Brighter than Bleached: The Transfiguration for Lent
I always thought it was kind of interesting that we get a reading on the Transfiguration during Lent in Year B, which this year is coming up this next Sunday. Such a brilliant display of God’s glory seems a little out of place during a liturgical season in which we can’t even say an Alleluia. The Transfiguration is a spectacle like no other — we hear in Mark’s Gospel reading that Jesus’s “clothes became dazzling white, such as no fuller on earth could bleach them,” (Mark 9:3, NABRE) as the great prophets Moses and Elijah flank him. We hear that this is such a shocking event that Peter, James, and John are terrified, cowering below.
Since the Transfiguration is such a visual event, I thought it might be a good idea to share a couple of my favorite artistic depictions. The first is the great painter Raphael’s The Transfiguration, a masterpiece of the High Renaissance, which he worked upon until his death in 1520 and is now housed at the Vatican Museum. Considered the most famous painting in the world up through the 19th Century, I think its portrayal of the event is excellent. The dark night sky and the clouds open up for us, and our eyes can’t help but be drawn upward to the sparkling depiction of Jesus at the top of the image— even the angles of Moses and Elijah’s bodies help to draw us in, framing the radiant Christ. Raphael also captures the emotion of the three Apostles below, entirely helpless and shielding their eyes. Below the image, we find the next scene from Matthew’s and Mark’s Gospels, the healing of a boy possessed by a demon.
A second and more recent image I thought worth sharing is the Saint John’s Bible illumination for this passage from Mark. While it looks a bit more modern, the depictions of Moses and Elijah remind us a little bit of even older Eastern iconography. While Moses and Elijah appear dressed in colored robes, standing on the ground, Jesus looks quite different — his body is entirely transfigured, a “dazzling white.” The stars and gold patterns above show the cosmic significance of this demonstration of God’s presence and power. While Moses encountered God at Mount Sinai and Elijah at Mount Carmel, the Apostles are confronted with the majesty of God here at Mount Tabor. At the bottom, we see the words of God, addressed to the Apostles, “This is my Son the Beloved; listen to Him.”
So, moving on to the Gospel text, how can we make sense of this for Lent? In all three synoptic Gospels, the Transfiguration is immediately preceded by some key words on the price of discipleship. Mark’s Gospel reads, “He summoned the crowd with his disciples and said to them, “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and that of the gospel will save it” (Mark 8:34–35). In our First Reading, we see a similar theme, as Abraham is asked to offer up Isaac, his only son. At this event on Mount Tabor, the Apostles are fully confronted with the reality of Jesus transformed by their eyes, as well as the call to follow Jesus wherever he may lead: “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.”
Now, as we try to listen to the words of Jesus in this season of Lent, where is he telling us to go? Nowhere else but to the harsh reality of the Cross. As Jesus learns in Gethsemane, there is no escaping the Crucifixion. Even though Jesus rises from the dead, of course, the route to the Resurrection runs squarely through death. For us to do the will of the Father, to be transformed like Jesus is for eternal life, we like Jesus must die to ourselves. Jesus invites us to see his presence transfigured among us— in His Body the Church, in the Eucharist, and in the poor and marginalized who suffer as Christ does— but our seeing this call has consequences. We, like Jesus, like Abraham, and like the Apostles, will be called to give up the things we hold dear, like our comfort and our security, and rely above all on the hand of God. But again, as Jesus reminds us, if we lose our life for the sake of the Gospel — in the service of love — we will find a greater life, both now and for eternity.
As we persevere through Lent, let’s remember to keep the vision of the Transfigured Christ before us, as we ourselves through grace strive to live the life of love that he did, to allow ourselves to be transformed into the people that Christ invites us to be. In closing, I’ll offer Sylvia Dunstan’s lyrics to my favorite hymn for this occasion:
Transform Us
Transform us as you, transfigured, stood apart on Tabor’s height.
Lead us up our sacred mountains, search us with revealing light.
Lift us from where we have fallen, full of questions, filled with fright.
Transform us as you, transfigured, once spoke with those holy ones.
We, surrounded by the witness of those saints whose work is done,
Live in this world as your Body, chosen daughters, chosen sons.
Transform us as you, transfigured, would not stay within a shrine.
Keep us from our great temptation–time and truth we quickly bind.
Lead us down those daily pathways where our love is not confined.
