It seems almost every day during the past week the
militant group ISIS or Islamic state has been in the news...one day members
seen smashing ancient statues, another day committing acts of gross violence,
another day news of the group recruiting several people from Quebec to join
their cause in the Middle East. Recently they seem to have targeted their
approach and intimidation on groups of Christians - a fact largely overlooked
by the major news outlets. And it seems that the West and even local
governments lack the will to deal effectively with the threat - and so the
threat grows.
I don't think it the case that the world has
necessarily grown more violent - 70 years ago at the close of World War II the
list of those dead far surpasses anything we see today...but there is no
question that evil, and its capacity to radicalize individuals and to cause
immense trauma has lost none of its lustre. The employment of new tools
such as the Internet to spread hate only showcases evil's capacity for
improvisation and that the drama of the battle between good and evil - and its
effects in the heart of man - continues to be waged. Some see violence as
the only method of response to such a malicious and ongoing threat - the answer
for them seems to be to bomb ISIS out of existence - to outgun them and
overwhelm them. But there will never be enough bombs to undercut evil in
the heart of man. It may be that such a show of force only deepens the
resolve of those under its sway. And yet what choice is pacifism - as it
only encourages further atrocities? There must be another path - one that
you and I can tread. It is against this tangible and complex backdrop
that we consider Jesus in today's Gospel.
Don't get me wrong - I don't want to give the wrong
impression - I don't think Jesus' actions in today's Gospel are intended as a
commentary on just war theory or how to deal with terrorists...So perhaps we should
bracket that opening segue and deal with the passage on its own terms.
The scene has much more to do with establishing the
divinity of Jesus. Jesus takes with him Peter, James and John, his
closest disciples, up the hillside and is transfigured before them. His
clothes become a dazzling white, his body bursts forth with light, and the
Father's voice is heard, "This is my Beloved Son, listen to Him."
A command is given and an identity is revealed. By affirming
"this is my Son" God the Father reveals the Son's co-divinity placing
the Son on the same level of the Father. By saying, "listen to
Him" the Father reveals that Jesus' very word is the word of the Father,
that the Son is the representative of the Father on earth. As if this
revelation were not enough, the Apostles then see Jesus speaking with Moses and
Elijah – the two pillars of the Law and the Prophets in ancient Judaism. Peter, clearly still not aware of the import
of what he is seeing, offers to make three tents – as if placing them equally
on par with one another – it is at this point that the Father’s voice is heard –
setting Jesus apart with the divine authentication as the Beloved Son of God,
higher by far than Moses or Elijah. But
the significance of the Transfiguration in today’s Gospel cannot be properly
understood without realizing that the revelation takes place in the context of
Jesus announcing his suffering and death.
He does this just prior to the event of the Transfiguration and he
continues in the spirit of this proclamation as soon as Jesus and the three
disciples leave the mountain. In fact,
they have not even reached the bottom of the hill before Jesus has warned them
not to make known what they have seen until after his death and Resurrection. The fact of Jesus’
impending death seems to fly over the disciple’s heads – as no one thinks to
ask him what he possibly could mean – especially since their understanding of
the Messiah was that he would usher in a new military power to overthrow the
enemies of Israel and to establish a new era of peace through militaristic
clout and power.
Instead the divinity of the Son of God and his
impending suffering are intimately linked.
There is no Savior without His cross. Or, as another preacher puts it, “clearly,
cross and glory belong together.’ This
is clearly something the followers of Jesus found difficult to imagine – it is
once again Peter who says of Jesus’ suffering “Lord, let this never be!” Do we understand it any better? Do we not dabble in the politics of power and
long for the ability to dominate rather than finding ourselves in the
unenviable position of suffering – or of experiencing weakness of one sort or
another?
Unavoidable suffering – the kind that cannot be
vanquished by science, medicine or technology always has the capacity to put us
in solidarity with all those who suffer – and in many cases with those who
suffer more grievously than we do. This
solidarity is a powerful antidote to the logic of power and dominance – it is
something we can choose to experience through sickness (if we are experiencing problems
with our health) or maybe to a lesser extent through some form of Lenten
penance – the giving up of some comfort food or experience. So much of our daily energy is devoted to
escaping from any form of discomfort and yet this is precisely one avenue
through which we can discover our solidarity or unity with many others in the
world.
What would have happened if Jesus stayed on the
mountain, where it was comfortable, amazing, affirming – where God’s word was
clearly heard and the dark shadow of the cross was nowhere to be seen? No, he was called beyond the place of comfort
and affirmation to do God’s will – even when this meant following the dark and harrowing
Way of the Cross.
The blessing of the Transfiguration was given to
Peter, James and John to strengthen them for what was coming – not merely to
edify them in the present moment.
How is God, this Lent, inviting you to follow Him beyond
your comfort zone and place of affirmation?
How might He be challenging you, through today’s
Gospel, to reevaluate the meaning and place of solidarity, struggle and
suffering?
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