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Jerusalem is the heart of the Jewish people—geographically, historically, emotionally, and spiritually. In today’s Gospel, we see the Pharisees, publicly known to oppose Jesus, warning him about Herod’s plan to kill him. Their motives are unclear, but I suspect they aim to scare him off, hoping he will abandon his teaching and healing ministry. Jesus, however, does not retreat. Instead, he becomes provocative and combative, publicly calling Herod a “fox.” In doing so, he creates two enemies at once—religious authorities and political powers—setting the stage for the politically charged accusations and inevitable execution awaiting him in Jerusalem.
Yet, instead of approaching this story as mere bystanders, I invite us to engage with it as a practical guide for deepening our spiritual lives. Importantly, let us remember that our spiritual practice is not an escape from reality but a way to confront its cruelties with strength, courage, and hope—qualities born from a grounded and authentic spiritual life. Let us focus on Jesus’ words and consider how they can serve as spiritual instruction: "Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem." The "today, tomorrow, and the third day" can be understood as a reference to the Easter Triduum—the sacred period from the evening of Holy Thursday to the evening of Easter Sunday. During this time, Jesus journeys to Jerusalem, the spiritual center of his time, to confront suffering and transform it. His mission involves casting out demons, performing cures, and ultimately fulfilling his work through his death and resurrection. For us, this three-day journey can symbolize an inward spiritual process. Today, tomorrow, and the third day are not just chronological markers but steps in a transformative journey toward healing and renewal. We, too, are invited to cast out our inner demons, allow the Breath of God to heal our wounds, and journey to the very center of ourselves where transformation can begin. This process doesn’t need to take three literal days. It is a metaphorical path, and I encourage you to explore it as a personal practice. What I share here is just a sketch, a map to a landscape. You must walk this path yourself to experience its reality. Just as hearing someone describe the movie Titanic cannot substitute for watching it yourself, this practice requires your own body, mind, and spirit to engage fully. Day 1: Finding Stillness Begin by finding a quiet place and assuming a comfortable posture. Sit with your back straight, your chin tilted slightly downward—this alignment helps ease tension in your shoulders and neck. Bring your attention to your breath. Are you breathing quickly or slowly, shallowly or deeply? Adjust your breath as needed. If you feel tired, breathe in a way that energizes you. If you feel tense, breathe in a way that relaxes you. Focus on your breath. This is your anchor in the present moment, but it’s also the hardest part. When distractions arise—and they will—practice grace. Do not scold or judge yourself for being distracted. Instead, gently guide your attention back to the breath. Each return is an act of grace, not punishment. Day 2: Confronting Inner Demons With your body and mind settled in stillness, continue to focus on your breath. As you maintain this grounded presence, notice what arises. This is where the difficult work begins. Inner demons—memories, fears, guilt, or shame—may surface. Do not run from them. Instead, observe them with compassion, not judgment. These demons often manifest as patterns of thought or feelings that keep us stuck in pain, anger, resentment, or despair. Acknowledge them, and name them if you can. In doing so, you’re distancing yourself from them. Remind yourself: you are not defined by pain, anger, resentment, or despair. Imagine these wounds as present but unable to consume you. You do not need to rid yourself of them but instead recognize them with grace. These wounds, or demons, may have once helped you survive difficult situations. Now, let the Breath of God pave a path between them and your gaze upon them. Day 3: Journey to Resurrection On the third day, after facing what needs to be confronted, you are invited to embrace renewal, resurrection. Imagine the center of your being, the "Jerusalem" within you, as a place of transformation. What needs to be resurrected in your life? What needs to be left behind in the tomb? These questions remind us to act and live skillfully. Skillful living is about aligning ourselves with what brings true, enduring joy. The journey to resurrection is not about perfection but about movement—moving forward in hope, even while wounds are still healing. Carry the grace and courage you’ve cultivated into the days ahead, trusting that transformation is an ongoing process. Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem was not just about fulfilling his mission but about showing us a path to spiritual transformation. His work—casting out demons, performing cures, and completing his mission—provides a model for our own lives. As we follow his example, let us confront the realities of life with courage and hope, trusting that through our spiritual practice, we can journey to the very center of ourselves and be made new. Temptation can only be detected when we see things clearly. This may sound paradoxical if we assume that those who are “holy” should never be tempted. But think again. That’s certainly not the case for Jesus, at least in today’s gospel lesson. Temptation begins to creep in right after his baptism—when he is “full of the Holy Spirit” and is led by that very Spirit into the wilderness of temptation.
