Bishop Anthony’s Homily for the 2^nd Sunday of Lent (Year A), Filipino Chaplaincy, St Michael’s Church, South Blacktown, 20 March 2011

Filipinos know about Lent. I understand that blessed palm leaves are placed in windows and doorways; in some places there is a commemoration of Jesus’ last words or a Passion play called the Sinakulo or a dramatic Way of the Cross or a marathon chanting of the Passion. Some of you have the custom of visiting several churches on Holy Thursday night.

The media all around the world, including here in Australia, delight in showing images of flagellants and people crucifying themselves. Hopefully, there will be no crucifixions here today, but such customs go to the heart of Filipino identity and have much to teach staid Australians about the drama appropriate to Catholic identity.

Today’s Gospel passage follows immediately upon the story of Jesus asking His disciples “Who do people say I am?” and “Who do you say that I am?” Lots of answers are given, but in the end Simon gets it right by calling Jesus “The Christ, the Son of the living God”. Jesus responds by renaming Simon as “Blessed Peter”, the rock upon which He will build the Church.

Matthew tells us that from that time Jesus began to prophesy His forthcoming passion, death and resurrection and to invite His disciples to join Him: “If anyone wants be a follower of mine, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow Me. Anyone determined to save their life will lose it; but anyone willing to lose their life for my sake, will save it.” So Jesus explores the mystery of His identity and ours, the mysterious connection between life and death, suffering and hope.

This is the context for Matthew’s story of the Transfiguration (Mt 17:1-9). Jesus goes aside to pray, as He will on His last night. He takes His most intimate friends, the same three sleepy disciples who will witness His agony in the garden. So we already have a premonition of Holy Week. To prepare them – and us – for that terrible time, He grants us a vision of Himself as victor over death. Having just heard the answer to the questions “Who do people say I am?” and “Who do you say I am?” we are about to hear the answer to the question: “Who do I say that I am?” and “Who does God the Father say that I am?”

Jesus’ face and garments flash like lightning, God’s power and glory shine forth, penetrating His entire being. Moses and Elijah, representing the law and the prophets, appear as witnesses: Jesus is the consummation of the Scriptures, of revelation and its promises, the true mediator between heaven and earth.

And from the mystery of the cloud God speaks also: “This is my Son, the Beloved Son, the favoured One.” In a language we can barely grasp, God reveals to us Who this is. And for a few moments He lets us see His radiance shine out; He demonstrates that He did not become less God by becoming human.

What are we to make of all this? The first disciples could make little sense of it; even rock-solid Peter gibbers. Then they “fell on their faces, overcome with fear”. The mystery of Christ, of God-made-man, the mystery of the human and the divine, of suffering and hope, is beyond them, as it is beyond us all. Peter’s babbling is understandable enough. But the Father says to Him, politely but firmly: “Stop all the talk and listen: listen to my beloved Son!”

It’s a strange direction given that Jesus isn’t saying much. All He says on the mountain, in our hearing at least, is “Stand up, don’t be afraid” and then, on the way down from the mountain, “Shut up about all this until after my resurrection”.

Yet what Jesus is doing here, having confirmed His identity as clearly as He possibly could, having answered for us conclusively the Who-Am-I question, is now answering the Who-are-you question, the question of our Christian identity.

We are a ‘be-quiet’ people, a people who know that there are times to stop the babbling and listen, listen especially to Jesus. Amidst all the noise of modern life, the streets of the Philippines, the workplaces, the TV and radio channels even, are hushed a bit in Lent, so we can hear, contemplate, worship.

“Be quiet until after my resurrection,” He says; but also “Stand up, don’t be afraid”. We are to be the ‘stand up’ people, people who stand for God, stand up for our Catholic faith, stand by those in need.

We are to be ‘get up’ people, with the get-up-and-go to really demonstrate our faith in our lives, even in the public sphere, as Filipinos are want to do, with street processions and all the rest. We are not afraid to proclaim Him because we have received the gift of courage and we have glimpsed His glory and ours.

Even in the face of our own Calvaries, then, we have reason to hope: for we have received a prophecy of the ‘divinisation’ of our nature, the transformation of our own bodies, the promise of glory through grace in this life and resurrection in the next.

Having made this dramatic revelation, both of who He is and of who we are, Jesus comes down from the mountain and returns to daily life, work, destiny. He returns to that more mundane kind of glory, which He demonstrated in His constant faithfulness and obedience to the will of the Father, the glory with which He was crowned in the very nakedness and abandonment of the cross.

“Take up your cross and follow Me, join Me on my Lenten way,” He calls again to His disciples. The transfiguration, the resurrection is promised you, but there are no shortcuts to glory.

And so, as we come down from the high mountain with Christ, we are confronted with our own identity as Christians. How do we radiate the light of Christ to other people? How do we co-operate with him in transfiguring the world by our Christian presence in it? When do we stop and listen amidst all the hubbub? When do we speak up for Him, amidst the secularism and indifference? When do we stand up courageously for what is good and true and beautiful?