BLEST ARE THE MOMENTS
How blest are the moments that Jesus bestows,
When wonders of grace to the spirit He shows!
His Word lights the way to the heavenly goal,
His Spirit is near us, His Spirit is near us,
To teach us, and cheer us, and comfort our soul!
(John Telleen, published in 1926)
It seems to be always on a mountaintop that we see an awe-inspiring encounter between God and man. From Moses to Elijah to Abraham, then to Jesus – both God and Man. In these encounters, these blest moments, God gives something profound to those lucky ones chosen to stand in His presence.
We see in today’s Gospel that Peter, as well as James and John, were the fortunate ones singled out for this tremendous gift, even though they didn’t have the faintest clue what they were about to experience. Their Master, in love and friendship, bestowed on them this blessed moment that made such an impact, years later Peter talked about it in his second letter to the new Christians, saying it wasn’t a myth he was following but that he, personally, had been an eyewitness of (Christ’s) majesty.
It's the second Sunday of Lent. Maybe you’re starting to feel the pinch of the constant sacrificing, praying, almsgiving that you determined to do the start of the season. We often talk of joining Jesus in the desert during this time of repentance and preparation. But it might be a little challenging to keep that visual in mind. Here on our sunny island, the heat’s about the only thing that resembles any part of the Judaean Desert.
Actually, the Greek word for desert, eremos, refers to any place that’s isolated and uninhabited, not fit for pasture. There’s a tradition, in fact, that claims Jesus was, at this time, on a mountain near the Jordan River. It’s called Mountain of Temptation.
Looking at Lent through the lens of climbing a mountain appeals to me.
Imagine, like Peter, James, and John, Jesus tells you to follow Him. It’s hard to traverse the rocky, unstable ground that keeps ascending. Soon you’re out of breath and on shaky legs, but the summit still seems lost in the clouds. Plus, if you’re Peter, you’re probably thinking about what happened earlier, when you rebuked Jesus for painting a dire picture of His upcoming suffering and death, only to be rebuked in turn and called Satan! You’re likely reprimanding yourself, wondering why you can’t quite grasp what Jesus is talking about, but grateful that He’s called you along for this hike. Maybe you think He wants you close while He goes off to pray. After all, He does that constantly.
But then you reach the mountaintop and what happens next blows your mind.
Past and present are sharing a moment. There’s an actual glimpse of eternity before you. You hear the actual voice of the God you believe in. The Master you love reveals His actual face.
And this moment transfigures your faith.
In this blest moment, another moment, one of tender love: you’re on the ground, overcome with fear. But Jesus comes up and touches you. ‘Stand up,’ He says, ‘do not be afraid.’
Day-to-day life is hard enough. Throw in the Lenten season where we not only have to climb and conquer the rocks and unsteady, treacherous ground, but attempt valiantly to do so with the right attitude and heart, and it’s no wonder we tumble down. Even though it’s only the second week.
We don’t always have the best response when temptation or vice get the better of us. But at Lent we give ourselves, as God gives us, the chance to admit we’ve fallen and bruised ourselves. We let Him touch us with tender love. In the quiet, we hear Him say, ‘Stand up. Do not be afraid.’ And we take His hand and let Him take the lead up the mountain.
There’s another Peter we might want to emulate this Lent. One who also experienced profound and blest moments on rugged mountaintops.
This Peter threw himself into conquering mountain heights and declared that if he could, he would spend entire days on the mountains contemplating in that pure air the Greatness of the Creator.
This was Pier Giorgio Frassati, canonised just last year on 7 September.
'Verso L'Alto!’ (Go to the Heights!) was his motto and it meant more to him than just climbing a mountain. In life, he’d always been drawn to the heights of the Beatitudes, and to the Blessed Sacrament. He’d always urged people to climb to the heights of their spiritual life, and he was such an example that St John Paul II called him the Man of the Eight Beatitudes.
Our hearts are as cold and as hard as a stone;
Such are they by nature, and Thou art alone,
On earth and in heaven, the Saviour who can,
A new heart creating, a new heart creating,
A new heart creating, make each a new man.
Leaving behind the old place where we lived with sin, temptation, weaknesses of character, timid, reluctant spirits of faith, to go and climb a steep, hard, towering mountain calls for brave faith in the One who calls us. Just ask Abram. He did exactly that. But he stumbled along the way and fell often, even with the Lord guiding him.
Like Peter. Like us.
I take heart in their all-too human weaknesses because though they fell so often while following the Lord, He never gave up on them, and they never gave up on Him. It helps that we’re not doing this alone. St Paul urges Timothy to bear all hardships by relying on the power of God. Maybe as we struggle on this week, like them our spirits can be renewed by remembering that God has already gifted us His grace – in fact, before the beginning of time. There’s nothing we need to do to earn it.
From sorrows of earth Thou wilt now turn our mind,
For days that are coming, O help us to find
Our joy and our comfort in what Thou hast wrought;
For we are Thy people, for we are Thy people,
With blood and with anguish so preciously bought.
Climbing up the slopes of our Lenten mountain we want to pause when it becomes too hard, and say, as the Psalmist does: may Your love be upon us, O Lord, as we place all our hope in You. Because we aren’t sure what awaits us on the mountaintop.
There are rocks and boulders we’re trying to shift in our ascent. There are mountain storms we have to contend with. There’s discomfort, hurt, pain we have to bear as we navigate this forty-day climb. But we don’t just have one another in our parish – we have divine guides, a cheering section of saints who’ve navigated the same mountain, and a tender, loving Saviour climbing right beside us.
We want those blest moments along the way where we feel Jesus touching us, and hear His voice encouraging us to stand and not be afraid. We want to succeed this Lent in rediscovering our joy and thankfulness for what He’s done for us through His blood and anguish. We want to be transfigured where our old, sin-stained selves are peeled away by divine grace and our real, holy faces and hearts shine like the sun.
Can we hold on till then?
The summit’s still a distance ahead. St John Paul II said, "He (Frassati) testifies that holiness is possible for everyone".
True of the saints. True of us.
We could follow St Pier Frassati and make each Beatitude a hiking pole. We could take the cold, harsh conditions on the mountain as opportunities to breath pure air while doing away with comfort and ease. In the lonely silence we might hear God’s voice with no distraction.
So we will rise to the challenge of defeating our base selves and finding firm footing on the climb. We will keep our eyes focused on Christ, the Transfigured One who longs to transfigure us like Himself. And when, holding His hand, we reach the peak of our spiritual selves we will cry out like St Pier Frassati at the summit, like Christ at Easter:
Victa Est! (Conquered!)
Article by Joyce Norma, HFC Blog Contributor