Let me give you an example of why the more clearly we perceive our internal and external states, the more prone we are to temptation. Consider cataract surgery. What do people notice most after the procedure? The most common answers I’ve heard are wrinkles and dust. Those who’ve had the surgery often say, “I never realized how many wrinkles I have!” or “I didn’t know there was so much dust everywhere!” The clearer your vision, the more imperfections you see. Likewise, the clearer your awareness, the more temptations you’ll recognize. This is precisely what’s happening in today’s gospel lesson. Jesus, filled with the Holy Spirit, sees his mind more clearly than ever. This also applies to us when we engage in silent prayer or meditation. The Breath of God stills and clears the mind of those who attune themselves to it. In that state of clarity, we become able to see unskillful thoughts—the thoughts of temptation—creeping in. These thoughts, if left unchecked, lead to stress and suffering. But in the gospel, we see how Jesus manages his unskillful thoughts. This management is a process of discernment: recognizing the choices before him, weighing their consequences, and making a decision. The gospel personifies these thoughts as the accuser—what tradition calls Satan. But instead of focusing on what Jesus chooses to do, let’s focus on what Jesus gives up. Discernment is, at its heart, about knowing what to let go of and prioritizing what matters most. So, what does Jesus refuse to do when tempted? Here are three key things he doesn’t do:
Now, notice what happens through Jesus’ inaction:
This Lenten season invites us to follow Jesus’ example—to face our unskillful thoughts and actions with clarity and courage. We’re called to still our minds through contemplation, to be watchful of the thoughts and feelings that arise and fall. When we do this, guilt might surface. We might feel regret for past unskillful behaviors or even for simply having such thoughts. But guilt, by itself, doesn’t help. What matters is that we acknowledge these thoughts, own them, and act more skillfully going forward. This is where grace comes in—nourishing us, empowering us to choose wisely. So, what thoughts are surfacing in your mind? They may not be the same as Jesus’ temptations. Each of us brings our own history, our own struggles. But we can all learn from Jesus’ discernment. His choices weren’t about instant gratification or short-term fixes. Instead, he prioritized the long-term good—good for God, for others, and for himself—even when those choices seemed difficult or costly in the moment. Friends in Christ, may we do the same. May we seek clarity of mind through the Breath of God, and may we discern what truly brings lasting joy and peace. The story of the Transfiguration presents a moment of profound significance: Jesus standing with Moses and Elijah, two towering figures in Jewish tradition. Moses represents the Law—the moral foundation of the people—and Elijah represents the Prophets, who called Israel to live out its ethical obligations to God and neighbor. For us today, they can symbolize two guiding principles in life: morality and ethics. Morality concerns the personal precepts we hold ourselves to, while ethics governs how we interact and coexist with others.
For morality, think of the Ten Commandments: principles that help us live rightly, protecting us from sabotaging our ability to encounter the presence of God within. Without such moral boundaries, we risk losing ourselves to destructive tendencies. Ethics, on the other hand, concerns how we relate to others. A good example in our context is the biomedical ethical framework of beneficence (acting for the good of others), nonmaleficence (avoiding harm), justice (being fair), and autonomy (respecting others’ freedom). Both morality and ethics are essential—but they are incomplete without something more. Jesus represents that “something more”: the presence of God within us. He is not merely a moral teacher or an ethical guide; he embodies divine presence. In the Transfiguration, Jesus stands with Moses and Elijah, showing us that while morality and ethics serve to deepen our spiritual life, they point beyond themselves to the living presence of God at the core of our being. At this moment of glory, Jesus invites Peter, James, and John into a deeper realization: they, too, are meant to encounter this divine presence within themselves. Yet, like us, they struggle to grasp it. Their response—“Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”—shows that they are content to remain spectators. They want to preserve the moment by externalizing it, as though building dwellings for these great figures will somehow anchor the experience. But they forget to include themselves in that sacred space. They don’t yet understand that the presence of God is not something outside of them; it is within. This is a mistake I recognize in myself. How often do I, like Peter, James, and John, hear profound wisdom—from the writings of Teresa of Avila, Hildegard of Bingen, or St. Francis—and act as though I share in their experience simply by understanding their words? But I cannot clone their spiritual journey or borrow their awakening. Their experience can inspire me, but it cannot replace my own effort to encounter the presence of God within. I must do the inner work myself. Even in their misunderstanding, Jesus does not rebuke the disciples. Instead, he wakes them up and redirects them. He doesn’t allow them to linger on the mountaintop. The experience of