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“Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them.” (Mark 9:2-3)
“SOUL-SURFING” – March 8, 2009
Second Sunday of Lent
Mark 9:2-10
Fr. Robert deLeon, CSC
“The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable.” The wall poster in our supervisor’s office was a daily reminder of the journey we five had undertaken. While the 12-month Clinical Pastoral Education residency at New York’s Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center promised to hone our skills for ministry, we couldn’t have guessed what personal price would be exacted. For, you see, integral components of the program included a weekly 2-hour group session focused on how we related one to another as well as a 50-minute session of individual supervision zeroing in on our growth as persons. Indeed, during that year we five were challenged to become more authentic through the truth we struggled both to speak and to stomach. By year’s end, the words of that wall poster pretty well summed up the time we’d spent together: “The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable.”
Truth, it seems, is a rare commodity in our day. Our culture seems to thrive more on fabrication, stretching just a bit of the truth to such contortions that it becomes an outright lie. While we hunger for the truth, we seem surrounded by un-truths and have become so accommodating to them that we may even come to believe them. Indeed, lies are often more comforting to speak and to stomach than the truth that really sets us free. But then there are those sentinel experiences that invite us back to truth, back to God.
The gospel passage we hear today is just such an experience, both for Jesus and the disciples. St. Mark the Evangelist writes, “Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them.” (Mark 9:2-3). Moreover, the gospel passage goes on to relate that from an overshadowing cloud the voice of the Heavenly Father affirmed Jesus as his beloved son. This event, called the Transfiguration, occurred soon before Jesus underwent the betrayal and treachery that resulted in his death. It’s as if the Transfiguration experience, a diving truth-telling, was meant to prepare both Jesus and the disciples for the awful events soon to unfold.
No doubt, we’ve all experienced events like the Transfiguration in our own lives, less dramatic probably but no less insistent on bringing us to the truth that sets us free, perhaps makes us miserable, but surely invites us back to God. Let a story excerpted from a parish Sunday bulletin serve to illustrate:
“As I faced my maker at the Last Judgment, I knelt before the Lord along with the other souls. Our lives were displayed before us like the individual squares of a quilt waiting to be assembled. An angel sat before us sewing our quilt squares together into the tapestry that had been our lives. But as my angel took each piece of cloth off the pile, I noticed how ragged and empty my squares were. They were filled with giant holes. Each square was labeled with an experience in my life that had been difficult and challenging. I saw the hardships that I had endured, and they were the largest holes of all.
“I glanced around me. Nobody else had such squares. Other than a tiny hole here and there, the other tapestries were filled with rich color and the bright hues of worldly fortune. I gazed upon my own life and was disheartened. My angel continued sewing the ragged pieces of cloth together, threadbare and empty, like binding air. Finally the time came when each life was to be displayed, held up to the light, the scrutiny of truth. The others arose, each in turn, holding up their tapestries. So filled their lives had been.
“My angel looked upon me and nodded for me to rise. My gaze dropped to the ground in shame. I hadn't had earthly fortunes. I had love in my life and laughter, but there had also been trials of illness, death, and false accusations that took from me my world as I knew it. I had to start over many times. I often struggled with the temptation to quit but somehow mustered the strength to begin again. I had spent many nights on my knees in prayer asking for help and guidance in my life. I had often been held up to ridicule, which I endured painfully, each time offering it up to the Father in hopes that I would not melt within my skin beneath the judgmental gaze of those who unfairly judged me. And now I had to face the truth. My life was what it was, and I had to accept it for what it had been.
“I arose and slowly lifted the combined squares of my life to the light. An awe-filled gasp filled the air. I gazed around at the others who stared at me with eyes wide. Then I looked upon the tapestry before me. Light flooded through the many holes, creating an image: the face of Christ. Then our Lord stood before me with warmth and love in his eyes. He said, ‘Every time you gave over your life to me, it became my life, my hardships and my struggles. Each point of light in your life is when you stepped aside and let me shine through until there was more of me than there was of you.’” (Original source unknown)
Indeed, truth is a rare commodity in our day. We seem to thrive more on fabrication, stretching just a bit of truth to such contortions that it becomes unrecognizable. As Lent continues, may God’s grace strengthen us both to speak and to stomach the truth that sets us free, the truth that brings us home.