Picture a craggy mountaintop. Men appearing out of nowhere. A dark and terrifying cloud. Strange sounds and sights.

The Transfiguration? No, not this time. The Battle of Blair Mountain.

It was on a jagged peak in West Virginia, nearly 80 years ago, that the biggest armed rebellion outside of the Civil War was fought. An army loyal to the coal companies fought 10,000 rebellious miners for 10 days beginning on August 24, 1921.

The Battle of Blair Mountain cost the lives of 25 men and resulted in 1,500 miners facing charges of treason, murder and conspiracy. It was a full-fledged battle between two armies. The miners had revolted after a summer of unrest over working conditions, organizing themselves into platoons and practicing military drills.

But the coal company army had machine guns, defensive trenches, and a makeshift air force with home-made bombs. They stopped the marching miners from crossing a mountain pass on their way to another strike, and then the U.S. Army surrounded both sides and forced them to surrender. In the decade after the battle, union membership fell from 50,000 to 600.

Back in 1921, the coal companies won both the battle and the war.

Today a new fight has erupted over Blair Mountain and others like it. Environmentalists and long-time West Virginia residents are going to court and fighting the practice of what is called "mountaintop-removal mining" -- lopping off mountaintops to get the coal inside.

"God made mountains, and we have man destroying them," insists a member of the state Sierra Club. "We call West Virginia 'The Mountain State' for a reason," he tells USA TODAY. "We treasure these Appalachian mountains in almost a religious way. Flat tops are not our vision of West Virginia."

The practice has not only removed the tops of mountains but buried more than 500 miles of streams and displaced whole towns from the valleys. It "ain't pretty," admits the president of the West Virginia Coal Association. But to stop it, argue some, would ruin the state's most important industry and deny the nation a crucial source of coal (Dennis Cauchon, "Once again, a fierce fight on Blair Mountain," USA TODAY, March 29, 2000).

So the drama continues, with fighting in the latest Blair Mountain battle shifted from craggy peak to federal courthouse. We can't predict how it will turn out, but we need not wait -- there's a connection to be made today between mountaintop removal mining and the peak experience called "The Transfiguration," as recounted in the Gospel of Luke. Today's lesson suggests that if we don't climb to the very top with Jesus, Peter, James and John, we'll run the risk of losing a mountaintop spiritual experience, and letting the everyday rob us of that which is truly extraordinary.

When it comes to the life of faith, "flat tops" can never be our vision.

Jesus sensed the significance of the summit when he took his top three disciples with him to the pinnacle of what was probably 9,000-foot Mount Hermon, near Caesarea Philippi. As Jesus prayed, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Two men appeared out of nowhere -- Moses and Elijah, suddenly talking with Jesus. Peter tried to capture the moment with some hasty tent-pitching for the three holy men, but then a terrifying cloud covered the sky and a voice boomed: "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" (9:35). As quickly as it started, the Transfiguration was over. Jesus was alone, and the disciples were speechless.

They had seen something more earth-shaking than a peak-popping dynamite blast, and then it was gone. The sounds. The sights. The visitors. The visions. If only they could experience it again.

But maybe the glory of the mountaintop moment had to pass. Peak spiritual experiences are certainly spectacular, but then you've got to go back to the valley and live there. That's life, folks -- sad, but true. Most day-to-day living is predictable and even boring, and the world of the trite and the trivial is the context of most Christian activity. But sometimes it seems that we are actually AFRAID of the summit, and maybe even anxious to start shaving off the mountaintop!

Is this true for you? Be honest. Do you sometimes want to blow the peak and roll into the valley? Would you prefer to head back home, close the shutters, pull the drapes, and never take a glimpse of the mountain and relive its beauty and glory?

We all feel this way, at least a little bit. After all, it's hard to focus on Jesus in his non-earthly, transfigured appearance -- face shining like the sun, clothes dazzling, walking around in his heavenly messianic glory, talking with the two big guns of Old Testament Scripture, Moses and Elijah. It feels just a little overwhelming, doesn't it? Makes you want to find a nice place to lie down and rest -- maybe on a recently blasted, flat top mountain.

