Transfiguration

This morning's Gospel reading was Luke 9:28-43, which shares the account of the Transfiguration of Christ.  Jesus took Peter, John and James up on the mountain to pray.

²⁹ As he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became as bright as a flash of lightning. ³⁰ Two men, Moses and Elijah, appeared in glorious splendor, talking with Jesus. ³¹ They spoke about his departure,^[a] which he was about to bring to fulfillment at Jerusalem...³⁵ A voice came from the cloud, saying, “This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to him.”

Wow.  What an experience.  We know it as the Transfiguration of Christ, but I expect it was also a Transformation of Peter, John and James.  This happened about a week after Peter had acknowledged Jesus as the Christ of God and it makes me wonder -- I'm sure he felt great conviction the week before, but that conviction, no matter how strong it was, must have seemed weak by comparison after the experience on the mountain.  It's one thing to know something, and quite another to know it. 

In his sermon, Father Doug said that the disciples needed that mountaintop experience to be able to go on after Christ's crucifixion and build the church (or something along those lines -- that's when I was fumbling in my purse for a pen).  That their experience was glorious enough to overcome their sorrow at losing their Master.  And likewise, as we head into Lent in three short days, we need to take our own mountaintop experiences to help us through the "desert of Lent."  I love that imagery.  The lush, verdant mountain and the desolate drab desert. 

Yet there is glorious beauty in the desert, as well.  It's not always evident from up high -- you need to actually get down into the landscape to be able to see all that it has to offer.  Which, when I think about it, is also a great metaphor for Lent.  Yes, Lent is a time for discipline, repentance and sacrifice.  But it is also a time for reflection, prayer, contemplation and absolution.  We can't access the gifts of Lent from anywhere but smack-dab in the midst of it, on our knees (literally or figuratively).

I was powerfully reminded of my own personal "Transfiguration/ Transformation" experience, which occurred 5 years ago next week.  My mother was at the threshold of death, surrounded by her husband and two children.  It had been a tortuous hour for all of us, as she struggled to communicate with us before she was released from her broken body.  It was far from peaceful, for me at least.  Finally, when I could stand it no longer, I got up and put in Noel, Josh Groban's Christmas album which I had given her two months prior.  "Ave Maria" had always been Mom's favorite hymn, so I hoped that listening to it would help settle her some. 

And it did.  It was amazing, how quickly she relaxed and became, finally, peaceful.  I was not at all ready to say goodbye to my mom -- really, I don't think I ever would have been -- but I did it anyway.  She was staring intently into my eyes, and I told her that it was okay for her to leave.  That her job here was finished, and that we'd be okay.  We'd love her forever, but she could go.  And so she did.

She closed her eyes and almost melted down into her pillows.  We knew she was gone -- you can just tell.  We all bowed our heads and James started to pray.  As he spoke, I lifted my tear-drenched face to look at Mom.  "Dear Father, thank you for taking Mom home to be with Jesus...."  And suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, she started.  She sat forward a few inches with an exclamation that sounded a bit like "Whoa!"  as her eyes flew open.  I jumped, and probably let out an exclamation of my own.  But then I was transfixed by the expression in her eyes.  She had always had very expressive eyes, but I had never seen such life and joy in them.  They blazed for an instant, and then -- as quickly as they'd flown open, her eyelids shuttered the glory and she rested back into the pillows.  And then she was, truly and finally, gone.  I think it happened in a matter of seconds, and I'm pretty sure Dad and James missed it.  I would have missed it myself if I hadn't been watching her at that very instant. 

Now, obviously, this was nothing compared to Jesus' mountaintop experience, but I think what I witnessed was Mom's Transfiguration, from her earthly existence to her eternal life with her Heavenly Father.  And that's how I can only speculate at the transformation that took place within the hearts of the apostles.  I just know how much my own soul was transformed by my tiny little flash of God's glory. 

Oh, my God.  And I'm not saying that in an OMG way.  :)  My mom gave me so many gifts -- more than I could ever enumerate.  She gave me life, which is pretty huge.  And she shaped my very existence.  But nothing can compare to that final gift.  She let me glimpse Heaven itself.  They say our eyes are windows to our souls -- and her sky-blue eyes were windows to Eternity.  I already believed in Heaven, but believing is not necessarily knowing.  But now I know without a shadow of doubt that not only does it exist, she is there, waiting for the rest of us.  And that continues to bring me immeasurable peace on a daily basis. 

So, going back to Fr. Doug's sermon.  No doubt about it -- our mountaintop experiences do help us through the deserts of our life, be they Lent, grief, depression or whatever struggles that threaten to suck the joy from our existence.  May we all take the time to venture up the mountain, pray, listen for God's voice, and be rejuvenated. 

2 Corinthians 3:16-18 ... But whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. ¹⁷ Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. ¹⁸ And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.

Oh, and about the music... A few months later, my brother thanked me for "ruining" the album for him, saying that he couldn't listen to it without remembering Mom's death.  Funny how different we are -- I, too, can't listen to it without being transported to that hour.  But it brings me joy.  Maybe because I feel closer to Mom when I hear it, or maybe because I can just picture that beatific expression on her face as Josh Groban belts out "O Come All Ye Faithful."  It was Mom's favorite Christmas hymn, and has always been mine, too.  So to me, it was the perfect soundtrack to her departure from this world to the next.  We should all be so lucky.