God’s presence is not an endpoint; it is a source of fuel for the journey ahead. His message is clear: don’t settle on the mountain. Don’t remain satisfied with a fleeting moment of peace, grace, and equanimity. Such experiences are gifts, but they are meant to prepare us for something greater—descending into the messy, broken world below, where peace, grace, and equanimity are absent. “Be peace. Be grace. Be equanimity,” Jesus seems to say. Carry what you have encountered into the places where it is needed most. This, then, is the call of the Transfiguration: it is not merely about beholding Jesus’s transformation but about answering the challenge to undergo our own. We are invited to transfigure our way of seeing. This involves more than simply facing life’s challenges with courage or hope. It requires a radical shift in how we perceive reality—seeing with the eyes of God, breathing with the breath of God. True transfiguration begins here and now, in the present moment, when we dare to look within and encounter the divine presence for ourselves. This journey of inner transformation is what Lent calls us to. It is a season of preparation, a time to strip away the distractions that prevent us from experiencing God’s presence fully. The goal of Lent is not merely to arrive at Easter unchanged, content to witness the resurrection from a distance. Rather, it is to stand at Easter’s threshold ready to rise—to become, ourselves, transformed by the presence of God within, ready to be sent back into the world as bearers of peace, grace, and equanimity. So, let us not remain satisfied with witnessing Jesus’s transfiguration. Let us dare to transfigure ourselves—our way of seeing, our way of being, our very breath. Let us be bold enough to embrace the divine presence within, to let it change us, and to carry that transformation into the world. The true call of the Transfiguration is not to remain on the mountaintop but to descend, transfigured, into the valleys of life, death, and resurrection. I used to carry one brown bag everywhere—work, church, errands. But ever since I switched to a smaller shoulder bag for work, the brown bag now only serves one purpose: keeping my laptop for church. That’s where the problem of switching bags comes in—having to transfer valuables like my keys and wallet back and forth. You can guess what happened one Sunday morning.
I left for church early, completely unaware that I had forgotten the key to the church until I arrived at St. Agnes’. That was a big problem. It would take 40 to 50 minutes for a round trip back home to get the key. But God graciously placed Bob in my life that morning. Bob happened to be there, and he had the key to let me in. Now, imagine a hypothetical scenario. What if, while driving on Route 80 near Exit 58 in Paterson, I suddenly realized I didn’t have the key? Not ideal, but manageable. What about Exit 61 in Elmwood Park? Even better. But what if I had realized the key was missing right after leaving home? That would have saved me a lot of trouble. In fact, what if I had simply decided to bring both bags from the start, ensuring I had everything I needed? You may be wondering what this silly little story has to do with today’s gospel. It’s about one key idea: we can only fix what we are aware of. Psychiatrist Carl Jung puts it well: “What is not acknowledged cannot be changed.” And James A. Garfield, the 20th president of the United States, offers a similar thought: “The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable.” I’d add, “And the sooner, the better.” Now let’s turn to Jesus’ four blessings, which may seem like paradoxes at first glance. How can being poor, hungry, sorrowful, or hated be considered blessings? After all, we don’t normally think of poverty, hunger, grief, or rejection as positive experiences. But Jesus isn’t saying these experiences are blessings in and of themselves. Instead, He’s pointing to what these conditions can reveal to us—what they can awaken us to. Think about it: being aware that we lack something vital is the first step toward seeking something greater. It’s like recognizing that you forgot your key—it makes you realize what’s missing. In life, the experience of lack—whether it’s poverty, hunger, sorrow, or rejection—can open our eyes to what truly matters. It helps us see that true happiness isn’t found in material wealth, constant comfort, or fleeting approval, but in the presence of God within. It seems to me there are levels of knowledge:
The four blessings call us to reach the final two levels of knowledge. By knowing what we don’t know, we become aware of the limits of our understanding. But it’s the next step — knowing that we know what we don’t know — that brings a deeper awareness. It’s a kind of second-order knowledge, a meta-awareness: awareness of our own awareness, thinking about thinking. This deeper knowledge isn’t just recognizing gaps in our understanding; it’s becoming explicitly conscious of those gaps, acknowledging the space between “knowing what we don’t know” and “knowing that we know what we don’t know.” It’s a humbling awareness — one that calls us to recognize our spiritual, emotional, and physical poverty, hunger, and sorrow. In this recognition, we begin to let go of the false promises of the world: wealth that won’t endure, comfort that won’t last, approval that will fade. This deeper knowing calls us to wise living — to a life grounded in what is skillful rather than unskillful. And yes, this process can feel like misery at times, because it involves