In the past couple of weeks I've had to prove over-and-over again that I was who I claimed to be. It began at the airport, on the first leg of my journey to Israel, starting with the ticket counter all the way to the boarding gate ... I had to have my passport at the ready. My credentials. My identity. Now, you need to know my passport is a few years old and I could see the quizzical looks of the various checkers. They would look at the picture and then back to the reality. From the picture. To the reality. Is this guy really who he claims to be? I felt the need to explain, "Yes, that good looking fifty-five year old guy in the picture is really me. The last few years have been tough. You try to lead a congregation through a building program."

The best use of my passport happened when I was entering Bethlehem (yes, there's a checkpoint between Jerusalem and nearby Bethlehem). The cute teenaged Israeli soldier studied my passport and she said in heavily accented English, "You're from New York"? I nodded and then she pleaded, "Take me back with you!" I think it had everything to do with our wonderful country and absolutely nothing to do with the good looking fifty-five year old in my seven-year old passport.

Today is the most mystical and mysterious Sunday of the church year: the Transfiguration of our Lord. And it's all about credentials. The true identity of Jesus. You'll note that the text from the seventeenth chapter of St. Matthew begins, "Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves." And you might wonder, "Six days after what"? When we rewind to chapter sixteen, we get our answer. Six days earlier Jesus questions his disciples, "Who do people say that I am?" Credentials. Identity. His disciples, who had been with him for quite some time, gave various answers from Israel's Hall of Fame. "Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets."

I don't mean to trivialize this, but on Superbowl Sunday the answers might be, "Some say you are Joe Montana, but others Jimmy Brown, and still others Lawrence Taylor." Great heroes from football past. Or in the context of Super Tuesday, the answer might be, "Some say you are Washington, but others Lincoln, and still others FDR." In other words, the people who had seen Jesus as a healer or as a feeder or had heard him as a preacher, elevated him among the brightest and the best of God's messengers from ages past. But the disciple Simon got it right: "You are the Christ" (the Hebrew word is Messiah); "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God." Peter is saying, "You are the one God promised, the savior of God's people." And while the words of Peter still hung in the air, Jesus explained his role as Messiah: it means: destination Jerusalem. It means his own impending suffering and death. As you can imagine, this was distressing news to the friends and followers of Jesus. And how welcome the invitation when, six days later, Jesus invites Peter, James and John to go with him to the mountain top, a place of quiet refuge and sanctuary.

This was to be a turning point in the lives of those three men, as on the mountain top, Jesus was transfigured, transformed, if only for the moment. He shone with the brightness of God's glory. And speaking of Hall of Fame, Moses and Elijah appeared with him. And speaking of credentials, Jesus had his in spades. "This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!" The disciples experienced both vision and voice!

No words can adequately describe what happened there on the mountain top, and no preacher should try. All that can be adequately said is that something happened on that mountain top that scared the daylights out of Peter, James, and John. Scared the daylights out of them initially ... and ultimately gave them the confidence to face the future. Something took place up there on the mountain, so powerful, that Peter, James and John understood that whatever happened to Jesus in terms of his suffering and death, somehow God was going to make it all turn out for the good. Beyond that, whatever they themselves might face in the future - even unto death - well, that too God would cause to turn out for the good. Up there, high on the mountain, Peter, James, and John are given a glimpse of God's future. A future that would change forever the way they dealt with seemingly hopeless situations. They discover the identity of Jesus is far more than the great heroes of the faith ... the best that humanity has to offer. Jesus was the very best that God has to offer. No wonder that when we gather as an assembly of faith, our creed proclaims the credentials, "I believe in Jesus Christ, God's only Son, our Lord."

I hope from time to time you get the sense that worship is our mountain top. It is our sanctuary - a place we come to seek confirmation of that which we believe, or struggle mightily to believe. Just six weeks ago, on this very mountain in the Heights of Yorktown ... we heard of shepherds kneeling at the crib of the Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And then, four weeks ago, we heard the story of the wise men also glimpsing the identity of the child of Bethlehem. Three weeks ago, were you present? Down by the Jordan the clouds parted, a dove descended, and a voice was heard, "This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased." These are epiphany stories; stories of an identity being revealed, credentials being authenticated. And on this morning's mountain, it is the turn of Peter, James and John to hear that very same voice with that very same message, "This is my Son, in whom I am well pleased."

My friends, scout's honor: life can be difficult. But you already know this. In the best of times we are wise enough to recognize that even as the picture on the passport remains the same ... we are changing, getting older; time marching on. It is true for the very young. It is true for every one of us. And while this may concern us ... at worship we receive the same glimpse of a bright and everlasting future, and a confirmation of our faith.

And where do our personal stories of faith begin? A case could be made that our relationship with God and thus God's claim on our lives begins, not on a mountain top, but like Sofia this morning, our story of faith begins at the water. When Brian and Kristyn bring Sofia to the font in a few moments, I'm going to take their word for it that the child they hand over to me is really Sofia. They don't need her birth certificate. She's far too young for a passport. All this doesn't matter. Her identity is going to be changed. Transfigured. She shall be washed in the waters and become a new person. Her birth certificate will state, "Sofia, child of Brian and Kristyn." Her baptismal certificate will state, "Sofia, child of God." Same old Sofia. Brand new identity. And with her brand new identity comes the promise of eternity.

No wonder as we leave our mountain top place of worship this morning, we're likely to be humming the refrain of St. Peter, "How good, Lord, to be here!"