Fear not: we kept things very safe!
Second Sunday of Lent C
Twice
this past week,
I
found myself out on the edge of the world—
or so
it seemed, anyway.
On
Thursday,
I
went snowmobiling with friends from Old Forge,
taking
us through snow-covered forests
and
over solidly-frozen lakes—
seeing
sights you just wouldn’t see otherwise.
And
then, on Friday, a good bit closer to home,
I
went cross-country skiing with another friend
just
this side of Paul Smiths,
arriving
after a couple of miles at a lean-to
overlooking
an icy pond.
Both were experiences of getting away—
withdrawing from the usual hustle and bustle of life,
and instead heading out into the wilderness.
But these experiences were also quite different.
On the snowmobile, life maintains its rather frantic pace.
You’re straddling a loud and powerful machine,
moving at high rates of speed.
You stop to take in the sights, but never for too long—
and not just because it’s cold out there:
there are other places to go and things to see.
Out on the skis, however, time passes quite differently.
The stops are more frequent:
to catch your breath, or to chat with your companion,
or just to take in the beauty of how the afternoon sun
is filtering through the pines and glinting off the snow.
On
the snowmobile,
I
headed out to the edge of the world
and
it seemed like I’d taken
a
lot of my usual world along for the ride.
When
I reached the world’s edge on my skis, however,
it
seemed like I might have already crossed over—
even
if only briefly—to the other side…
…and
I really wanted to stay.
Jesus
leads
Peter, John, and James
out into the wilderness—
up
to the mountain top—to pray,
and
there he is
transfigured before them.
In
Greek and Roman mythology,
transfigurations
were
common enough
as
the gods
manifested themselves
by taking on earthly forms—
sometimes
as animals,
or even as men.
Jesus’
transfiguration works
in the opposite direction,
as
his humanity
begins to radiate a
glory
which can only be divine.
(cf. S. Mueller)
Awestruck,
Peter dares to speak up:
It is so good that we are
here!
Let us build three tents!
We don’t want
this wonder to
ever end!
Peter
has taken
a whole lot of flack
over the centuries
for
wanting to capture
and somehow preserve
this
mystic experience—
an
apparently
impossible endeavor.
But
maybe Peter’s error
is
not that he was aiming too high…but too low. (cf. J. Martens)
You
see, we generally work on the assumption
that
life’s “peak moments” are necessarily short lived.
Whether
we’re out alone in nature,
like
Abram counting the stars,
or
surrounded by the loving company of family and good friends,
those
occasions when all seems right with the world
and
the Lord feels oh-so-close to us
are
real treasures.
But
the wonder and awe they inspire within us
don’t
have to be—in fact, shouldn’t be—such rare occurrences.
Do
you remember the story of Jacob’s ladder?
Jacob
dreamt of a stairway running between heaven and earth,
and
upon awaking exclaimed,
“Truly
the Lord is here and I did not know it!
How
awesome is this place!
It
is none other than the house of God
and
the gateway to heaven.” (Gen
28:16-17)
Those
words have been carved in stone
over
the doors of many churches through the years—
and
for good reason:
they
should we the words our hearts utter
every
time we cross the threshold.
You
see, in the mystery of the Incarnation,
God
sent his only begotten Son in human flesh
that
the Lord of heaven might dwell among us on earth—
not
merely in temporary quarters,
but
in an enduring, quite permanent way.
And
we don’t have to go on extravagant expeditions—
not
even as far as skis or snowmobiles can carry us—
in
order to find ourselves in God’s glorious presence.
God
is here!
In
the great Sacrament of the Eucharist,
the
Lord lives among us still.
That
is truly God’s table, and this is truly God’s house!
In
a very real way, the golden door of that tabernacle
is
the gate to heaven.
So,
why aren’t we awestruck and filled with wonder
every
time we gather here?
who
went in search of some water to drink.
We’ve
become so accustomed
to God’s constant dwelling-among-us
to God’s constant dwelling-among-us
that
we can pretty much take it for granted.
But
the other thing is that we often arrive here
like
fast-moving snowmobilers.
When
coming to church,
we
bring our frantic lives along for the ride.
We
can stop in for Mass, but not for too long:
arriving
at the last minute,
then
leaving for our next event in a rush—
maybe
even cutting out a few minutes early.
What
a different experience awaits us
if
we can only slow down a bit!
Jesus
was the Son of God all along
through
those years his disciples
had been following him.
had been following him.
Nothing
about Jesus changed
on that day he was transfigured;
on that day he was transfigured;
what
changed is that his followers eyes were opened
to
recognize God right there in their midst.
They
needed to climb the mountain—
to step away with him—in order to see.
to step away with him—in order to see.
Mass
is meant to be for us a chance to step away—
not
just another stop among many along our weekly rounds,
but
our ultimate destination.
So,
this Lent, resolve to try something different:
Don’t
fit Mass in between all the other things you’re doing;
organize
everything else around Mass.
Get
here a little early, taking time to quiet your mind and heart.
Stay
a few minutes afterward,
making
the time to offer a prayer of thanksgiving.
Let
Mass really be a chance to catch your breath,
and
soon enough you’ll find it becomes something
that
regularly takes your breath away.
How
awesome is this place!
And
how good it is that we are here!
To
come here is, indeed, to reach the edge of the world,
for
here the Lord is really present.
Let’s
make sure, then, that we are really present, too.
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