When the Phone Went Black
“As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, "Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead."
Matthew 17:9 (NIV)
This upcoming Saturday is the Prosper Fishing Derby. Last year, our family participated and caught exactly zero fish during the two-hour event. Now, to preserve at least some dignity, I will say the pond was frozen for the first half, and as someone from Florida, ice fishing is not exactly my specialty. Still, the kids had fun and were eager to try again this year.
Knowing the derby was around the corner, I took them to our neighborhood pond last weekend to practice their casts. It had been a while. Hudson flung his rod backward and nearly hooked me. Hazel came dangerously close to launching her entire rod into the pond. In the middle of all this chaos, I glanced at my phone and saw it had 1% battery remaining.
“Uh oh,” I thought.
But more on that in a minute.
For many Christians, this past weekend was also Transfiguration Sunday, honoring the moment when Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a mountain and is revealed in radiant glory. His face shines, while Moses and Elijah appear beside Him. A cloud overshadows them, and a voice declares, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with Him I am well pleased. Listen to Him.” The disciples fall in fear. Jesus touches them and says, “Do not be afraid.”
And then He does something unexpected: He orders them not to tell anyone what they saw, at least not until after His resurrection.
Can you imagine that today? Here's what I think it'd look like:
Peter fumbles for his phone. John whispers, “Just livestream it, Pete!” And just like that, within minutes, the entire Roman Empire knows Jesus is the Son of God. Viral in Jerusalem.
But there’s no way Jesus would have wanted that. Why? Because glory without the cross would be misunderstood. A shining mountaintop moment could easily become a spectacle. It’d be triumph without suffering. But the true triumph would come later, through death and then resurrection. The mountain was not the climax. It was preparation.
Some moments are meant to form us before they are meant to be broadcast.
Now back to the pond.
Hudson eventually found his rhythm. The rod bent smoothly behind him and the line arced forward beautifully. Hazel began landing steady casts of her own. I was excited for them! Wanting to send a quick video to my dad in Florida, I pulled out my phone, switched to camera mode, and watched as the screen froze. A spinning circle. Then black.
Dead. No photo. No video.
And standing there, I realized this moment just wasn’t meant to be shared. Sometimes joy is stronger when it settles into memory rather than into a device. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and watched the sun set over the pond while my kids laughed and cast again and again (still not catching anything).
The disciples carried that mountaintop moment silently for a long time: through confusion, through fear, and through the cross. Only after resurrection did they speak of it.
Not every shining moment needs to be shared. Some are meant to charge the heart quietly, like a battery you didn’t know you needed, so that when the valley comes, you already have something stored within you.
And maybe that’s enough.
Reflect: What moments in your life might be meant to form you quietly rather than shared and broadcast publicly?
Pray: Gracious God, teach us to treasure the moments You give us, even when no one else sees them. Guard us from chasing applause more than formation and help us to trust that Your deepest work often happens in silence. And when the valley comes, remind us of the glory You have already placed within us. Amen.
With faith, hope, and love,
Eric Smith