To Meet God

Today, we come to the second waystation on our pilgrimage to Jerusalem, our journey toward Easter.  Once again, we have an opportunity to rest for a moment, to gather ourselves and take out our map, remembering where we have come from and where we are going, in order to locate ourselves in the present.  As Fr Jack Siberski, S.J. mentioned, memory is intrinsic to personhood, bringing about the union of past, present and future, the basis of faith and spiritual life.

Once again, we ask: Where am I?  On the mountain: a place rich in memory.  The high altitude represents entrance into a different realm, removed from the earthly and closer to God.  Abram was invited into such a liminal place.  As the sun set on the animals he had sacrificed, he fell into a deep sleep while waiting for God’s response, which would come in flame.  Moses entered the fiery cloud for forty days and forty nights with the God who made his face shine.  Elijah journeyed forty days to encounter God not in the violent wind or earthquake or flame, but in a voice that spoke quietly, questioning him.

Why are you here?  What am I looking for?  With Jesus, and at his invitation, we dare to approach the place of theophany, the place where God has made his presence known.  We seek the intimacy of a felt encounter, an unmistakable event, an unforgettable exchange.  We expect something to happen.  We want to see God, to hear God, to know God.  How will it happen?  We cannot imagine it.  Are you ready to be overwhelmed?  To be taken out of yourself?

Can I keep going?  Can I do this?  Am I worthy of such an encounter?  All we know is that we have been taken to a place where others have been before us.  Like Abram, and like the disciples, our bodies and minds seek refuge in sleep because we cannot comprehend what we are experiencing, and we are afraid.  Both the light and the darkness are too much for us.  Jesus took his disciples to the mountain to prepare them for his exodus, for that moment in the garden when they would again sleep, from fear and grief.  Even an excess of light cannot prepare us for the extremes of human suffering.  Can we look upon those among us who suffer in body, in mind, in spirit, without seeking refuge in oblivion?  Will we remain with them?  Will we flee?  Or will we learn to recognize the Transfigured One even there?

Will I draw near?  Will I entrust myself to the One who draws me after him?  This is my chosen Son, says the voice from the cloud which overshadows us.  My chosen one, in whom my soul delights, as Isaiah called Israel, the Servant of the Lord.  Later, voices of derision will cry out: He saved others, let him save himself if he is the chosen one, the Messiah of God.  Will you let yourself be chosen?  Will you be taken by the hand and led into the mystery of darkness and light, of death and life?

Jesus asks us: Will you do this in memory of me?

Image: Transfiguration, by Khrystyna Kvyk