If you could be present at one moment during the life of Jesus, which one would you pick? Maybe His birth, step around the cow and gaze into the manger? Maybe be there in the crowd when the woman's caught in adultery and see Jesus stand down that angry mob and replace violence with mercy? Maybe you'd pick getting to be at the Last Supper to gather in that upper room, that intimate gathering and take your place at the table as He offers His disciples the Eucharist for the first time, His body and blood? Or maybe you're a braver soul than I am, and you'd say, "I want to be at Calvary with Jesus as they nail him to the cross, as he takes the weight of the sins of the world on his shoulders and suffers and dies." But if you ask me, it's this gospel ring today: The Transfiguration. When I say that, usually folks look at me like I'm wearing white shoes after Labor Day. But think about it. Peter, James, and John are doing their regular thing. Jesus says, "Hey, let's go take a hike," hike up this mountain. It's just a regular ordinary day. And then boom, it happens. Jesus is transfigured before them, and His face shines like the sun. His clothing is white, like light of the brightest laser you've ever seen. They are witnessing His divinity. And just for a moment there, He reveals His supernatural glory. The spiritual world, for just a moment, invades their regular, ordinary, work-a-day life. Then Moses and Elijah show up. They have a conversation, and you get to overhear that. Then boom, a bright cloud appears over them, and it envelops them in God's voice from heaven. "This is my son with whom I am well pleased. Listen to him." Wouldn't you want to be there for that? I mean, really? And I get Peter in this story. Sometimes I like to make fun of him for his reaction, but it makes sense. Jesus, how about we build three booths here, three huts, three tents? Maybe we bring three Winnebagos in so we can just hang out here. Can we just stay here? I mean, Jesus, this is fantastic. I mean, I get that.
Every so often, that same feeling overwhelms me. I wish it were more often. But I'm grateful for those moments when they appear, when the divine is so close, so real, so touchable that everything else just fades away. When the eternal, ever so briefly, and intensely invades my regular, own, ordinary, work-a-day life. My wife Anita and I were at a wedding a few weeks ago at a parish in Roswell, Georgia, with beautiful architecture and a stunning crucifix lit like no other one I've ever seen. I remember it distinctly, still at this moment, about 250 people or so. Two families there gathered to celebrate a marriage, a wedding. Two families deeply saturated in the faith. It was moving. It was stirring. It was inspiring. It was almost overwhelming to see so many people in love with Jesus Christ in His Church and Catholicism. I sat amazed as the godmother, read from 1 John and her eyes filled with tears, and her voice quivered as she said, "We love because God first loved us." I watched as the priest who had known the groom since his first communion all the way up until today brilliantly wove the gospels into the lives of this beautiful couple and into all of us. I listened as children whispered and giggled and filled this wedding with a delightful joy that wasn't distracting, but was a holy reminder of the beauty of life. I stared at the bride's face as she radiated a pure joy and a love for God and for her soon-to-be husband. I saw the greeter and listened to him as he invited us all to spend just a moment of silence and to gather ourselves, to focus ourselves before the wedding began about what God was about to do. I mean, this felt like a wedding where 150 gallons of water were about to become 150 gallons of wine. All of it, it settled in like a cloud enveloping me in the voice from heaven above speaking into my ear. I was transfixed for just a moment.
God's heavenly glory had broken into my earthly Eastern Standard Time. His divine into my meager human existence. So much so that I really didn't want to move. And I certainly didn't want to leave. When the wedding was over, I just lingered there in the pew. Last one in the church. And I thought of Peter, and I asked, "Can we just build a booth or a hut here? I really just want to stay in your divine presence, O Lord. I've glimpsed, tasted your glory." That was a holy moment. It was a transfiguration moment. In fact, each holy moment is a mini transfiguration moment, isn't it? Holy moments allow us to see what is possible, even if only for a fleeting moment. Each holy moment reveals who you are capable of being and who you are capable of being is amazing. And God, it's wonderful because you are wonderful, when for a moment, just a moment, you can taste the divine. Those transfiguration moments are priceless and rare. And you can't predict when they'll come. Perhaps at mass, maybe in a labor and delivery room, maybe on a remote mountain hike as you take in the grandeur of God. I've just learned to be grateful when they do arrive. For the delightful gift that reminds us that our citizenship is in heaven and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will change our lowly body to conform with His glorified body by the power that enables Him to bring all things into subjection to Himself. Which moment in Jesus' life would you most want to be at? I would simply say The Transfiguration. Declare Your glory, O Lord. Declare Your glory.
