The dog days of summer are upon us. Here in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, where I live, the heat and humidity have a way of hitting full strength just as many of us leave for summer vacations.
One of the downsides of leaving town at the height of summer is that weeds grow best when you’re not looking. What was a reasonably manicured lawn or garden can be transformed into a primordial jungle after just a week or two of neglect.
Still, it is good to get away with the family for a little rest and relaxation. We were lucky enough to spend five days on the sandy shores of Lake Michigan, where the sunsets are glorious and the evening breezes gentle and cool. There one sleeps with the windows open, even in late July, and the most stressful decision of the day is deciding whether to garnish one’s martini with an olive or with a twist.
Even the most glorious vacation eventually comes to an end. The demands of ordinary life beckon. It’s not too long before the question that has been lurking in the back of one’s mind – “How many unread emails are stacking up in my inbox?” – lurches to the fore, disrupting the peace of mind and robbing the sand and sun and even the gin of their delicious charms. Besides, school starts again in just a few weeks. And the garden weeds are surely running amok.
Sooner or later, one’s attention must turn to what comes next, after the respite and rejuvenation of the holiday.
Which brings us to the feast the Church celebrated yesterday: the Feast of the Transfiguration.
It is not often that the veil of the world is pulled back, and the glory of God is made visible to human eyes. We are occasionally afforded hints and whispers, as in the glory of a sunset or a mountain vista, which are like Creator’s glory by analogy.
Many of us experience, if rarely, profound and intense moments of grace. I certainly have. Such moments can be utterly transformative, but the moment itself does not last. As St. Paul (himself no stranger to such experiences of grace) writes, “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.” We rely on faith to behold what the senses cannot: Praestet fides supplementum sensuum defectui.
On that mountain, Peter, James, and John saw. They beheld Jesus there, in his glory, speaking with Moses and Elijah. And Peter, being Peter, wants to remain on the mountain. He does not want to relinquish the sight before his eyes. St. Augustine, in his inimitable way, captures Peter’s mindset:
Peter sees this, and as a man savoring the things of men says, “Lord, it is good for us to be here.” He had been wearied with the multitude, he had found now the mountain’s solitude; there he had Christ the Bread of the soul. What! should he depart thence again to travail and pains. . . .He wished well for himself; and so he added, “If You will, let us make here three tabernacles; one for You, and one for Moses, and one for Elias.” To this the Lord made no answer; but notwithstanding Peter was answered. “For while he yet spoke, a bright cloud came, and overshadowed them.” He desired three tabernacles; the heavenly answer showed him that we have One, which human judgment desired to divide. Christ, the Word of God, the Word of God in the Law, the Word in the Prophets.
St. Augustine continues, as though cajoling Peter:
Come down, Peter: you were desiring to rest on the mount; come down, “preach the word, be instant in season, out of season, reprove, rebuke, exhort with all longsuffering and doctrine.” Endure, labor hard, bear your measure of torture; that you may possess what is meant by the white raiment of the Lord, through the brightness and the beauty of an upright laboring in charity.
No. They would not remain on the mountain. They had seen Christ transfigured, been shrouded in the cloud of glory and heard the voice of the Father: “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.” But that moment of grace was over. It had been afforded the disciples to strengthen them for what was to come.
Jesus, Peter, James, and John come down the mountain to find that the other disciples have botched an exorcism. Then an argument breaks out among the disciples about who is the greatest among them. Then they start complaining that someone, not of their company, has been casting out demons in Jesus’ name.
In five verses, Luke’s Gospel takes us from the glory of Mount Tabor to Jesus’ exasperated exclamation, “O faithless and perverse generation, how long will I be with you and endure you?”
Whatever peace and glory were witnessed up on the mountain, whatever longing there was to remain in that place, the “vacation” is most decidedly over.
As for Jesus, Luke tells us he “resolutely determined to journey to Jerusalem.” Literally, he “set his face” toward Jerusalem. The respite is over. Jesus has emerged from the cloud, descended the mountain.
Just before ascending Mount Tabor, Jesus had told his disciples, “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” Now the Suffering Servant sets his face like flint for the final journey to Jerusalem. There he will ascend a very different mount, and reveal his glory in a very different way.
And that’s where we find ourselves today, as summer wanes, on the day after the Transfiguration: setting our faces to follow the Lord, in train with Peter, coming down from the mountain so that we may ascend another.
