Transfiguration Day with Bo Giertz

Regular readers of mine have probably read at least one reference to Bo Giertz in my blog. Church members of mine are subjected to it a lot more. I have sort of a theological man crush on his works. Giertz is most well know known for his novel Hammer of God. For those unfamiliar with it, here is a fine introduction/review from Tullian Tchividjian. Those familiar with Hammer of God may think that is where this blog is going since there is a chapter entitled "Transfiguration Day" that is quite memorable for the exerts of Henric Schartau's Transfiguration Day sermon for which that Novella gets the title "Jesus Only". Less known is that Giertz wrote several other novels, two of which are available in English: Knights of Rhodes, a fine work in historical fiction recently translated by Bror Erickson and With My Own Eyes which was translated by Maurice Michael in I believe it was 1960.

With My Own Eyes is a novelization of the gospels that has been compared to the works of wonderful Lutheran novelist Walter Wangerin Jr. Unfortunately it is a rather hard to find book. I was able to read it from my seminary library, but to most this book is rather unknown in America. Even in our age of ebay and Amazon it is not easy to get ahold of and those sites that do sell it often do at a ridiculously high price. For those reasons, along with the fact that I was still rather new to the language I had purchased the book in its original Swedish Med Egna Ögon. I figured if I never get the book in English I at least have it in Swedish, and since my Swedish is still rather basic, I thought it would be good to do some translating with a book I've read. I sincerely hope at some point there is a second printing of this book. But until then, it's up to even the most basic of translators like myself to help bring some of Giertz's stuff to English.

That brings me to this blog. As I prepared for this Sunday I took the time to translate the transfiguration account in Giertz's chapter "Whiter Than Snow". It is not the entire chapter, but the account of their time upon the mountain before descending down.

Whiter Than Snow

They came to the last of the trees. John had noticed how the forest had thinned and the Hollies had shrunk together. They seemed to be crouching down, they crept near to the ground and held fast to the rocks.

Then there were no more trees. John saw it with astonished eyes. He had never thought that the mountains could be so high that forests could no longer grow on them. They wandered over a smooth blanket of bunched twigs and creeping willows. They constantly encountered small streams of cold water, which quietly slid over the rocks and soaked the rough gravel.

After only a few hours they had lost sight of the valleys around Caesarea Philippi. The whole town had crept down and hid behind the foothills of the mountain. On the other hand, opening up were new and unexpected views of its sea, which as they went higher stepped out from behind the hills, bigger and better. They stopped over and over again and pointed out the cities. There was Tiberias and Magdala, there appeared Capernaum and there Bethsaida stepped out from behind the ridge. And as the sea came out from its hiding behind the mountains, the southern horizon came into view. Carmel rested beyond the plain, Ebal and Garisim sprawled up among the hills of Samaria, and beyond there appeared the ridges of Judah as far as the region of Jerusalem. And still they went higher up.

John looked at his brother and smiled broadly and happily. This was a journey which had suited them. It was said that no one willingly steps up here on the mysterious mountain which everyone had seen but no one climbed. They had rejoiced therefore when the Master invited them to come with. They felt it was an honor, just as that name, which he gave them half-jokingly when he called them men of thunder. They could definitely rumble and make a fuss over little things, they were also first on the scene when it took courage or a strong task was needed.

This fascinated John enough to go over these heaths, where probably no man set foot before. In the west the sea was opening up in all its infinity beyond the Phoenician mountain. In the east lay the equally endless desert. To his front lay the mountain. Over and over he stared up the hill. Up there at the crest, that must surely be the top. But there was ever new crest and new, bare heights. The rise was certainly less steep, but it went up endlessly.

It was James who first came upon the snow. It lay in a deep crevice between the naked rocks. They lowered their hands in it and pressed it against their cheeks. They had never before gotten ahold of fresh snow. They had seen it at some point being brought down to Bethsaida, densely packed into tight leather wineskins, but that snow was dark and dripping wet. This was white and grainy, brighter than salt and so cold that your hands ached when you dug into it.

The sun was going down. It was delightfully cool and oddly easy to breath. Soft, blue shadows wandered over their homeland down below, some lonely clouds hovered like white wool drops over the surface of the sea. All of the deep valley that lay between the mountains of Galilee was already in twilight. Surely now they had arrived?

They never reached the top. They came so far that the mountain had fallen steeply to the east. With astonished eyes they saw a town down there, which must be Damascus, which as a white jewel lay in a bezel of dark greenery, in the center of the red desert. The shadow of this great, giant mountain fell across the plain and hurried faster and faster towards the horizon. Then the blue twilight rose up over the ground, for a moment the dust clouds over the desert were stained purple, and the small clouds over the Sea of Tiberias glowed like cut roses. Then everything went out, the sun disappeared into the sea and the darkness terrifyingly rose up over the desert’s undisturbed expanses.

They prepared a camp in a plot where there was a deep sink and ate their bread and their figs. When the stars lit up the sky above them, the Master asked them to linger there while he went away to pray. Even when it became quite dark they could catch a glimpse of him against the horizon above the camp site. They heard him speak with his Father, but they couldn’t quite take in the words he was saying.

