Last Sunday after the Epiphany 6B (Mark 9:2-9)

The Sunday gospel lesson before Lent begins always ends with the transfiguration story. (Additionally August 6 is observed  as the feast of the transfiguration.) Placing this narrative before Ash Wednesday is pedagogically strategic, serving as a reminder of Lent's ultimate destination. Lent, often perceived as a somber liturgical season, is after all oriented towards the resurrection. A more fitting analogy might liken Lent to a red light, Holy Week to a yellow light, and Easter to a green light. The imagery of the transfigured Jesus serves as a preview of the resurrection, helping us keep the green light in focus. 

I would like to elaborate on the traffic light analogy. If we consider the green light as a symbol for waiting for Easter or the resurrection of Jesus without contemplating its relevance to our daily lives, it might seem like a mere ritual. Approaching Lent, Holy Week, and Easter in this manner may have little impact on our spiritual growth. What we aspire for is to infuse significance into this green light. We aim to adopt an active stance rather than a passive one. Our intention is not solely to anticipate the risen Christ but to recognize and manifest that resurrection within ourselves. 

Just as the incarnation prompts us to acknowledge God's presence in our human hearts, the resurrection involves a transformative process of aligning or letting go of ourselves to God’s presence. This process may feel akin to shedding unskillful self-images we've constructed, resembling a form of self-dying. Subsequently, it propels us to dwell in and enact that divine presence in our relationships with others. The manifestation of God's presence through our interactions holds the transformative potential to transfigure all our relationships, even though initially, observable changes may not be apparent.

Let's examine Peter's reaction to the vision of the transfigured Jesus engaging with Moses and Elijah in today's gospel lesson. Peter, in his well-intentioned eagerness, unwittingly mirrors the mistakes we might have made in his position. His initial response is one of understandable terror, and he suggests, "Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah" (Mark 9:5). St. Mark notes that Peter is at a loss for words, but his proposal to construct three dwellings sheds light on his and our inclination to assume a passive role. The question arises: why three dwellings? What about Peter's own dwelling? It seems the green light is perceived as reserved for someone else, not an invitation for him to take initiative.

The dazzling glorification of Jesus' appearance signifies his embodiment of God's presence, revealing it from the inside out. If we acknowledge Jesus' proclamation of God's kingdom within everyone, as affirmed in the confession of sin on page 1, "We forget that we are your home,'' we must also remember that we too are God's dwelling place, not solely Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Peter is called to construct his dwelling alongside those of Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, recognizing that the green light extends not only to them but to Peter himself as well as us all. 

A more fitting response to the vision of transfiguration might be, "Help me manifest God's dwelling within me, illuminating it from the inside out."

I leave you all with an excerpt from Rainer Maria Rilke's letter titled "Charged with the Transfiguration of All Things" dated November 26, 1925:

“...Little cemeteries that we are, adorned with the flowers of our futile gestures, containing so many corpses that demand that we testify to their souls. All prickly with crosses, all covered with inscriptions, all spaded up and shaken by countless daily burials, we are charged with the transmutation, the resurrection, the transfiguration of all things. For how can we save what is visible if not by using the language of absence, of the invisible?”