Sunday, February 25, 2018

Second Sunday of Lent, cycle B

Mark 9:2-10
I think we all have moments when we catch a glimpse of glory. It's usually characterized by what seems to be an interruption in the flow of our thoughts; our monkey minds, as the Buddhists describe the mind, suddenly becomes still and takes a minute to re-boot.
One of the moments I remember, and you know I always tell the truth, was when I first saw my wife in her wedding dress. She appeared in the back of the church and came up the aisle to me on the arm of her father. I couldn't catch my breath. I had no words. I always thought she was beautiful, but this vision … I beheld glory. And of course it passed in a moment, and I returned to my nervous self, worried that I would trip or forget my lines or otherwise make a fool of myself.
Maybe you've had such experiences. If you are a fan of flowers, like I am, sometimes looking at a flower can trigger that momentary response – I am beholding glory. Who else but human beings can appreciate flowers? Mammals can't; most cannot see color. Birds, who can see color, are designed to pay attention to moving things, not something sitting there like a flower. And you go further down the chain of life and there is nothing in the brain to stop and appreciate something like a flower. I think the very fact of flowers is proof that God exists and likes to please us.
Some people appreciate music. I must say that I'm not into music. I tried for a long time to appreciate the classics, and while I can listen with pleasure, I am not moved to transcendence – but I know people who are. I know a man who used to go to Budapest whenever he could save up the money just to listen to opera. He was beholding glory.
We can behold glory in nature, in human art, in someone we love, perhaps, but there are people who behold glory in their religious life. We call them mystics. One characteristic of a mystic is that they haven't got time to explain to you what is happening; they are too busy pursuing more of it. Maybe being a mystic is genetic; I take consolation in knowing that Mother Theresa had about as much mystical experience as I've had. I'll never be a Saint Francis or Padre Pio, and I'm okay with that.
When I think about the transfiguration of Jesus, I have a lot of questions. Some are trivial, like how did the apostles know that Jesus was talking to Elijah and Moses? They didn't have photographs in those days. Maybe name badges? But the apostles most likely couldn't read. More seriously, though, why? Was it so that they would really pay attention after God himself said to listen to Jesus? I think the answer is no – the apostles leave the mountain wondering what it all means, just like before. Was it so that they would have something to remember, something to hang on to, as they watched Jesus being tortured and crucified? Maybe, but then I wonder why Jesus didn't take the other apostles along. The ones like Andrew and Philip and Matthew remained just as faithful as Peter, James and John, and they hadn't even heard about the transfiguration, let alone witnessed it. And I don't think this was a theophany – a moment when the veil is lifted and you realize Jesus is actually God. Jesus, after all was fully human, so whatever happened on that mountain was a fully human event, and maybe that's the point.
What the apostles beheld when Jesus appeared in dazzling white, radiating light, speaking to Elijah and Moses, long dead, was a vision of how human beings were meant to be. No limits of time or space, bodies of fire, not mud; and most of all, beloved, beloved by the father. The apostles beheld glory, the glory that is a human being fully alive, a human being the way we are meant to be, the way we will be some day, God willing.
Is that far-fetched? Am I stretching the story too much? In the book of Revelation, it says that those who have undergone the tribulation have washed their robes in the blood of the lamb and they have become white as snow. The book of Daniel describes those who are wise – the people who have chosen to follow God's law – as shining like the heavens and those who lead many to justice will shine as stars for all eternity. And the book of Revelation describes the woman clothed with the sun, with the moon at her feet, with a crown of twelve stars around her head. And many think this refers to Mary, who we believe has gone before us and is experiencing now what will be our future.
The apostles accompanied Jesus back down the mountain. They ponder what they have witnessed and wonder what it all means. They see Jesus dying on the cross, broken, bloody, in pain and agony. They will witness his resurrection. And as time goes on perhaps they began to see that every human being shares the divine spark that was revealed in Jesus.
Now there are certainly other ways of seeing the transfiguration. But here we are in the second Sunday of Lent, and those of us who have given something up for lent or taken on a lenten practice like daily mass, scripture reading, or some sort of regular prayer are faltering a bit. We say, this first week was hard. How am I going to get through the next five weeks? And we struggle with our human nature.
But we are reminded in the story of the transfiguration who we are really meant to be, what Jesus our older brother has in store for us. And that should give us strength to persevere, not only in keeping our lenten promises, but in everything we undertake as Christians. And as we realize oir own potential we can't help but begin to see each other transfigured. There is an ancient saying which is appropriate: Man is the mirror in which God sees himself. And just for a moment, on the mountain of the transfiguration, the apostles were given the privilege of seeing what God sees when he looks at one of his children.