Since my retirement last summer I have been relaxed and feeling very peaceful. I am happy where I live, with some ministry, many friends and good health. But it's an anxious peace. Friends, security and good health are fragile. The late spiritual writer, Henri Nouwen, once said that 'even in our most happy moments there is something missing'. Like the three disciples with Jesus on the mountain of the transfiguration, I still need something more than health, good friends and even ministry can offer.
The scripture readings for this Sunday speak to me in this situation. They tell me I need an anchoring vision, a peace-giving perspective that will remain, even if I lose health, loved ones, material security. The faith and trust of Abraham recounted in the first reading caught my attention. Answering God's call was never easy: the call to priesthood, to leave family and homeland, the call to retirement, aging and.... What will be next?
The loss of health, family, loved ones - even life itself - lies ahead. Will I respond kicking and screaming? Or will I be like Abraham who simply 'went as the Lord directed him'? Is there something in my spirit that will make such transitions peaceful? Part of the purpose of Lent is to enter more fully into the journey of our response to God's lifelong call. God's call is always to life, not death. Lent is a time to reflect quietly on our losses and gains, our dyings and risings to new forms and experiences of life and peace.
It is significant that the transfiguration scene takes place on the road to Jesus' crucifixion. The disciples have been having a hard time hearing him talk about suffering and death. The transfiguration vision gave them confidence and a measure of peace that God is at work in it all. That's the message for us. God is at work in our lives, come weal come woe.
Every bit of life is touched by a bit of death. In every satisfaction there is an awareness of limitation. The peace, the anchoring vision I need is something more than the peace of having good friends, good health, a job well done or a life well lived. Much of that belongs to the peace the world gives. Inside such peace is an anxiety and fear that should these things that give me consolation be lost, all will be lost.
At the last supper, Jesus offered a peace that is beyond all anxiety and fear. Lent offers the opportunity to slow down and imbibe a measure of it, to let go and sink deeper into the absolute assurance that we are so connected to the source of life that nothing can sever us from it. The bottom line is that we are unconditionally loved and held by the source of life itself.
The transfiguration scene offers the right perspective on life in all its stages. The ending of the story has been written and it is a happy one. I know that true peace will win out in the end, even if there be some stormy passages along the way. The story of Abraham and the scene in this Sunday's gospel assure me of life, wholeness, peace and happiness beyond the loss of youth, health, reputation, betrayal of friends, and even beyond my own sin and betrayals.
'In the end,' says medieval mystic and writer, Julian of Norwich, 'all will be well and all will be well, and every manner of being will be well.' Our sense of peace in this life is fragile and anxious. There's the feeling that it might disappear. We need, like the disciples on the holy mountain, the assurance of the transfiguration. 'Do not let your hearts be troubled...I do not give peace to you as the world gives peace...Do not be distressed or fearful,' - John 14: 1, 27-28. This is the gift I find myself praying for and thinking about in these days of retirement.
PASTOR EMERITUS
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