Transfiguration

“Standing here, the sun today provokes me to remember Rephidim.”

The Nile; blood! I held the staff like the wooden serpent it once was and red rolled from the river’s edge upstream and down like a bloody wet blanket. Dead fish floated to the surface as though they had been boiled in a hot cauldron; the stench of death followed.

“It was never easy, was it dear friend? Jezebel…prophets of Baal!”

“No. Never!”

My tongue lodged in the dry socket of my cheek but I never uttered a word, but thousands of them did, and I heard everyone of them. “Is the Lord not among us?” That still echoes in my memory. They wanted water. I struck the rock and we drank. We drank until our bellies bulged like ripe watermelons and our lips were no longer cracked and bleeding.

Silence. Beautiful silence.

I’m here…finally…this mountaintop.

Galilee lies in the distance, white specks like lice dancing in the foothills; the flocks are grazing. “Milk and honey.” It was a promise; a promise to Abraham and Isaac and Jacob.

“I cowered in a cave, you know. I thought I was alone. The wind shook the mountain like cattails swaying in a pond. The earth quaked; I clung to the wall to keep from falling as dust rained on me like miniscule granite feathers…there was silence in the noise. Then fire! I thought I would be consumed like a lamb dressed on the alter. The mountain burned with God.” 

The wind whistles up here, it did on Horeb too. “Look, the Lamb of God!”

I too had received the promise like Abraham; it kept me going when the masses wanted to turn back, when they wanted fish and melons, cucumbers, leeks and garlic—wages for Pharaoh’s filthy bricks. The Desert of Zin will do that to you, I guess. Most thought we were lost; aimless goats and stubborn donkeys.  

“I was supposed to speak that day. I seethed in anger at those rebels; I should have used my staff on them, the hard headed lot. My anger kept me from this place of promise. The water flowed and we all drank, each swallow bitter as wormwood to me. I had struck the Rock; the Living Water.”

 “You provided water; I withheld it from Ahab…for years! I drank from the brook and was fed by ravens night and day. Ravens of all creatures! Bread and meat; I wondered who had their provisions picked by a soaring thief so that I could eat. I did my own picking—from the widow at Zarephath—her last bit of flour and oil.”

“There’s that loudmouth who wanted to walk on water.”

I wish I could have spoken to the Rock as I was asked to; I would have made it here a long time ago. Even now my regret sulks inside of me like a forlorn lover languishing in unrequited love. My last day on Horeb was gloriously painful. I had pleaded with God like an annoying three-year-old, “please, please!” The Father had finally had enough; he wouldn’t speak to me again about the matter. It was my fault.

“The widow’s son died.”

“Canaan land, oh Canaan land, I am here. I could only gaze upon you from the Abarim Range on that last lonely day. I had only seen you from a distance when I blessed the tribes with bittersweet and plaintive cries. They would be going, I would be dying.”

  “I prepared Elisha too, my friend. He wanted a double portion of my blessing. My going was different than yours, yet we meet at the same place. Do you know nobody names their daughter Jezebel anymore?”

And two fishermen approached.

There stood Jericho, bold, brazen. Naphtali, Ephraim, Manasseh; I knew you’d soon be home—without me. We had wandered together for forty years. Wadis of the Negev were beautiful, lush like the banks of the Nile, but my foot would never fall upon its green grass. I stood there for hours, drinking it all in, my eyes thirsty with want. I longed for the City of Palms. There was a great dispute that day between Michael and the devil; Michael won. My old cocoon of a body buried in Moab. Glory!

The sun seems dull in the light of You. Your face shines brighter than I would have believed possible. Every ache and longing is gone.

“This is my Son…listen to him!”