Year C Last Sunday of the Epiphany -Transfiguration

“Moses came down from Mount Sinai. As he came down from the mountain with the two tablets of the covenant in his hand, Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God.”

Moses, who has lead the children of Israel out of bondage, now comes down from Mount Sinai, where he has gone to converse with God. Often, in Biblical stories, in order to speak with the Almighty, one must climb a mountain. The image makes sense, because the top is close to heaven. The other thing one can always find in abundance at a mountaintop is silence. The world drops away below, and the climber is surrounded by silence. Moses ascends, in order to receive blessing and instruction, to be closer to, and more open to God.

On his return, Moses brings with him the two tablets of the covenant. They are not the focus of today’s lessons, though they demonstrate that one never comes away from a divine encounter empty handed. Up to this point, the story seems simple and straightforward. Then, comes the last curios bit. Having descended the mountain, “The skin of Moses face shone because he had been talking with God.”

This is puzzling to us, because miracles have a way of confounding the mind. We tend to attribute them to poetic license, or look for logical explanations. Sometimes we will go to ridiculous lengths to explain away the miraculous. The most peculiar explanation I’ve ever heard for the light shining from Moses face, is one that contends God must have been an alien in a space ship, and Moses was suffering from radiation poisoning. Adult logic can be very silly.

Children, however, accept miracles as truth. When I was little, and my grandmother read me Bible stories, I too had an explanation for Moses face. In those days toys were simpler, and my sister and I had little plastic figures that on first glance were fairly unimpressive. However, their plain exteriors hid a great secret. If we held them up to the light for a while, we could then take them into the closet, shut the door, and with much awe watch them glow in the dark. There was something in the plastic that absorbed the light, and for a while it would glow with an eerie greenish radiance. In my child’s mind, I reasoned that Moses’ face did the same thing as my plastic toy. Strangely enough, I wasn’t far from wrong.

“When Aaron and all the Israelites saw Moses, the skin of his face was shining, and they were afraid to come near him.”

Of course, the Light of God is different from the light of a tiny plastic toy. The Light of God is something so powerful, so incredible, that to behold it strikes fear in the hearts of mere mortals. Nonetheless, Moses calls the people to him, so he can give “them in commandment all that the LORD had spoken with him on Mount Sinai.” Then, in deference to their obvious terror, “When Moses had finished speaking with them, he put a veil on his face.” Again, I think of the little plastic toys of my youth, and of how their simple, colourless exteriors, veiled a great secrete. Inside of Moses, inside each of us, despite our plain and unimpressive mortal exteriors, lies a spark of the Divine. It rests below the surface, waiting for us to draw it nearer the great Source of Light, nearer to God.

“Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray.”

Our Lord again and again finds a lonely, quiet place to pray. In today’s Gospel, we can anticipate what will happen, because He has taken the disciples up a mountain, to a silent place, closer to God.

“And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and His clothes became dazzling white.”

This time it isn’t the responsive glow of Moses’ face, but the full glory of God which shines before the disciples eyes. “Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory.” We can only imagine their feelings at what they are seeing. They must have been completely terrified.

Despite their fear in beholding Jesus’ Transfiguration, it’s important we understand that a change is occurring within the disciples. Some scholars even suggest that Jesus has not changed at all. Rather, removed from worldly influences, at the silent mountaintop, it is the disciples whose eyes have suddenly become opened. They behold Jesus, the earthen vessel, fully man, totally radiant, the Light of the World. They look at God, and for the first time recognize Him for who He truly is. There is no mistake. “A cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’”

How strange and alien these two lessons sound to us. We have never had such an experience. In our lifetime, we reckon, there has never been anyone who shone with the Light of God. This isn’t true. What we’re forgetting is, anyone filled with such radiance, would conceal it beneath a veil. What better veil than the clay of our mortal bodies?

