Homily: Second Sunday of Lent: 2007

Brothers and sisters, today we hear the story of the promise to Abraham (when he was still Abram) commanded by God to "[l]ook up at the sky and count the stars, . . .[j]ust so shall your descendants be." (Gen 15:5) How many is that? Countless, you could say. But an attempt HAS been made to count the stars. Those of you who have read my homilies these last few weeks (God help you) may know I am a fan of Father Benedict Groeschel. In his talk entitled "A Reason to Believe," he said this: "If you were to reduce the size of the stars to the size of a grain of sea sand, an eight-ounce glass would hold approximately 2.5 million of them. Do you know how big the box would have to be to hold all the stars, not even the planets, just the stars [we know about]? If all the stars, the suns, were reduced to the size of a grain of sand, the box would have to be a mile high, a mile wide and would stretch from New York City to Atlanta, Georgia." Congratulations, Abraham! Especially when you consider he was infertile for so long, had only one son and then God asked him to sacrifice him! I think, besides the fact that that request seemed to negate the promise (it didn't), people have problems with this episode in Scripture because they think it seems unjust of God. How could He, they think, ask for human sacrifice? Besides the fact that Abraham didn't have to carry it out, I think we need to wrap our minds around something here. God asking for human sacrifice is no more unjust than a potter squishing his unfired clay pot into a fresh lump and creating anew. He has a right to do this because the pot is his creation, he OWNS it. I think at some level we realize this. But we are often more or less stuck in a spiritual immaturity that sees ourselves as the center of the universe, the be-all and end-all of creation. And that is just not so. It is God's right to create and to call back, to afflict and to make well, to bring forth life and to release in death. Job knew it, Abraham knew it and somehow we know it. Not well, perhaps, not perfectly, but "darkly, as through a glass." I always puzzled about that, thinking he (St. Paul) meant through an actual pane of glass, smudged perhaps, or smoky. But no, he meant obliquely, in a mirror, then called a "looking glass." And for those of you who remember your high-school physics, the image reflected from a mirror is technically a "virtual image" -- close, perhaps, but no cigar. A "real image" is that which you see when you observe it with no intermediary, face to face as it were. And someday, if we are saved, we will see God that way.

Now every Lent I take a theme or a motto. And this Lent I took "You should be awake and praying not to be put to the test." That's why today's Gospel account of the Transfiguration fits so well. St. Luke gives us a more detailed account of the event than the other synoptics and says: "Peter and his companions had been overcome by sleep, but becoming fully awake, they saw His glory." (Lk 9:30) My brothers and sisters, we too are often overcome by sleep, even when our bodies are physically awake, we are not as the Gospel says "fully awake." We do not see and hear what is going on all around us. We do not see the beggar at our door, the homeless at our gate, the despised and victimized in our community, the injustice in our nation, the wars in our world. And what wakes us up? It is the Lord. How does Jesus do it? Well, He is unlimited, of course. Perhaps in one of His "incarnational resources," as my wisest friend refers to human beings. A human being who is more awake than you are, maybe a friend, a co-worker, a teacher, even a priest. Perhaps in His holy Word, the Scriptures. Perhaps in an approved spiritual text or reading. Perhaps even directly in a mystical experience, although those are rare. Turning to Father Groeschel again one last time:

"When speaking to a distinguished Scripture scholar a few years ago, I told him how one preacher had reduced this marvelous event [the Transfiguration] to the apostles seeing the glinting of the sun on the snow on Mount Tabor and merely thinking that Christ was transfigured. What nonsense! The scholar, who was deeply appalled when I told him of this preaching, said to me, 'Don't you know that's the most succinct and eloquent description of a mystical event in the literature of the world?' I said, 'Oh, yes, I know, but some of the people who are teaching the Bible right now don't seem to know it.'
"This marvelous incomprehensible mystery is unprovable at this stage by any means, and it was probably unprovable at the very time that it happened, except to the three witnesses. This Transfiguration shows us the mystery of faith and hope. We all hope to see the transfigured Christ at the end of our lives. We hope to go into eternal life with Him. Let us join Our Blessed Lady, who gave birth to the body that would be transfigured, to the face that would shine like the sun. Let us join her in adoration of the mysterious Messiah, who alone is our hope."

Let us profess our faith.