On Seeing and What Is Seen

I had been in a good mood earlier this week.  Maybe “ecstatic” or “overjoyed” wouldn’t quite capture it, but “sunny” or “positive” certainly would.  But then, I looked up the readings for the second Sunday of Lent this week, and any semblance of sunny positivity went down the crapper.  Usually, well-known scripture stories give me comfort and make me feel better.  But the readings on deck for Mass this Sunday did quite the opposite.     

The first reading is the story of God testing Abraham’s faith by asking him to sacrifice is only son, Isaac.  I hate that story.  I mean, really?  In that reading, God has no qualms about putting “Abraham to the test” to see if he will be faithful to him.  He tells him to “offer him as a burnt offering” to prove his devotion (Genesis 22: 1-2).  Sure, he stops Abraham at the last possible second before Isaac is killed, but what kind of a god would play such a cruel trick?  Only the kind that is petty, manipulative, and woefully lacking in self-confidence.  Only the kind of god that could never by God.

After stewing about this reading for a while, “sunny” and “positive” were on the ledge of a tall skyscraper considering hara-kiri.  Then I read Sunday’s gospel reading, which led them jump to their grisly demise.  “Downright angry” and “royally pissed” were quick to take their place.

Downright Angry

This week’s gospel reading is the story of Jesus’ transfiguration.  Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up on a high mountain where “he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white” (Mark 9: 2-3).  And if that’s not enough of show-stopper, Elijah and Moses appear along with him.  The disciples are giddy with excitement, wanting to capture the moment and hold on to the experience.  Then a cloud appears, and the James-Earl-Jones voice of God says, “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him” (7).  And then, poof.  Everything goes back to the way it was.

To be clear, this part isn’t what raises my blood pressure.  It’s the part that comes next.  “As they were coming down from the mountain, he charged them not to relate what they had seen to anyone” (8).  That’s the line I hate.

Seriously?

I’ve written previously about Jesus as “reluctant rock star.”  In the gospel readings in recent weeks, Jesus has expelled demons and healed lepers, each time ordering witnesses: don’t tell anyone.  Then this Sunday we see Jesus taking his friends up the mountain, wanting them to see this amazing sight, and then commands: don’t breathe a word to anyone.

Why not?  Why would Jesus reveal the truth of his divine nature in these varied ways but then insist that it not be shared?  God’s Dolby-surround-sound-theater voice proclaimed Jesus as his son at his baptism a few weeks ago and then again on the mountain this week.  But Jesus doesn’t want these guys with their Radio-Shack-AM-frequency voices to spread the word?  Really?

I was in a grump for a while this week as I ruminated on these reading because I knew I wanted to write about them today.  But what on earth is something positive or meaningful I could say about God-as-savage-trickster or Jesus-as-shy-narcissist? 

But I got to thinking . . . maybe the reason I get so frustrated by these readings is that I’m not focusing on the right thing.  Maybe I’m not looking at it from the right angle.

Changing Perspectives

In each of those stories, I was focused on God or Jesus.  And in each one, I was disappointed.  But when I turned the stories around, I realized that there was a whole other viewpoint I had originally missed.

Maybe God demanding that Abraham sacrifice his son only to pull the plug at the last second isn’t the real story.  Maybe the real story is that Abraham, through a process of gut-wrenching fear in the face of unthinkable challenge, realized that God would always protect him, that God would never let him down.

Maybe Jesus curing the leper and telling him to keep quiet isn’t the real story.  Maybe the real story is that the “leper” was healthy and whole all along without realizing it, but in his encounter with Jesus, he was finally able “see” this reality.

Maybe Jesus expelling demons and telling the healed person never to speak of it isn’t the real story.  Maybe the real story is that the man possessed by demons was unimpaired all along without realizing it, but in his encounter with Jesus, he was able to “recognize” his true nature as free and pure.

And maybe Jesus being transfigured in glory only to prohibit his disciples from spreading the word isn’t the real story.  Maybe the real story is that the disciples had access to Jesus’ true nature from the moment they met him, but it wasn’t until this particular encounter with Jesus that they were finally able to “perceive” his divine nature clearly.

Even more, maybe Abraham and the leper and the man possessed by demons and the disciples this week are really you and me and everyone. Perhaps we are all waiting for God to appear and perform when really what we need to do is adjust our vision. Maybe Jesus told people not to spread the word because he knew that truth can’t be realized second hand. We have to “see” it for ourselves.

When it all comes down to it, faith is about how we choose to see.  When we see life as a lonely journey from nothing to nowhere, it is.  When we see life as a vicious battle for survival, it is.  When we see life as a zero-sum game in which we must capture all the marbles before anyone else gets a chance at them, it is. 

But when we see things from a different perspective, our lives are transfigured. Our souls are transformed. 

Later in Mark’s gospel Jesus says, “Do you have eyes and not see, ears and not hear” (8:18)?  Jesus stays Jesus and God stays God, but maybe the transfiguration is in our own ability to see.  Maybe everything we need and love and hope for is already right there in front of us.  If only we have the eyes to see.