The Last Sunday after the Epiphany

 

            Matthew 17:1-9, February 15, 2026

            A voice came from a bright cloud that overshadowed Jesus, Moses, Elijah, Peter, James, and John and the voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased.”

            It was only a few weeks ago that we heard similar words come from a cloud above. “As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment, heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”  In the waters of his baptism and at the top of a mountain, a voice says, “This is my Son, I love him deeply and unconditionally. I cherish and treasure him. He is precious and adored.” In both moments, Jesus has done nothing. He is not healing. He has not gone to the cross. He is simply present. He is named “Beloved” because he belongs to the Father.

            When I hear those words, “This is my Son, the Beloved,” I cannot help but think of a scene from The Lion King. The movie opens with Rafiki standing on a large rock jetting over the Savannah, holding a lion cub, Simba, high above his head. Simba, a small lion cub who hasn’t accomplished anything in his life and can barely stand steadily on his four small paws, is praised and honored. He is presented to the animal kingdom simply because of who he is – the Son of the King of the Pride Lands. There is no power in what the cub has done; the power is in whose Son he is.

            Today, Melrose Leigh will be brought to the front of the church and over the font, she will be blessed with water and anointed with oil, baptized in the name of Christ -- not because she has done anything special, simply because of who she is. She belongs, and she is claimed as Christ’s own. Today, her identity is declared before any achievement. She doesn’t understand what is happening – but we do. And she will be lifted before this community because she belongs.

            On the mountain, the disciples see what has always been true about Jesus, and they hear the voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved.” God says, “Remember what I said at his baptism.”

            In another scene in The Lion King Simba is hiding in shame from his family. In the night sky, his Father, Mufasa, appears and says, “Remember who you are. You are my Son.” He doesn’t tell Simba to try harder or to prove himself. He doesn’t tell him to go back and try to earn his place in the family. He simply says, “Remember.”

            Melrose isn’t going to remember today. As she grows, there will be days when she may forget who she is – a child of God. But long before that forgetting ever happens, we are here to speak the truth, “Melrose Leigh, you are God’s beloved.” Remember.

            The Transfiguration is also a story about light shining from Jesus. When we read about light in scripture, it always signifies identity and presence. When Simba is lifted into the air over the Savannah, the scene is filled with light. The light is golden and warm, spreading across the plain.

            After Melrose is baptized today, we will light a candle to say, “Let your light shine.” The light that Melrose will carry isn’t something manufactured. It’s something she inherits. Melrose will shine because she belongs to Christ.

            Peter, James, and John saw the light on the mountain. Peter was so enamored by it that he didn’t want to leave. But they had to leave and had to walk back down into their ordinary life – back into a life of doubt and fear. The mountain was not an escape. It was preparation. They had seen who Jesus truly is, and that vision was meant to shape how they would follow him in the valley. The light they witnessed was not for admiration; it was for transformation.

The light of the Transfiguration is not something we admire from a distance. It is something we carry into Tuesday afternoon, into hard conversations, into moments when we forget. Baptism is not just a memory of water; it is a daily turning back toward who we are — a way of living that shapes us until the day we die.           

            At some point in our lives, each and every one of us forgets who we are and we need to reorient ourselves. We need to remember and live our lives as God’s children. That is what baptism does. It names us beloved — and then sends us back into ordinary life. It reorients us. It changes how we walk through the valley. If we truly believe we are God’s beloved, then we forgive differently. We lead differently. We give differently. We handle conflict differently. We do not have to prove ourselves or protect ourselves at all costs. We live as people who already belong.

            The voice that spoke over Jesus at his baptism and the voice the disciples heard on the mountain is the same voice that speaks to each of us. It is the voice that says, “Beloved.” In our baptism, before we succeeded or failed, before we got it right or wrong. We were named. God says, “You are my beloved. I love you deeply and unconditionally. I cherish and treasure you. You are precious and adored.” Maybe we need to take more time to remember those words. Maybe what we need most is not to try harder, not to prove ourselves, not to earn our place, but simply to remember.

            On the mountain, God revealed who Jesus is. At the font, we will declare who Melrose is. In our lives, when we forget, our faith community around us says it again and again, “You are God’s beloved. Remember who you are.” In our baptism, we were named before we succeeded or failed. That identity is secure. But baptism is not something we watch; it is something we live. The same voice that called Jesus “Beloved” calls us by name — and then sends us down the mountain to live like it. Remember who you are. And live like who you are. Amen.