Several years ago, before her death, Mother Teresa of Calcutta came to Boston. A friend of mine, an ordained Deacon in the Roman Catholic Church, was a respectful few steps behind her as she stood in line after the Cardinal, waiting for some of the local dignitaries to pass by and shake her hand. A well known politician was the first for this honour. He came through the line, shaking hands, smiling, chatting jovially with everyone including the Cardinal. Then he reached Mother Teresa. They shook hands, but the politician had nothing to say. He just stood there, looking at her. Finally, when it became obvious he was going to remain speechless, Mother gently patted his hand, and said “Nice to have met you.” Thus, gently dismissed, much as one would dismiss a small child, the befuddled man walked away.

There was no radiant light streaming from Mother Teresa’s face. In fact, she was a very plain little woman. Tiny, bent over by her years, dressed in an inexpensive cotton sari, she was one of the least adorned of God’s creatures, singularly unimpressive. Yet, the veil of her being, while revealing nothing extraordinary to human sight, obviously covered something palpable, something anyone in her presence could feel. My friend the deacon said only, “That’s how the average person reacts to true holiness. There isn’t anything to say. You just become silent.”

We too are daily called to be holy people. True, none of us are likely to become another Mother Teresa, yet Jesus calls us to be people who draw close to, and become filled with God. To do this, we must accept the hard work required of us. We are called to ascend the mountain. For each of us, the mountain is our own life, our experiences, our histories, our attitudes, prejudices, and attachments, all the noises and distractions of the world. These come together to hold us, for good or ill, and keep us from climbing to God. If your prayer life consists of brief cries for help, and quick expressions of gratitude, you will circle the bottom of the mountain forever, but never move farther. The only way to free ourselves, is to find a quiet place, and begin the work of prayer. Time, set aside for prayer, for interior and exterior silence, is the beginning of our ascent.

The climb is different for each of us. Some find the way easy, others encounter obstacles, thorns and rocks that tear at us and hinder us. Effective prayer, the emptying of self to make room for God, takes effort. We balk at letting go of the familiar, the worldly, we allow ourselves to be distracted. We are only too eager to devalue the importance of what we are doing, but we must keep going. We complain we can’t find the time. This last is true. You will never find the time for God in a busy schedule. You must make the time for God.

Having had a lifetime to build up obstacles between ourselves and God, we need more than a few moments a day in prayer to remove them. We need open hearts and God’s help, in order to pray. And we need to want to pray, to make the simple, joyful task of prayer the central action of our lives.

Once we truly begin to pray, an interesting thing happens. As we draw nearer to God, we become filled with and enkindled by His love. Our faces, faces that were sad or merely normal, begin to glow with joy, a joy that can be perceived by others, a joy that overflows. Perhaps one of the most delightful things about my friend, the deacon, is his amazing joy. When he is ill, when he has back pain, when things aren’t going well, his joy never diminishes. He draws people to him with his joy, and it is his joy that convinces all who come in contact with him of the presence of the Spirit within him.

Joy which comes from God is joy that does not depend on our life circumstances, on anything exterior. It is a joy which once kindled, and regularly fed by prayer, cannot be extinguished. It is a light in our eyes, a smile upon our lips, a gentleness in our words, a tenderness in our touch, a kindness in our hearts. Each time we climb the mountain, we are flooded with gifts of joy and holiness, gifts which are meant to be shared, not only with those special people we chose, but with everyone.

As our hearts are opened, so too our eyes are opened, and we become able to discern Christ in all we meet, in the drunk, the beggar, even in that person we have always particularly disliked. They are no longer strangers, but part of our family, bound to us in God’s Love. Make no mistake. This is what it means to be truly Christian. “We did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

For us the transfiguration is an ongoing experience, one in which we are meant to be intimately involved. We are called to be channels of God’s grace and Love on earth. Our lives are meant to “Proclaim the greatness of the Lord our God,” and the depth of His love and caring for every person. Our reward is peace, joy, and the knowledge that all those who come in contact with us, leave with a new understanding of their great worth. Because we have climbed the mountain, not only we, but every person that we meet, can see themselves and their life through heaven’s eyes.

Let us pray:

Lord God, Loving Creator, Sanctifier, and Savior, Thou pervadest all things, let thy radiant beauty, light mine eyes to see my duty. As the tender flowers, eagerly unfold them, to the sunlight calmly hold them, so let me, quietly, in thy rays imbue me: let thy light shine through me. Amen.