Lent: Our Metamorphosis

The Transfiguration, by Raphael (1483-1520)

(Second Sunday of Lent-Year B; This homily was given on February 28, 2021 at the Church of Santo Spirito in Sassia in Rome, Italy; See Romans 8:31-34 and Mark 9:2-10)

There is a short story written in the early part of the 20th century by the Bohemian author, Franz Kafka.  The story, his signature piece, is called Metamorphosis.  If you have never read it, the tale is a bit bizarre.  The main character, Gregor, is a man living with his parents and younger sister.  He wakes up, at the beginning of the story, only to discover that overnight he has turned into an enormous, hideous insect!

What would be the first thing on your mind if that had happened to you?  Remarkably, one of the first things he considers is that now he will likely miss the train and be late for work!  Gregor is the main bread winner for the family, and they all are dependent upon him for their income.  

When he does not come out of his room to begin the day, his family becomes anxious and they knock on his door to make sure he is alright.  For obvious reasons, he finds it difficult to communicate with them.  His mouth and lungs are very different than they had been, and so he cannot speak well.  Once they do finally enter his room and see what he has become, the separation grows even more pronounced.  Far from feeling sorry for his unusual change of state, they are repulsed by him.  

Eventually, Gregor’s boss comes to the house, irritated that he has not shown up for work.  He complains through the door of Gregor’s room that he has not been working up to his potential anyway.  Gregor tries to tell him off, but he is unable to communicate.  This odd story continues until Gregor is finally disregarded by even his own family.  He dies isolated and alone, completely disconnected from everyone and everything around him.  

The story is a metaphor about life, the world according to Franz Kafka.  Obviously, it is a very dark world.  His point is that the mysterious forces of this world—fate, destination or mere chance—will inexorably work against us and we simply become separated and isolated from family and friends, unable to ever really connect with the world around us.  

Sadly, in the world today, there are many people that find themselves in this Kafkaesque reality.  No, not that they have discovered that they are an enormous insect, but that they have become isolated and confused as they struggle through life.  The COVID-19 pandemic has only exaggerated that reality for many people.  Family members are struggling to connect with each other, and individuals are finding themselves more and more separated from the people around them.  Many suffering souls find themselves very much alone.

How very different is the view of the human person that we are given in the Gospel!  What a beautiful and hope-filled vision Jesus shares with us today.  St. Mark relates that, “Jesus took Peter, 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 fuller on earth could bleach them” (Mark 9:2-3).  

Jesus was transfigured.  His form appeared to change, to the amazement of His disciples.  The Greek word St. Mark uses to describe that reality is metemorphothe, the same word that Kafka uses for his story.  It does not mean that Jesus became any different than He already was, but that His disciples could now see Him in the divine nature that had previously been hidden from their eyes.  They had caught glimpses of it when He performed miracles, had heard a whisper of it when He preached the Gospel, but now they could see Him in all His glory and they were stupefied.

If we look to St. Paul and his Letter to the Philippians, we can perhaps get a better idea of what these disciples experienced.  St. Paul writes:

Christ Jesus, though he was in the form (Greek, morphe) of God, did not count equality with God  a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of (Greek, morphen) a servant, being born in the likeness of men.

—Philippians 2:6-8

Essentially, the Son of God did not grasp the divinity in such a way that He would consider it unreasonable to become a man.  He, who is always in the form of God, willingly and lovingly took on the form of a servant when He became a man to set us free from sin.  Therefore, says St. Paul, “God has highly exalted Him and bestowed upon him the name which is above every name” (Philippians 2:9).  

This is what the disciples saw on the top of Mount Tabor!  They saw the one who had always been with them, Jesus the Christ, but that divine form that had been hidden from them was now manifest in all its glory.  It was a remarkable and amazing metamorphosis that they would never forget.

One important question that I would like to propose this morning is: Why is Jesus transfigured?

Why does Christ manifest Himself before the disciples in all His glory on the mountain?  Why was He transfigured before them?  Pope St. Leo the Great, in the 5th century, says that there are at least two reasons why Jesus does that.  

The first is to strengthen them for that time when the passion and cross of Christ would arrive.  In order to prepare them for the scandal of he cross, when Christ will undergo the humiliation of being rejected, spat upon, beaten and crucified, Jesus reveals Himself in His glory so that they might stand fast when that terrible moment comes.  Of course, historically, we know that they were barely able to persevere in their faith until the resurrection.  How much more would they have struggled had He not given them a glimpse of what was to follow?

