Homily for 2nd Sunday of Lent
In the Jewish tradition, and indeed in the Christian tradition too, but for different reasons, the faith of Abraham was legendary. In the Jewish tradition, Abraham is the father of the nation. Abraham was living comfortably in his own confined tribal lands; The Lord asks him to make the 'leap of faith', to risk all and move on to an unknown land and an unknown future. And the promise was, 'I will make of you a great nation.' This leap of faith must at some stage be personalised by every individual on his or her faith journey. There are no certainties on this side of the grave. You meet up with a partner; you hang around with them for a while; at some stage, you arrive at a fork in the road; you either walk on with them, or you take a different path and walk the road alone, quite happy with your lot. You may also sit of the ditch and mock those who have been foolish enough to commit themselves to an unknown future. If you opt to walk on with your partner, you must make an act of faith. Because you are both, by and large, walking into the unknown. In a religious sense, the same pattern can be observed. We have absolutely no scientific proof that this way of life is leading anywhere. The man Jesus Christ, whom we meet in the scriptures, has issued an invitation to us to join him on the journey. All we have to go on is what we find there in the scriptures. We either take our chances and strive to walk with him, or else we place out eggs in some other guru's basket.
In our gospel reading, we are told of three men who accept his invitation. Jesus invited Peter, James and John up to the mountain to pray, we are told. He would later take that same three to the Mount of Olives and to the gates of Gethsemane on the night before he died. Today's gospel is seen as a preparation for the dark future, a strengthening of the disciples so that they might endure the ordeal that lay ahead. As our Preface today puts it: "He had already prepared them for his approaching death. ...He wanted to teach them that the promised Christ had first to suffer and so come to the glory of his resurrection." While the incident did not have the desired effect (all three either fell asleep or ran away when the crisis came), it did confirmed the three Apostles in this conviction: in the person of Jesus, they were dealing with a reality that reached beyond human experience. On that hill this divine dimension broke through. They were dealing here, not merely with a social reformer or a political visionary; they were dealing with a man who had a unique relationship with God. The intensity of that relation was obvious to all on the mountain.
For the three friends, it was a heady and thrilling experience, so thrilling that they wanted to remain on there forever. "Let us make three tents," said Peter, "one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah." Peter was opting for a religion of passive admiration, not of active participation. But, as Mark implies, and as Luke states explicitly: "He did not know what he was saying." The Christian life is not exclusively about the divine dimension, about prayerful, isolated ecstasy. God will not be confined to the mountain-top, or to the sacristy or to the church for that matter. The good news is good news for the whole human race, not reserved for the elite few. The good news is intended for all, as much for those with their feet on the ground as for those with their heads in the clouds.
So the apostles had to come down from the hill with Jesus. This brush with the divine had social consequences: they must now help him translate his divine dream into human reality. They had been through the ecstasy; now the agony lay ahead. Their journey would eventually take them to another hill outside Jerusalem where they would hear him cry out in pain and pray for his enemies.
While the transfiguration was an extraordinary event, it wasn't an isolated incident. It was entirely consistent with the way Jesus lived out his life and worked with the people. Through his work and his healing, he transfigured and transformed many, many people. From the very beginning he outlined his aims: to make the deaf hear, the dumb speak and the lame walk. In other less dramatic instances, he touched people at the very depth of their souls. He transfigured them with the power of God's love, that same power which transfigured Jesus himself. All four gospels are full of examples of the transfiguring or transforming power of Jesus. We are called to the ministry of change. But we must be prepared also to accompany him down through the valley of tears and on to the hill of Calvary. If we are to be transfigured by his message we must do strange and sometimes painful things indeed: like forgiving our enemies and praying for them, maintaining hope in a world that sometimes seems hopeless, turning the other cheek, giving away our coat to the man who has none, and so on. This is where the shadow of the cross intrudes in a practical way. The message learned on the mountain must be lived in the valleys. Through living his message we are being gradually transfigured. But we hold out the hope that some day all will be utterly transfigured. But we must leave the choosing of that day to him. Our challenge is to remain with Christ on whatever hill, or in whatever valley, we find ourselves. Because we are assured that he will be there waiting for us.