
The Transfiguration of our Lord by Giovanni Girolamo Savoldo
We can say that Lent is an extraordinary time lived in an ordinary season. We fast, we pray, we do works of charity – all while we also go about the ordinary rhythm of our lives. We still go to work, we still go to school, we visit with one another, we pay bills… The ordinary rhythm of life continues on even while we make the extraordinary journey of Lent.
We have echoes of this “extraordinary in the ordinary” in our readings for this second Sunday of Lent. In the gospel (Lk. 9:28b-36) our Lord takes Peter, James and John up on the mountain to pray. The three disciples experience the transfiguration of our Lord as he is in prayer to the Father. They catch a glimpse of the truth of who Christ is and they are awestruck … but the world continues on. The other nine disciples were probably about the duties of an ordinary day, for the people in the closest village it was just another day like any other. The world did not stop even as this amazing event occurs. Peter, understandably, wants to remain in this extraordinary experience but the gospel goes on to say that he “did not know what he was saying.” Our God does not disdain the ordinary. For God the extraordinary and the ordinary are not opposed.
Just as Jesus took the three disciples up the mountain to pray, we are told that God “took Abram outside” to see and count the number of the stars (Gen. 15:5-12,17-18). Our God values our company. He does not like to walk alone. Even with the surreal and mystical image of animals being sacrificed and Abram in a trance, God binds himself to an ordinary group of people, Abram’s descendants, in order to walk with them through the running of time and history and thereby bring them (and through them all of humanity) into the fullness of his Kingdom. Christ himself values our ordinary company. The gospels are consistent in this message. Christ does not see himself as some tragic, solitary hero. Christ binds himself to his ordinary, little group of followers even as he is fully aware of their weaknesses and their limits.
“Yes,” says the author of Philippians, “our citizenship is in heaven” and to this we direct our lives but we now live our lives here in this world so “stand firm in the Lord” (Phil. 3:17-4:1). Our actions here in our ordinary world and lives should reflect the extraordinary glory of our citizenship in heaven which is the hope we journey toward.
For God the extraordinary and the ordinary are not opposed. The same ought to be true for us. We can be awakened, our eyes can be opened to see the extraordinary in the ordinary if we allow ourselves to be “taken up” by Christ. Just as Christ took the three disciples up the mountain to pray, just as God took Abram outside to gaze at the heavens, we need to allow Christ to take us and pull us away from our own selfishness and draw us into his own life. If we allow this to happen then we can participate in a greater reality, our eyes will be opened and we will begin to see as Christ sees. We also can be transfigured.
It has been said that the transfiguration “means breaking boundaries. It means contemplating how good the Lord is, how wide his horizons are, and how deep the demands of his Gospel are.” May each one of us be a little more transfigured during this extraordinary time lived in an ordinary season.
On January 31st, the Church will celebrate the Feast of St. John Bosco – a man who devoted his life to helping young people. One of the greatest blessings of our Christian faith is the witness of men and women throughout history who let go of their own needs and worked tirelessly for the good of youth and those generations who were to come after them. The witness of these men and women should call us, as the Church, into a reflection on how best to minister to youth and young adults, especially in a time and culture that is “youth obsessed”. We can readily see how this obsession plays itself out in all areas of society – the entertainment and news media industry, politics, sports, education, relationships – just to name a few. A fair question is how might this “obsession with youth” bleed into and perhaps even negatively influence the Church’s own ministry to youth and young adults just as they are seeking to claim their own Christian faith and discipleship and how might we best avoid the danger of this obsession?
There is much worthy of reflecting upon in today’s gospel (Jn. 2:1-11) which gives the account of our Lord’s first public miracle – the turning of water into wine and the wedding in Cana. We can see in the image of the couple running out of wine on their wedding day a symbol of the ending of the Old Covenant and the freshness of the New Covenant beginning with our Lord turning water into wine. We can see in Mary’s noticing of the wine running short a concern for the young (and probably poor) couple who will soon be greatly embarrassed by not being able to provide for their guests. The first step of true mercy is noticing needs and not being indifferent toward others in their plight. This is a good witness Mary gives us during this Year of Mercy.
My father was brought up in a Presbyterian household although how staunch it was is open for debate. A story I once heard was of an exchange which occurred sometime after my father’s conversion when my two great aunts from Mississippi made a visit to my grandfather and grandmother. Noticing a little dust on the family Bible one aunt is said to have remarked, “Maybe if that Bible was not dusty, Jack would never have converted.” A number of years later my own aunt (my father’s sister) would tell these same two great-aunts, “Michael has decided to enter Catholic seminary and we are very proud.” The southern equivalent of drawing a line in the sand!