The second reason why Jesus is transfigured before the disciples, says Pope Leo the Great, is to show them where they were called to be: With Jesus in glory!  In other words, this thing ends really, really well!  No matter how difficult the struggles of life may be, we recognize that Christ is calling us to share with Him in eternal glory.  That changes things.

What is important for us to see in this account of the Transfiguration is that we are not isolated, we are not alone.  We are not unable to connect and communicate with our families, friends and loved ones, despite the global pandemic and whatever other challenges we face.  God is with us, and He will never leave us.  St. Paul says it best in our second reading this morning:

If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare his own Son but handed him over for us all, how will he not also give us everything else along with him?  Who will bring a charge against God’s chosen ones?  It is God who acquits us.  Who will condemn?  Christ Jesus it is who died—or, rather, was raised—who also is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us.

—Romans 8:31-34

Friends in Christ, this is our Journey of Lent.  We are called to come down from the mountain and go back up with Christ.  We enter into the life and death of Christ so that we may also share most fully in His resurrection (see Philippians 3:10-11).  Christ teaches us clearly that it is only through the passion, through embracing the cross, that we arrive at the resurrection and the glory of God.  May we make that journey with Him this Lent, and so be all the more ready to share in Easter joy.

Laws, Rules and the Power of Love

(Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on February 14, 2021 at the Church of Santo Spirito in Sassia in Rome, Italy; See Leviticus 13:1-46 and Mark 1:40-45)

All societies and political bodies are governed by laws and rules.  It is a necessary element of a cohesive culture.  Laws safeguard the dignity of persons and assure the proper ordering of societal life.  Not all laws are just.  The law supporting abortion in almost every nation in the world is an unjust law, and we should oppose it with every ounce of our will and collective power.  Nonetheless, we only oppose injustice in a lawful and legitimate way.  It is never acceptable in the Christian moral vision to do evil so that good may come about.

With that said, we need laws.  We are instructed by Sacred Scripture to obey those in authority and to pray for them.  In addition to laws there are rules of life.  We share an unwritten agreement to live by a certain code of conduct in order to maintain civility and relative peace.  For instance, if there is a line we naturally place ourselves at the end of it; we do not cut into the front.  If we are the cause of an offense, we apologize.  You cannot be cited or fined for avoiding or ignoring these rules, but we do well to follow them because they benefit our lives and the lives of others. 

The highest law and the greatest rule, of course, is love.  That great theological virtue is the foundation for every just law and every worthwhile rule, and all laws and rules can be judged by it.  I mention these realities this morning because in the Gospel passage of the healing of the man with leprosy (Mark 1:40-45) there are all kinds of laws and rules being bent and even broken.  Nonetheless, Jesus observes the law of love and upholds it to the letter, bringing healing and new life.  But we can come back to that.

For now it is important to look at the law of love and to try to understand its place in our culture today.  The world we live in would definitely argue that love is the highest law, but frequently it fails to understand the true meaning of love as God has revealed it.  There are thousands of examples, but we can focus on one of them this morning, since it is Valentine’s Day.  Six years ago a very successful book was made into a major motion picture and released on February 14 because that is the great celebration of love.  The name of the book, and the film, was “Fifty Shades of Grey.”

The basic story line of that book centers around a young and powerful millionaire who passionately pursues beautiful women.  He is driven by the desire to conquer as many women as possible.  The heroine of the story is a beautiful young woman who is also, to this point, pure.  As “love” would have it, she greatly desires to give that purity away.

Truth be told, the book and film are not at all about love.  They are about violence, abuse and the objectification of the human person.  How very different is the vision of love that the Christian faith embraces.  St. John Paul the Great explains that vision brilliantly in his book “Love and Responsibility.”  When he was a young parish priest, the man who would become pope conducted interviews with many of the young couples that he was called to serve.  He asked them what made them feel fulfilled and dignified, and helped them articulate the pitfalls that left them broken or hurt.  From that experience, in "Love and Responsibility,” he states his primary thesis, which he calls the personalistic norm, both negatively and positively.  He says:

The person is the kind of good which does not admit of use and cannot be treated as an object of use and as such the means to an end.

The person is the kind of good towards which the only proper and adequate attitude is love.