confronting disappointment: disappointment in the things we once believed would satisfy us. But it’s through this process that we grow wise. The awareness of lack is not a curse but a blessing, urging us to turn from illusion toward what truly matters. We learn to ask, “Is this behavior or choice leading to stress and suffering, or will it produce something good?” This is the core of skillful living. In contrast, the four woes warn us about the dangers of unskillful living—chasing after short-term, shallow happiness. They point to a life focused on instant gratification, comfort, and approval, without regard for the deeper, lasting joy that comes from the Breath of God. Ultimately, the four blessings and four woes present us with a choice: Will we live skillfully, with discernment and awareness, or unskillfully, seeking only what’s easy and immediate? Skillful living leads to real joy—a joy rooted in the Breath of God, not in what the world offers. The question is, are we aware enough to seek it? David Bohm “Thought creates our world and says, ‘I didn’t do it.’” Daniel Kanheman “we can be blind to the obvious and, we are also blind to our blindness.” The lake of Gennesaret flows between Jesus, Simon, James, and John—and the crowd. One group stands on the shore, while the other is in the boat. Then the scene shifts: Jesus is in one boat, and Simon, James, and John are in another. This geographical movement is more than a narrative detail. It symbolically illustrates how we position ourselves—mentally, physically, and spiritually—in our daily lives, in our interactions with family, friends, and strangers.
So, the question I raise this morning is this: where do we find ourselves? Where do we stand—spiritually and emotionally—each day? I’ll give you the answer upfront: we want to be in the boat with Jesus. But to understand what that means, let’s take a journey: from the crowd on the shore, to the boat with Simon, James, and John, and finally to the boat with Jesus himself. (A note: my interpretation today is explicitly allegorical, intended to offer practical guidance for our spiritual practice.) Step 1: The Crowd on the Shore We begin where most of us find ourselves: among the crowd. We listen to the teachings of Jesus, perhaps nodding in agreement. His words sound moral, even inspiring—but they don’t seem to take hold. They wash over us without transforming our hearts. Why? Perhaps we don’t fully understand his message. Or perhaps we lack the desire to be changed by it. And so, we remain on the shore—watching from a distance, disconnected from the deeper, transformative call of discipleship. Step 2: The Boat of Simon, James, and John When life doesn’t feel satisfying on the shore, we step into the boat of Simon, James, and John. Here, life is familiar. It’s a mix of moments—dissatisfaction, sadness, and disappointment—interspersed with bits of joy, happiness, and surprise. But in this particular moment, there are no fish. Their nets come up empty. It’s a total letdown. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? This boat represents our own repetitive story—the same cycle of striving, failing, and hoping for something more. From this boat, we notice Jesus. He’s in the other boat. At first glance, he seems distant, even detached. Is he indifferent to the harsh unpredictability of life? We might think, with a tinge of sarcasm, “Is everything so heavenly to him?” But little do we realize that his life is as earthly as ours—marked by suffering, even death. He is no stranger to life’s burdens. Yet there he sits, calm and steady, distanced from the restless crowd and from the weary hearts of Simon, James, and John. Step 3: The Boat of Jesus And then Jesus speaks. Gently, he tells Simon: “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Friends in Christ, this invitation is for us as well. But don’t get caught up in the image of overflowing nets and abundant fish. Instead, hear his call to put out into the deep waters of your own heart. Let down your nets—not for fish, but for breath. The Deep Waters of Silence As we sit in silence, breathing deeply, we find ourselves moving into the boat of Jesus. We begin to notice a quiet transformation within. The restless striving of the other boat falls away. In the stillness, we come to see life with clarity. And this is the transformation Jesus speaks of when he says: “From now on, you will be catching people.” This isn’t a command to change careers or take on a dramatic new mission. Rather, it’s about a change of perspective. As we go deeper into silence with Jesus, we see what matters most. Fish are for life. Materials are for people. Our culture worships material gain—fishing for the sake of fishing, acquiring for the sake of acquiring. But in the boat with Jesus, we see that these things are never an end in themselves. We fish for the sake of others. We live for the sake of others. This transformation doesn’t happen in our heads. It happens slowly, quietly, as we sit in Jesus’ boat—letting our hearts be shaped by his presence. So today, I invite you: put out into the deep waters of your own heart. Let down your nets of breath. Sit with Jesus in the quietude of his boat. Here and now, in this stillness, you are being changed. Let’s get in the boat with Jesus. Come, sit with Jesus. The feast of the Presentation is not a familiar tradition that all Christians follow. The Presentation of the Lord in the Temple, as practiced in Judaism during the time of Jesus, refers to the observance of two key rituals prescribed in the Torah.
