2nd Sunday of Lent 2025
Genesis 15:5-12, 17-18; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 9:28-36
“Master, it is good that we are here.” Is it? Of course it is., because we are in the presence of God, of that God who spoke to the apostles on the mountain of Transfiguration, of that God who is the Beloved Son, of that God who is the Spirit who enlightens us and guides us, leading us to the mountain.
Where is the mountain of Transfiguration for us? It is here, where Jesus gives Himself to us as food and light. It is everywhere that He gives us a glimpse, however limited, of His glory.
For Martin Luther King, assassinated in 1968, it was in Memphis, where he met his death, and where he apparently had some sort of vision of his own. Do you remember the speech which he made on the eve of his death?
“I’m not fearing any man tonight. Like Moses, I have been to the mountaintop, and I have looked over, and I have seen the Promised Land….mine eyes have seen the glory of the company (sic) of the Lord.”
On the Second Sunday of Lent in 1994, I was asked to preach at the Chaplaincy Centre at Lancaster University. I had in mind my own experience of chaplaincy life more than two decades earlier, and I suggested to the congregation that, for them, this was the mountaintop, that it could be a Transfiguration experience.
I was at university, though not Lancaster, from 1968 to 1971, and those were heady days, though also disturbing days. They were the days of student revolution, of the aftermath of the Second Vatican Council, and of the immediate aftermath of Humanae Vitae, the papal encyclical which reaffirmed the ban on artificial birth control.
At times, I didn’t know whether I was on my Catholic head or my Catholic heels, but it was an experience which brought about a deeper understanding of my faith, a new awareness of the Church as community, and a greatly enhanced inner vision of the person of Jesus and of my relationship with Him. For me, the chaplaincy was a mountain of Transfiguration, and I suggested to the new generation of students that it might prove to be the same for them, enabling them to recognise Jesus in a new and brighter light.
What happened after the Transfiguration? Peter had wanted to linger, to stay there forever; hence his suggestion of building three tents. This was not to be: the vision faded, and Jesus was found alone. Peter, James and John had to make their way with Him down the mountain to the valley of everyday life. They were to see Jesus, no longer transfigured, but sweating as if with blood, in the Garden of the Agony, where their memory of the Transfiguration should have sustained them with hope for the future; but it didn’t, their sleepiness on Mt. Tabor matched by their sleepiness in Gethsemane.
My point was that the student congregation too would have to head back down the mountain to the valley of ordinary parish life, to sustain their vision, to recognise the Transfigured Christ in the perhaps less dramatic context of their local parish, among people not of their own age, not always sharing their vision. There they could and should play their own part in rekindling the vision of the Transfiguration, if it had grown dull among perhaps less inspired and less inspiring priests or people.
Interestingly, the chaplain, the late Fr. Joe O’Connor, remarked to me that, for him, the University was the valley, and he looked forward to his return to parish life. I could sympathise, because, in spite of my experience from the student side of the fence, the thought of being a university chaplain filled me with horror. Like Fr. Joe, I found my Mt. Tabor in parish and secondary school life.
So, we come to the inevitable question: what about us? Have you had your Transfiguration moments, the times when you have said “Master, it is good that we are here”? They may not have been overtly religious occasions. Any experience, however apparently secular, which brings us real joy is a sharing in the Transfiguration, because Jesus and His Father are in it, transforming it for us.
It may be falling in love, spending time with a friend, watching a sunrise; there we encounter the Transfigured Christ. In reality, it occurs whenever we gather as God’s people, to be nourished with them by His word and by His body and blood, to share in the sacrifice of Calvary, and in the Resurrection.
It would be too much to expect to have a conscious experience of Transfiguration joy in every celebration of Mass, in every encounter with God’s people. Those “felt” moments are rare. Even the deepest love entails more routine than ecstasy. Two sayings come to mind:
“The glances over cocktails that seemed so sweet, don’t look so amorous over Shredded Wheat”
“After the ecstasy, go and do the laundry”.
Life and love contain more Shredded Wheat than cocktails. Like Peter and His companions, like chaplaincy students, we have to head back down the mountain. Nonetheless, let the memories of our own Transfiguration experiences sustain us, and let us be awake and alert to receive and rejoice in such moments when they come to us again—as they will.