John sat awake a long time. His brother was sleeping between the tufts of grass, and even Peter had given in and laid down. He listened. He’d be glad to have known what the Master said when he spoke to his Father…Again he shied away from the great secret, which had not been divulged. And though he did not know what it meant or what it would come to mean, John knew and believed completely and firmly that God’s Messiah was here among them. The bridegroom at the heavenly feast had descended to earth. They themselves were invited to the wedding. He had called them and appointed them over the men of their faith and clothed them with an authority like none other. They were the beginning of his people and heirs to the kingdom of glory. But just the same he wandered as the poor and homeless, and he made his bed on the ground. It was like the Master himself said: The foxes had their den, but the Son of Man had no place where he could rest his head.

He had dozed off a while, and the stars had wandered a long ways over the heavens above. It was infinitely still around them, not even a dying echo had rose up from the world of men down below.

Then he heard the Master’s voice again. He was speaking softly to someone who was right next to him and yet was infinitely far away. John listened long. Did the master never tire? How long could he talk with his Heavenly Father? He heard a conversation. The Master talked and silently listened and then spoke again. Even as John dozed off, he heard far away the strange tone of that voice, which with a boundless reverence drew near to Something in which it already had a portion of, and worshiped That One of whose essence it had come from.

When he started to wake, he had at first sensed the sun shining in his face. Still drowsy, he opened his eyes and saw a deep blue sky above him, a blue so deep it could only be the earliest part of dawn, when the stars go out. Yet the light still was beaming around him. He got up, still rather sleepy, and saw the Master standing before him.

Was it the Master? His face was transformed, his clothes shined like the light which reflected from the snowfields. His whole figure was shaped by light, interwoven and filled with light, an oddly captivating light that caressed the eye and blinded it and filled the heart with happiness and terror. Beside the Master, flowing out of that very light there stood two figures. The moment John saw them he knew that it was Moses and Elijah. They had descended here in order to talk with the Son of Man. The foremost among those who have gone before God’s Messiah stood here and talked about the work which they had begun, and which he would fulfill.

At that moment John began to wonder if he was dreaming. He looked around. Yeah - it was definitely a dream. Why he was floating on the clouds! The whole mountain was floating on clouds, whose soft waves of wooly foam spread themselves out, still so full of the night’s blue darkness they showed barely any of that first splash of the red morning. This soft sea reached right up to their feet, they were bare upon it, completely alone under heaven.

John took a sleepy step forward. His foot came hard against the gravel. His clothes were wet with dew and his hands felt frozen. This was not a dream. There stood James and Peter, just as sleepy and bewildered as he. Like children who got up too early, they stammered towards the Master.

At that moment, the two figures bowed to say goodbye and prepared to go. Peter took a couple clumsy steps forward and spoke in a drowsy voice that sounded muddled to John: that it was good that they were now here; now they would serve them and build three tabernacles, one for each of them. His incoherent words were drowned in clear white, a glittering sky, which swept down over them and saturated everything in such a wave of light that there was nothing but light. It was a glory and a power, something so wonderful and terrifying it threw John down to his knees and bent his forehead to the ground. While he lay there pressed against the willows, he heard the light, full of a voice which was not just any voice, but a living word which met him and penetrated him as much as the light itself. And the Word that came out from the clear and filled his breast and his head said to him: This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.

Still stunned by wonder and terror he felt the Master’s hand on his shoulder and heard his voice saying: Get up, do not be afraid.

He opened his eyes. Jesus stood there alone. Behind him nothing was visible except the deserted expanse of the mountain and then the endless sea of clouds that just gave birth to the color of the first rays of sunlight.

John arose, unable to say anything. Mechanically he chewed the bread that the Master gave him. With the same passivity he followed after him when he began to go down towards the bank of the sea of clouds.

Shyly and hesitantly he exchanged some whispers with the others. Had they heard the voice? Yeah. Had they seen them? Certainly. Was it Moses? Yes! And Elijah? Another nod. What had they talked about? About that which would now take place in Jerusalem.

Then the Master turned to them as if he understood what they were talking about. For the first time he mentioned the vision that they had seen. He forbade them from talking about it to anyone until the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

That the dead would arise, they knew that. Some day those who were esteemed worthy of becoming children of the new age would go into the same glory that they this morning saw a reflection of. But the Son of Man? He would arise? God would raise the dead from their humiliation. But surely the Messiah was God’s son, a partaker of his glory? And before the resurrection surely Elijah would come?

For the first time they dared to touch upon that great secret with a tentative question.

-How come the scribes say that Elijah must come first?

The Master’s response was clear and yet still puzzling. Elijah must come first, he said. That was true. He would restore all things. But that was already done. He had come. But the people did not know him, and they dealt with him exactly according to their evil wills. In the same way they will deal with the Son of Man. Was it not written about him, that he must suffer much and be rejected?

The Master’s answer had seemed so odd, and they feared to ask more. They had been told about Elijah. They understood who he was talking about; that was about John the Baptist. But what did it mean: that the Messiah would suffer much and be rejected? They had killed John. But the Messiah? God’s own Son?