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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. |
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
April 2025
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