The first is the purification ritual of a mother who has recently given birth (Leviticus 12). If the child is male, the purification process lasts 40 days. If the child is female, it lasts 80 days. This idea of purification is based on their conception of blood as life (Leviticus 17:11). The process of childbirth, while life-giving, involves blood loss, which may symbolize a crossing of boundaries between life and death. The second ritual refers to the Exodus story, particularly Exodus 12:12-13; 13:2, 12-15, regarding the redemption of the firstborn male child and animal: “I will pass through the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike down every firstborn in the land of Egypt, from human to animal, and on all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments: I am the Lord. The blood shall be a sign for you on the houses where you live: when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and no plague shall destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt.” The firstborn male child (as well as animal) is then considered holy and belongs to God and requires redemption through an offering. Both rituals have two things in common. The symbol of blood is used to represent life: life given to the newborn child and lost in the purification ritual, and life to be redeemed from God’s judgment. The other commonality is that both the mother and the firstborn male child are “presented” in the temple, which is a physical symbol of God’s presence. In the temple, Mary and Jesus are presented as both pure and holy. We may be tempted to interpret today’s Gospel lesson merely as a story that confirms Jesus’ messiahship. In doing so, we may find comfort and assurance that we are on the right side. This interpretation is acceptable as long as it helps one act and live skillfully, benefiting others without causing harm. But what if we turn this lesson into something personally relevant to our lives? What if this isn’t really about Jesus and Mary but about you in the place of Jesus and you in the place of Mary? What if this lesson calls upon us to examine whether we ourselves are presentable to God’s presence? What if we ask ourselves, “What is one way that I can be presentable and present to God’s presence in my daily life?” Reflecting on the lesson from the prophetic words of Malachi in the Hebrew Bible, we look no further for the presence of God or the external form of the temple. We already have the temple within, in which the Lord whom we seek will suddenly come as we become aware of God’s breath entering us and endure God’s coming. The act of breathing in and out is like the work of a refiner or a fuller. Breath is like fire or soap. That which is to be presentable to the holy must also be holy, and the way to refine it is to purify it with what is already holy. For us, that’s the Breath of God enfleshed in our very own breath to which we are present. The incarnation is bodily and real, happening right here and right now as Christ is breathed in you. Through the rhythm of our breath, we become present and presentable to God. How should we interpret the following saying of Jesus from this morning’s lesson: “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing”? What is this scripture? It comes from the Book of Isaiah, which Jesus reads from the scroll in the synagogue. Is he referring to himself when he reads, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me…has anointed me…has sent me”? Certainly, he applies the “me” in the text to himself.
But that is not the whole story. His proclamation that “this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing” can also mean that the prophetic words of Isaiah are meant to be applied to you. I invite you to read the Isaiah passage that Jesus reads and apply it to yourself, allowing the “me” to refer not to Jesus, but to you. See how it feels to read, recite, and reflect in this way. Nevertheless, this is not the end of the practice. Embody it through your breathing. The Spirit of the Lord is upon you. The Breath of YHWH, breathing in and out, is literally, physiologically, and spiritually both upon and within you. Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing of breathing! |
Paul"...life up your love to that cloud [of unknowing]...let God draw your love up to that cloud...through the help of his grace, to forget every other thing." Archives
February 2025
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