Lately I have been thinking a lot about the episode in the Gospels known as the Transfiguration. For some reason (and I always suspect the Holy Spirit's loving involvement in this), my readings and experiences have been pointing me toward it.

Because the Feast of the Transfiguration falls on August 6 this year, we may not pay as much attention to it as we should. Yet, it is one of the great Feasts of the church and with good reason. What transpired on top of "the mountain" is recounted by all three of the Synoptics (Mark 9: 1-8; Luke 9: 28-36; and Matthew 17: 1-9), and it is also somewhat less explicitly mentioned in the Gospel of John (1: 14) and in 2 Peter (1: 16-18).

What did happen up on that mountain? I doubt that even the most sophisticated camera equipment (had it been invented) could have provided us with an answer to that question. What a camera could not witness is the contemplation and prayer that brought about a moment so charged with faith. On the mountain, Jesus and his companions reached so deep into heaven that it opened up a crack between the human and the divine.

The Transfiguration of Jesus is at the very center of the Gospel of Mark. The excitement of the beginning of Jesus' ministry has subsided, and the desolate yet ultimately glorious power of his passion, death and resurrection has not yet come. In some respects the Transfiguration comes at a time when life for Jesus and his friends seems to be almost in a holding pattern - waiting for something decisive to happen.

Historian of religion David Ulansey has pointed out that the Transfiguration forms a perfect triptych --- a three-fold picture --- with two other events in the life of Jesus. The first scene is at the very beginning, when during the baptism of Jesus (Mark 1:9-12) "on coming up out of the water he saw the heavens being torn open and the Spirit, like a dove, descending upon him." Two significant things happen here: First the heavens "tear open," and then a voice declares, "You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased." Mark is not too specific, but it appears that at this moment it is only Jesus who sees the heavens open up, and it is only Jesus who hears God's voice.

The third scene in the triptych comes at the very end of Jesus' earthly life (Mark 15: 37-39), when "Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. The veil of the sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom. When the centurion who stood facing him saw how he breathed his last, he said, 'Truly this man was the Son of God!'"

Historical sources describe the veil of the sanctuary at the time of Jesus as a gigantic tapestry on which was embroidered "a panorama of the entire heavens." Thus, the very same sequence of events happens as during his baptism, the tearing open of heaven, and the voice proclaiming Jesus as God's Son --- except something has changed drastically.

The heavens that tear open are those that have been imaginatively represented in the tapestry by the Jewish worshipping community, these are the heavens they have come to understand by faith. And, just as significantly the proclamation of Jesus as Son of God is made by a human being, a witness, someone who is not even one of Jesus' inner circle of friends.

If we think about the first rending of the heavens at the baptism at one end of a continuum, it appears that the breaking-in of the divine is something that starts exclusively in Jesus. If we look to the far end of the continuum as Jesus dies, we can see that the in-breaking of heaven has become intimately intertwined with humanity; it is in human terms that it must be communicated and proclaimed.

So what is in the middle of these two? The Transfiguration, the moment when Jesus seems to (momentarily but most assuredly) become caught up in the fissure that has just opened up between heaven and earth. Jesus not only glows with a heavenly light, but converses with Moses and Elijah, those on the other side of the "veil."

Significantly then, this is a halfway point, where Jesus is palpably present to literally light the way. Here not only Jesus, but also his friends hear words similar to those at his baptism, "This is my beloved Son. Listen to him."

But while at the baptism God declares God's pleasure with Jesus as Son, here at the Transfiguration, God declares Jesus' authority. The friends of Jesus have reached a point in their spiritual journey when they are brought close to the light. This moment will need to sustain them through very difficult trials.

River, mountain and cross --- it seems to me that in these three moments we have a roadmap for our own spiritual journeys. Our road must begin in "blind faith," in that space where, although Jesus is in the waters of the river, we are unable to see the tearing heavens or even hear the voice of God. We just need to trust that Jesus does, and we need to follow Him. Yet as we cultivate our spirituality through discipleship, we will indeed be called to a more active faith, one which, although "terrified" at the top of the mountain and not knowing what to say (just like the disciples) will glimpse God's will more fully and sometimes be rocked out of all comfort.

Finally, I think a spiritual road will call us to sharpen our spiritual senses to such a degree that we can see the reflection of heaven in our earthly world; to so tune ourselves through liturgy and prayer that the veils of the temple will flutter in unison with the breath of God. Like the centurion we will be called to witness boldly and strongly to the obedience, authority and finally glory of Christ, because we have looked up at the Cross and at long last understood the depth of God's love.

Cecilia González-Andrieu writes from the Graduate Theological Union, Berkeley.