Homily for the 2nd Sunday of Lent, A

There is a beautiful moment in today’s Gospel, that only Matthew tells. When the cloud descended, the disciples were overwhelmed. They fell flat on their faces. Quietly and tenderly, Jesus went to them and touched them. “Get up. Do not be afraid.”

I have Mass on Sunday, March 1st at St. Isidore @ 7:30/9:30am. The 7:30 am Mass will be live-streamed. https://stisidore.church/worship-online/

frjoedailey@gmail.com

Transcript

A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Matthew. 

Jesus took Peter, James, and John, his brother, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light. And behold, Moses and Elias appeared to them, conversing with them. Then Peter said to Jesus in reply, "Lord, it is good that we are here. If you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." While he was still speaking, behold, a bright cloud cast a shadow over them. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased. Listen to him."

When the disciples heard this, they fell prostrate and very much afraid. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, Rise, and do not be afraid. And when the disciples raised their eyes, they saw no one else but Jesus alone. As they were coming down from the mountain, Jesus charged them, "Do not tell the vision to anyone, until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead." 

The Gospel of the Lord. 

A few weeks ago, we read the Beatitudes, which begins, "Jesus saw the crowds, went up the mountain, sat down, and taught his disciples." The original Greek quotes a Hebrew figure of speech, "He opened his mouth and taught them." If they can see his mouth, that means they could see his face. When Moses went up the mountain, he could not see God face to face. He heard the sound of the words, but saw no shape. There was only a voice. 

We first heard a voice over the waters of the Jordan River, naming Jesus as the beloved Son. We are on the mountain again, and once more we hear a voice. From the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased. Listen to him." 

One of our scripture professors used to say, If something is repeated, it must be important. The Father's voice is heard. There is no form, only the voice. "Listen to him." From now on, God's voice does have a form. The beloved Son is the human face of the God we cannot see. Jesus speaks not from above in some distant, hidden place, but as our teacher in the midst of our ordinary, everyday lives. 

We climb the sacred mountain today, reading from about the middle of Matthew's Gospel. On one side, we climb up through the stories of Jesus' healing, liberating ministry. The same cloud that led Israel through the wilderness overshadows the mountain. The same glory that once filled the tabernacle interrupts the disciples' understanding of power. Just as the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness in last Sunday's Gospel, So God is strengthening us to walk down the mountain and through the valley of the shadow of death. We walk with Jesus on the way to Jerusalem, where suffering, death, and resurrection await. 

In Genesis chapter 12, Abram heard the voice calling him to "Go forth." The Hebrew used here is Lech Lecha. Lech means walk, and Lecha means to yourself. God says, "Lech Lecha from your country, your kin, and your parents' house, to a land I will show you." If this were merely a physical journey, the Bible would have said, go forth from your parents' house, your kin, and your country, rather than the other way around. After all, when you take a trip, you first have to leave your parents' house, then your extended family, and then your country. By reversing the order, Torah is telling us that this is a spiritual journey of letting go of the limitations, biases, and conditioning that defines you, whether it be nationalism, ethnicity, race, gender, religion, or the conditioning of your parents. Only when others no longer define you are you ready to see the land God wants you to see. 

In Genesis chapter 11, we heard the story of the Tower of Babel, where humanity grasps at greatness, trying to make a name for themselves. Genesis 12 tells the story of Abram who receives a name as gift. I will make of you a great nation. I will bless you. I will make your name great. Notice who does the making. God. 

So Abram went. The sentence is almost quiet. No strategic plan outlined. No promise in hand. 

I remember a similar leaving. My first parish assignment after ordination was not a good fit. I was there about ten months, nine months, and twenty-seven days too long. The day I left, August 6, 1978, the Pope died. I took some comfort in that. That was not how I imagined priesthood. I felt like I was walking in the shadow of a dark valley. It took many months to heal from that experience, but along the way I was graced with many caring and loving people. The biggest surprise, though, came about two years later, when I realized that I had been called to the priesthood. The surprise was that up until that moment, I'd always thought it was my idea. 

At the Last Supper in John's Gospel, chapter 15, verse 16, Jesus said as much to his disciples, "You did not choose me, but I chose you." And then he adds, "I've called you friends." Oh, watch out when Jesus calls you friends. There's a story about St. Teresa of Ávila, who was working tirelessly to restore the church, but everywhere she went she faced resistance. Finally she cried out, "Lord, when will you stop scattering obstacles in our path?" "Do not complain, daughter," the Divine Master answered, "for this is the way I treat my friends." Teresa replied, "Ah, Lord, it is also in that account that you have so few." 

There's a beautiful moment in today's gospel that only Matthew tells. When the cloud descended, the disciples were so overwhelmed, they fell flat on their faces. Quietly and tenderly, Jesus went to them and touched them, "Get up. Do not be afraid." André Dubus, the late Catholic novelist, once wrote, "My belief in the Eucharist is simple. Without touch, God is a monologue, an idea. We might say, the Eucharist is God's physical embrace of us, God's touch. Glory does not erase suffering. It reveals who walks with us into it. "Get up. Do not be afraid."