The law of love is the measure of the person, and anything less than love is not worthy of the great dignity that God has created us for.  St. Augustine put it this way: “Love God, and then do whatever you want.”  In other words, God commands us to love; He teaches us to give ourselves generously in love for those around us.  Jesus Christ will define love as the greatest mark of true friendship: “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).  Love God, follow Christ, and do whatever you want.

Which brings us back to the Gospel this morning.  There are all kinds of laws and rules being stretched and broken in that passage!  Still, Jesus Christ follows the law of love to the letter and brings healing and new life.  In our first reading we learned the Law of Moses regarding people with leprosy:

As long as the sore is on him he hall declare himself unclean, since he is in fact unclean.  He shall dwell apart, making his abode outside the camp.

—Leviticus 13:45-46

Despite such a rigid and essential law for that deadly disease in that precarious period of time, the man with leprosy approaches Jesus and addresses Him directly: “If you wish, you can make me clean.”  He probably should not have done that, but Jesus does nothing but accept and welcome him.  More than that, St. Mark tells us that Jesus was moved with pity, stretched out His hand and touched the man.  That was definitely not in accord with the Mosaic Law!  But because He loved this man and had the power to heal him, Jesus reached out and tenderly brought him new life.

Next he gives him a simple rule, which to us sounds a little strange: “See that you tell no one anything . . .” (Mark 1:44).  Of course, we soon find out the reason for that rule when the man breaks it!  No sooner has he told everyone what happened, then “it was impossible for Jesus to enter a town openly.  He remained outside in deserted places, and people kept coming to him from everywhere” (Mark 1:45).

It is remarkable that Jesus has restored this person to the relationships and social status that leprosy had deprived him of, but at such a cost!  Now He can no longer minister in the same way.  He has taken the place of that leper, Himself now being confined “outside the camp” and in deserted places.  He must have known that would happen, but nonetheless He heals the man willingly and lovingly.  Such is the law of love.  We are called to love because it is the right thing to do, and to reach out to heal even when it costs us.  

I close this morning with a beautiful poem written by St. Teresa of Calcutta:

People are often unreasonable, irrational and self-centered.  Forgive them anyway.   

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.  Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Be successful anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you.  Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight.  Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous.   Be happy anyway.

The good you do today will often be forgotten.   Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.  Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you & God. 

It was never between you & them anyway

We are called to follow the law of love, even when it costs us.  This week, we ask for the grace to love those around us and to bring healing into this world that longs for the touch of Jesus Christ.  Even when it is not always welcome or does not immediately benefit us, we love anyway.  When we do, we imitate Jesus Christ.

Christus Medicus

(Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on February 7, 2021 at the Church of Santo Spirito in Sassia in Rome, Italy; See Job 7:1-7 and Mark 1:29-39)

Is not man’s life on earth a drudgery?  I have been assigned months of misery . . . the night drags on; I am filled with restlessness until the dawn . . . My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope . . . I shall not see happiness again.

—Job 7:1-7

This morning we listen to one of the darkest and most challenging readings of the liturgical year.  That passage from the Book of Job describes a man immersed in human suffering.  His woes and hardships take up over forty chapters and end up leaving us stunned.

The Book of Job is one of the most widely read books in all of literature; not simply for the Jewish people or Christians, but for all people.  All of us can sympathize with this man of affliction because we all carry the difficult burden of human suffering.  

What is remarkable for us to reflect on this morning is that Job bears all that suffering as a man who has not sinned!  He is completely innocent and yet he undergoes a tremendous trial.  How much more difficult is our affliction when we also become entangled in the faults and weaknesses that cause us so much distress?  

The Council of Trent indicates that we were first created in a state of “Original Justice.”  They describe the life of our first parents in terms of harmony.  There was harmony deep within the human person; think about how different that is from our own experience, when  our passions and desires can often become so conflicted.  There was also harmony between the human person and God, and harmony within the human family itself.  Finally, there was harmony between humanity and all created things.  

That great harmony, of course, was broken by original sin.  Suddenly a world of human suffering comes flooding into our lives; perhaps that has never been more acute as it is today.  As we continue to struggle with the global pandemic, addictive behaviors and abuses are exacerbated and the human family is suffering deeply on every continent.  