But never underestimate the value of the peak experience. Yes, it's chilling, thrilling, confusing, and even terrifying. But where else are you going to find the inspiration you need to keep your eyes on Jesus? The mountaintop experience should always be preserved for as long as possible, in whatever way you can. Peter's attempt to build three dwellings -- one for Jesus, one for Moses, and one for Elijah -- was a bit off-the-wall, but you can't blame the guy. His heart was in the right place. He wanted to preserve a truly life-changing moment, in whatever way he could.

What's your Transfiguration? Your mountaintop spiritual experience? Jonathan Kozol has written a book Ordinary Resurrections, in which he introduces readers to an after-school program at St. Ann's, an Episcopal church in the South Bronx. He also reveals how the school's inner-city students reawakened his dormant faith.

"Like many overeducated people," admits Kozol, "I have tended for many years to pretend that I had a detached, ironical attitude about religion. This is a typical pretense of many people who imagine themselves to be sophisticated. ... So when I met these children at St. Ann's, they gave me back something that had been stolen from me. It was the first time I felt I could give in to those religious feelings that had been there all along.

"I'm learning about religion through the eyes of children. They would ask if I would pray with them. I would be shy at first, and I would wonder if I had the right to pray with them, since I was Jewish. But the children would insist. They know I'm Jewish, but to them I'm their friend -- if they're sad, why shouldn't I pray with them? ... I go in search of blessings, and I find them every time. The children give far more than they receive" (Lauren F. Winner, "Suffer the Children," Christianity Today, July 3, 2000, www.christianityonline.com/ct/2000/007/39.94.html).

Jonathan Kozol has had a mountaintop experience in the South Bronx, discovering the transfigured face of Christ in the faces of some of the poorest children in America. Much to Kozol's credit, he maintains this experience by continuing to work with these children, to write about their struggles, and to speak on their behalf.

So, what's YOUR Transfiguration? Your peak experience? And what are you doing to preserve it? James McGinnis of Saint Louis made a point of inviting each of his children, when they were young, to identify a special outdoor prayer place in a large city park. Then, on the eve of significant religious days -- a first communion or confirmation -- he or his wife would take the child to his or her place for prayerful reflection on the event. "More than just another religion class," reflects McGinnis, "this was a moment of communion between us as parent and child, between us as followers of Jesus, between each of us and God, and each of us with creation." They discovered in these mountaintop experiences that all creation is alive with the presence of the Creator (James McGinnis, "Households of Faith," Weavings, September-October 1999, 35).

Unfortunately, we often shy away from peak experiences, preferring to stay in our comfortable, climate-controlled, civilized valleys. Or we shave off our spiritual mountains and turn them into flat tops, preferring to mine them for our own purposes. We blow off the chance to experience communion with God, responding instead to the lure of a marketplace.

But there's danger here. Once you remove the mountaintop, you can't replace it. It's gone. It won't return. Just ask the people of West Virginia, who have seen their soaring peaks reduced to stubs.

Do you really want to shave the summit and have a flat top future?

There's so much that can be done to pursue and preserve truly life-changing moments of communion with our Lord. You can take daily prayer walks through your neighborhood, building leg muscles and prayer muscles while praying for your neighbors' needs. You can set aside Sabbath time for rest and renewal, and use it to read a good book, meditate, pray, and maybe eat a leisurely meal with a friend. As a congregation, we can use the upcoming season of Lent to renew our commitment to God - renew this commitment by taking the time to pray along with our book of Lenten devotions, work with children in our Christian education program, or seek a new form of service in the community.

The sky's the limit! When we're shooting for a mountaintop spiritual experience, stretching for the extraordinary instead of the ordinary, we need to try all kinds of sights, sounds and visions. Anything else would be a retreat from the peak -- a retreat from the peak where Jesus meets us in all his glory. Amen.