The View From the Summit

In 2018, mountaineer Melissa Arnot became one of only a handful of American women to summit Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen. She described the moment at 29,032 feet as overwhelming — the curvature of the earth visible, the sky a shade of blue she had never seen before, a silence so deep it felt sacred. She wept. She wanted to stay forever.

But she couldn't. The oxygen was too thin. The weather window was closing. To stay on the summit meant death. The whole purpose of reaching the top was to carry what she had seen back down into the valley, where the air was thick and the world was ordinary again.

Peter understood that impulse on the Mount of Transfiguration. When he saw Jesus radiating glory, flanked by Moses and Elijah, he blurted out the most human response imaginable: "Let's build three shelters. Let's stay." He wanted to freeze the moment, to pitch a tent in the presence of unveiled holiness and never leave.

But the Father's voice cut through the cloud with a different instruction — not "stay here" but "listen to Him." Listen as He walks back down the mountain. Listen as He sets His face toward Jerusalem. Listen as He moves toward the cross.

The mountaintop was never meant to be a permanent address. It was meant to give the disciples — and us — a glimpse of glory bright enough to sustain us through the valley ahead.