Thanks be to God that we encounter in the Gospel this morning the One who St. Augustine names Christus Medicus, Christ the Physician or Christ the Healer.  Jesus comes into our world and takes on our human nature and our human suffering, and He brings it to the cross.  He pours out His body and blood on Calvary to bring us salvation.  The Latin word for salvation is salus, and it is the same word used for health and healing.  Christus Medicus comes to bring us the healing and the salvation that we yearn for in a world often adrift in brokenness and suffering.  

We discover that healing in a particular way in St. Mark’s Gospel.  He tells us of Simon’s mother-in-law, who lay sick with a fever.  The disciples alerted Jesus to her illness and “He approached, grasped her hand, and helped her up.  Then the fever left her and she waited on them” (Mark 1:31).  

Many times in the gospels Jesus heals simply by speaking; sometimes even at a distance, like when he tells the centurion that his servant has been healed, and so it is.  But here Mark is explicit: Jesus grasped her hand.  He touched her physically and she was healed.  He went on to heal people from all over the town, physically and spiritually.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church has a beautiful way of describing what Christ is doing in the Gospel and what He continues to do today.  It says:

 

“In the sacraments Christ continues to ‘touch’ us in order to heal us”

—CCC, #1504

It is in the Sacrament of the Eucharist that find healing in the body and blood of Christ.  When we go to Confession frequently we experience the salve of reconciliation and are made new; the Sacrament of Reconciliation is one of the two “sacraments of healing.”  When we renew our baptismal covenant through holiness of life we are washed anew in those sacred waters and recommit to a life of integrity and faith.  

How, then, are we called this week to encounter Christus Medicus, the Divine Physician?  Firstly, I would suggest that we encounter the healing touch of Christ when we make ourselves vulnerable before Christ and acknowledge our wounds.  St. Augustine, who gives us this remarkable title of Christus Medicus, in The Confessions, writes:

“Woe is me, Lord have mercy upon me!  Woe is me!  See, I do not hide my wounds: you are the doctor, I am the patient, you are merciful, I am miserable.”

There is a powerful story that Cardinal Dolan, the Archbishop of New York, tells about a group of soldiers who went to visit St. Pio (Padre Pio) after the Second World War.  Unlike many of the people who went to Pietrelcina to see this holy man, these men were not interested in participating in the Mass or asking him to hear their confessions.  They were simply curious, and one of them was a bit obnoxious.  

He saw the saint and immediately called out loud across the church, “Hey, Padre Pio, show me your wounds!” (Padre Pio received the stigmata during his lifetime, the wound marks of Christ in his hands, feet and side).  Padre Pio did not pay any attention to the man, so the soldier continued to shout, “Show me your wounds!”  After a few moments of this, Padre Pio fixed his gaze upon the man, and then began to respond, “You!  Show me your wounds!”  The man was surprised.  Padre Pio continued to demand, “Show me your wounds!”, and he approached the man up close.  As he continued to shout this phrase, the young soldier suddenly broke down and began to sob uncontrollably.  

Later on the man related that during the war be had been in a fierce battle, and had fallen during the fight.  He was not hurt, but he was so scared that he remained on the ground as if he were wounded instead of rising to defend his fellow soldiers.  This incident came back to him now, a wound and moral failure that he had carried with him and no one else knew about.  Seeing his entire countenance change, St. Pio firmly grasped his jacket and said, “You are going to confession now.”  The man was able to confront his wounds and received healing and a new beginning.

We begin by acknowledging our wounds and the need for Christus Medicus.  Where are the places that we have been wounded by sin and by the battles of life, where Christ can now bring healing and a new start?

Secondly, we encounter Christus Medicus when we drink deeply of the healing waters of the sacraments.  We come frequently for confession, seek Christ regularly in the Sacrament of the Eucharist, and are attentive to the ways that God has changed us by the healing touch of Christ in the sacraments we have received.  

Finally, we follow the example of the disciples in the Gospel, by bringing Jesus Christ to all who are suffering and in need.  Simon’s mother-in-law was sick with a fever; she could not go to Christ.  They sought Him out and brought Him to her.  The apostolic ministry of the Church has this image at its core, to go out to the needy and the suffering, and make Jesus Christ known to them.

This week may we truly experience the fullness of that encounter with Christus Medicus, allowing Him to bring that healing into our lives and into our world that we so desperately long for.  He grasped Simon’s mother-in-law by the hand and healed her, and he wants nothing more than to reach out to you and me.  We do well to remember always that “In the sacraments Christ continues to ‘touch’ us in order to heal us”

—CCC, #1504