My mother did not grow up in affluence as my father did. Her childhood was spent in a small town in North Carolina. Nominally, I believe that she was raised Baptist but it seems that church was not a major factor in her younger years. She did once tell me that for a while she worked at a local Methodist retreat center frequented by the young (and then single) Billy Graham. “All the young ladies would swoon over him,” my mom once confided. She never said if she was one of the ones swooning. Right out of high school my mother left Brevard to work in book-keeping for a man who owned a number of hotels scattered around the southeast. Mr. Faw was a good man. He looked like Colonel Sanders, the founder of Kentucky Fried Chicken, and for the fun of it would sometimes dress like the fast food icon just to see people’s reaction. Mrs. Faw was of Eastern European descent and she once gave my mother an eighteenth century lithograph of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus. My mother treasured this gift and today it hangs on my wall.
At one point (prior to marrying my father) my mother was sent to a hotel owned by Mr. Faw in Oak Ridge, TN. At that time it was the only hotel in the city and therefore the temporary residence of visiting scientists from all over the world who came to do work and research in the government-run laboratories. My mother met a wide variety of people those years and at one point was approached by the FBI to help keep tabs on a visiting couple that the government thought had Russian connections. For this effort my mother received a signed letter from J. Edgar Hoover thanking her for her service to her country. One scientist my mother met and became a good friend of was a Franciscan nun from the Northeast. She taught at a university and had come to Oak Ridge to do some research. She and my mother remained friends for many years and I do believe that her friendship and that of Mr. and Mrs. Faw were what helped my mother in recognizing the beauty of the Catholic faith which, in turn, enabled her to make the choice to become Catholic.
My father and mother each walked their own journey of life and of faith (like we all do) but through their journeys and their own reflecting on experiences (i.e. use of the illative sense) they both came to belief in God and in the Church. I do not know all the experiences that added up to their each making their choice for faith. I never will and that is probably for the best. There are some things rightly left between the soul and God alone. These are and will remain the missing jigsaw pieces of their own journeys but I must admit that I do take great delight when I hear a story or memory shared that sheds a little more light on the journey each one had. These insights bring me joy and, I believe, are gifts given to help us who remain to continue our own journeys of life and faith.
Some of the best advice I ever came across regarding homily preparation was in an essay written by Annie Dillard. In the essay Dillard made use of the imagery of following bees as a way of exploring the adventure of writing. If you want to find a bee hive (and honey) then follow a bee. If you lose sight of the first bee then wait and when you catch sight of another bee follow it. By so doing you will eventually be led to the bee hive. The same is true for writing. When an idea or thought, no matter how strange or non-sensical it seems at the outset, pops in your head then follow it. Let the thought lead you even if you do not know exactly where it is going. It may take you to where you want to go. If it takes you only so far then stay there and wait for the next thought.
Two things struck me as I prayed over the gospel this past week. The first is when Luke tells us that Mary entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. I found myself returning again and again to that scene in my imagination. How joy-filled it must have been! Mary stepping into this house which for too long had been barren of the sound of new life, the sound of children. Elizabeth said that the child in her womb leapt for joy at the sound of Mary’s greeting – a confirmation of what the angel had promised Zechariah. What was thought barren will now bring forth life and it will be a life that, in turn, will proclaim the coming of the Messiah! For nothing is impossible to God.
The week before the first Sunday of Advent I ventured into a local craft store in search of Advent candles. After inquiry, a sales associate led me to the candles. We passed one, then two, then three, four and five full aisles of Christmas decorations. Arriving at the last row she pointed to a small stack of Advent candles on the bottom corner of a shelf. Quite sad in comparison. I cannot help but reflect on the symbolism. As I write this reflection there has been yet another mass shooting in our country. I do not make this jump from searching for Advent candles to a mass shooting in order to be flippant or sensational, I share it because I believe Advent offers needed lessons for our world today but honestly I fear these lessons may fall on deaf ears because they will require work, sacrifice and even risk on our part.
At one point in his commentary on this Sunday’s Responsorial Psalm (Ps. 93), St. Augustine shares this observation: Humble people are like rock. Rock is something you look down on, but it is solid. What about the proud? They are like smoke; they may be rising high, but they vanish as they rise. 

