2nd Sunday Lent C - Homily 3

 Homily 3 - 2016

Towards the end of today’s Gospel, Luke wrote, “As Peter spoke, a cloud came and covered the disciples with shadow; and when they went into the cloud the disciples were afraid.” How do I feel at the moment? How do you feel? Perhaps cloud and shadow sum it up pretty well. And the darkness will be around for a long time. I know what I hope is true. That does not make it easier. I am afraid. I am afraid for the Church, for good people like yourselves, and for others not as committed as you are. It can be bewildering, disheartening, even disillusioning. What if? Who can you believe? Who can you trust? I can’t help thinking of people wondering, Why believe? Why trust?

In our different ways, I expect all of us here this morning are grieving. I think we need to respect our reactions, and give ourselves time – give ourselves time to grieve. That means allowing ourselves to feel whatever is there, trying to identify just what it is that we are feeling. Avoiding or denying the unpleasant gets us nowhere. We can follow the example of Jesus. In the incident immediately preceding today’s Gospel, Jesus had told the disciples for the first time that he was destined soon to suffer grievously, to be rejected by the establishment, and to be killed. How did he personally cope, stay sane and focused, with that prospect and with the feelings it inevitably gave rise to, turning over and over in his mind? The Gospel introduced today’s incident with Jesus praying, spending time with his God. It would not surprise me if he were processing his fears, his grief. The presence with him of Moses and Elijah “speaking of his passing which he was to accomplish in Jerusalem” might suggest precisely that.

As today’s story continued to unfold, it turned out that God was present also in the cloud that overshadowed the disciples. And the God present then in the cloud is the same God present now in our darkness. We can process our grief with the same God with whom Jesus processed his fears and his grief.  I do.  

I also believe that what God, in today’s story, said to the disciples from the cloud, God says now to us, “This is my Son, the Chosen One. Listen to him.” This is significant, highly significant for us. Jesus had just told the disciples of his pending death. He had straightaway added, “If you want to be followers of mine, renounce yourselves and take up your cross every day and follow me.” Our present grief surely qualifies as one of those daily crosses.

What keeps on testing me is the last of the Beatitudes, “Blessed are you when people hate you, abuse you, denounce your name as criminal, on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice when that day comes and dance for joy, for then your reward will be great in heaven.” Perhaps the only way to discover if it is true is by living into it on trust as life presents the challenge. I think I believe it. The inner sense of growing integrity brings the kind of adult reward that is the specialty of God. I wonder if that integrity was what Jesus was feeling in his depths as, on the outside, “the aspect of his face was changed and his clothing became brilliant as lightning.”

Our Church is bewildering. As institution, it often lets us down. Perhaps institutions are inevitably dysfunctional to some extent and always in need of reform. Yet, as faith communities made up of ordinary, often heroic, people like yourselves, the Church can be wonderfully supportive, challenging, encouraging and comforting.

We can well say to each other what Paul in today’s Second Reading wrote to the people of Philippi, “My brothers and sisters, and dear friends, do not give way – but remain faithful in the Lord.”