane daily tasks are tiring. The emails and the bills will still be there on Monday. But when we lean on God's help, we find that the joy of children's voices—like the ones we will hear on Sunday morning—and the fellowship of this community give us immense joy. After all, we are the Light. If only we can allow our lights to shine!

A Prayer for the Week Ahead

As we prepare to leave the mountain of Epiphany and descend into the valley of Lent, let us offer our prayers to God, whose light shines in the darkness.

For the Church Universal, that we may not be content to stay in the safety of our shrines, but have the courage to carry the light of Christ into a hurting world.