(Matthew 17:1-13; Mark 9:2-13; Luke 9:28-36)

The Transfiguration. Most Catholics hear of it once a year; it is always the Gospel for the Second Sunday in Lent. Sometimes, when the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord (Aug. 6) falls on a Sunday, it preempts the Sunday in Ordinary Time. So, one might ask, how much do Catholics consider it in the context of their faith?

Perhaps not as much as they should, because Transfiguration should be the posture of every Christian.

The Gospels speak of the Transfiguration occurring soon after Peter’s momentous confession at Caesarea Philippi. Asked whom people say Jesus is, the Apostles enumerate a variety of answers: Elijah, John the Baptist, some other prophet. Asked whom they say Jesus is, Peter answers: “You are the Christ, the Son of God.” Jesus then declares him “blessed.”

After Peter’s declaration, however, Jesus immediately launches into his Passion and Death: the Son of Man will be handed over to evil men, suffer and die. Peter seems naturally to react against that vision. Jesus then calls him “Satan.”

For Jesus, it is clear that the path of his life — the path necessary “for us and our salvation” — has to lead through the cross. It’s not that God is tyrannical but that the horror and evil of sin in human history can go nowhere else. When one considers the extent of evil in human history and that evil is not just some blind, unconscious force but free choices of free beings — men and angels — no one should have any illusion evil would go down without a fight. Jesus knows that. God knows that. And God knows that fixing evil is not pretending it will go away but facing it and proving the fury of its force is spent in the face of love. 

That’s why Jesus will not be diverted by Peter. But Jesus understands: “You are not thinking as God does, but as man” (Matthew 16:23). In other words, raise your sights. The Transfiguration does just that.

“Six days later” Jesus takes the inner core of his Apostles — Peter, James and John — up Mount Tabor, where he is transfigured before their eyes. By transfigured, we mean that God’s glory shone through his humanity. His “face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light.” It is Jesus, but not as they had ever seen him before.

On top of that, two figures appear. Any Jew would have recognized them: Moses and Elijah. Why these two? Because each represents the summit of their respective streams of Old Testament revelation. Moses is the one who receives the Law from God, and torah is the heart of Jewish identity. It is the basis of the covenant with his Chosen People. Elijah is the greatest of the prophets, whom the Old Testament says was taken up into heaven. He was expected to be the one who returns as the forerunner of the promised Messiah. All the prophets of the Old Testament look towards their greatest exemplar in Elijah.

And both these men — Moses and Elijah — are in conversation with Jesus, meaning they recognize themselves as subordinate to him. Here is the living Law. Here is the Messiah.

Peter, James and John are so overcome that Peter can only blurt out something about wanting to preserve the moment by building “tents” (like the Jews built “tabernacles” for that feast) for the three. 

That’s when another theophany — another divine revelation occurs. A “bright cloud” covers them. In the Old Testament, clouds are signs of the presence of God, hiding his glory, for “no one can see the face of God and live” (Exodus 33:20). A voice is heard, God’s Voice: “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.” 

Like at Jesus’ Baptism, we once again have divine confirmation of Jesus’ identity and mission: this is who he is, so “listen to him.” By this point, the Apostles are terrified and fall to the ground (Matthew 17:7). Jesus repeats God’s constant message: “Do not be afraid!” And God breaks this great event: now, they see only Jesus.

Jesus had spoken of his coming Passion, which generated a conflict with Peter. Jewish thought (despite Isaiah’s prophecies of a suffering Servant) envisioned a victorious, triumphant Messiah without any suffering. Jesus, the victorious, triumphant Messiah who suffers, does not fit their expectations. (That is why he tells them, after the Transfiguration, not to speak of what they saw “until the Son of Man is risen from the dead.” Only then will they start to understand what kind of Messiah Jesus is.)

Human beings often seek the easy way out. But they also need assurances of a happy ending. The Transfiguration does that. It is a preview of the Resurrection, a preview of Christ’s glory. No matter what happens to him, no matter how much he suffers, he will be gloriously triumphant. You have seen it. You have God’s word on that. “Listen to him!”

At the same time, the Transfiguration also points to our destiny. The Resurrection, as we have said, is not a personal reward to Jesus. It is the beginning of a process of healing and restoration, the conquest of sin and death, begun on Easter, continued in Mary’s Assumption, and culminating in the resurrection of the body and the Last Judgment. Our bodies, too, will “put on immortality” (1 Corinthians 15:53-55). For the saved, it will be the absolute triumph of good, body and soul. For the damned, it will be the existential frustration of an eternity of truth and goodness they can only hate but are powerless to overthrow. So, Jesus’ Transfiguration also points to ours.

And that means we must constantly “put off the old man” and “put on Christ” (Ephesians 4:21-24; Romans 13:14). That is the work of the call to conversion: every day to strip off the old, sinful man and to be transfigured, more and more, into the Body of Christ.

Today’s mystery is depicted in art by the early Netherlandish painter, Aelbrecht Bouts. His was an artistic family: Dieric the Elder was his father; Dieric the Younger was his brother. This painting comes from the late 1400s.

Jesus is shown on the mountain, at the center, in white. To his right is Elijah. To his left, holding the Ten Commandments, is Moses. The three Apostles, in various stages of fear, are at the bottom of the mountain. On the left, in the pinkish red, is the youngest, John. Peter, an older man, is in the middle. That leaves James on the right. All of them avert their eyes, blinded by what they see but also aware of the very human experience of God as him who is simultaneously both a repelling and attracting Mystery.

“It is good that we are here” and we want to be here. But awareness of God’s holiness and human sinfulness also causes us to fear, because of our instinctual awareness of our unworthiness. Isaiah captured that well in his prophetic vision that resulted in his call (see Isaiah 6:1-13). While aware of our need for cleansing, the trick is not to flee God (whom we cannot run away from anyway — see Psalm 139:7). It is, rather, by repentance to let God cleanse us, for it is “good that we are here.” So much of our spiritual lives would work so much better if we’d just loosen up, let go, and let God.