Second Sunday of Lent, Year C—2001

Homily

Normally we do not see God’s glory. Even the apostles as they travelled the highways and byways of Palestine with Jesus did not see much of his glory. They saw his extraordinary goodness and kindness and were constantly amazed by his remarkable insights and, of course, his extraordinary miracles. But on the whole the apostles were surprisingly obtuse and for almost the entire time didn’t really understand who Jesus was.

Yes, the apostles had all kinds of ideas and fantasies about who Jesus might be. They felt sure he was the Messiah but were fairly hazy about what this really meant. Even though Jesus frequently told them that he must suffer they could not believe that this could happen to a Messiah. They preferred to argue about seats on the right and the left when he came into his glory.

But the glory they were expecting was a worldly kind of glory, what we would probably call pomp rather than glory. Their idea was that Jesus would overthrow the existing order and rule the world in justice from his throne. They, of course, would become his lieutenants and would be rich and each one have their own area of power; and people would treat them with respect and honour.

It is true that they also thought of Jesus in religious terms but in their day that was perfectly natural since temporal authority and religion were inextricably tied up together. The Romans were something of an exception but then they exercised authority through the local pre-existing structures and didn’t disrupt things too much.

When the three apostles, Peter, James and John, are taken by Jesus up the mountain to experience the transfiguration they see something they cannot make sense of. Luke says that they kept silence and told no one what they had seen. They told no one because they couldn’t really understand or therefore explain what it was they had experienced.

So what is this transfiguration? It was a glimpse of God’s glory. A tiny glimpse surely, but a glimpse nevertheless. Jesus shows them something of who he really is. In prayer he is transformed and he becomes a blaze of light. And that is the key—prayer.

On the holy mountain Jesus prays—he becomes one with his Father and the Spirit and is transformed and lets his glory be seen. And the Father’s extraordinary words of affirmation are spoken: This is my Son, the Chosen One, listen to him.

The one great lesson for us from this marvellous event is: prayer transforms. Prayer changes us. Prayer occurs when we unite ourselves with God and commune with him. This has an effect on us—a good effect—it makes us better people. Something of God rubs off on us; something of his glory enters into our lives and makes us more holy.

The Bishop in his pastoral letter last week said that real saints are very attractive no matter what they look like. Other people recognise something special within them, the see them as more authentically human. Of course, the saint does not think that he or she is anything special! But we recognise an essential goodness in them, an honesty, an integrity, and this is what makes them attractive.

The disciples were led by Jesus up the mountain. As it says in our text: Jesus took with him Peter and John and James and went up the mountain to pray.

The Lord leads us; he takes us by the hand through the minefield of life. He draws us onward and upward and it is a journey of faith and prayer.

Each of us, by the very fact that we are sitting here listening to the Word of God in Holy Scripture during this Eucharist, has been led by God—is being led by God. We are drawn by him, nudged, pushed, cajoled at times, but gently and surely we are led by him up that mountain which is the spiritual life.

St Paul says in today’s second reading: Our homeland is in heaven and from heaven comes the saviour we have been waiting for, the Lord Jesus Christ. Heaven is our final destination, it is our longed for home, nothing else will suffice and we will experience a restlessness until we finally reach it.

This longing in our hearts comes from God. This is how God leads us. He fills us with the desire to be better than we are. He places in us the urge to pray. He helps us to feel the pang of guilt when we go astray. His is the voice telling us to slow down and spend time in peace and quiet. He gives us the spontaneous urge to carry out an act of generosity. He places the right words of encouragement on our lips when we meet someone laden down with anxieties. All these things come from him.

And do not think that God’s action in your life is always necessarily gentle for as St Paul says: He will transfigure these wretched bodies of ours into copies of his glorious body. He will do that by the same power with which he can subdue the whole universe.

The work of our transformation is going on all the time. Yes, mostly it is the gentle action of God leading us towards him; but sometimes cataclysms are needed and sometimes it is only through apparent disaster that we are pushed onwards up that mountain.

But we are, on the whole, willing travellers with the Lord. Distractions aside, we want to be with him, we want to do things his way, we want to be like him.

 

There was a missionary in North Africa who was very much intrigued by the behaviour of a Bedouin. This Bedouin often used to lie flat on the ground in the desert. One day the missionary asked him what he was doing. The Bedouin replied that he was listening to the voice of the desert. ‘What does it say,’ asked the missionary. The Bedouin replied, ‘The desert says: I want to be a garden.’