What makes you “fully awake” and “frightened?”  In our hyper-connected world, the list seems endless. Turn on the news, check social media, or simply talk with friends and family – we’re bombarded with reasons for sleepless nights. Natural disasters devastating communities. Violence erupting in places of worship. Personal struggles with health, relationships, and purpose. Like Abraham in our first reading, we find ourselves staring into the darkness, waiting for God to speak.

A heartfelt thank you for taking the time to read this homily for the SECOND SUNDAY OF LENT (March 16, 2025). Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me.  Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

It’s fascinating to me that in today’s Gospel, we hear what makes Peter, James, and John – Jesus’ closest friends – witnessing something that St. Luke describes as have left them “fully awake” and “frightened” – the Greek words used actually suggesting not just fear, but a state of complete alertness combined with awe and terror.  What was it that left them stunned and terrified? Jesus transformed before their eyes, his appearance becoming dazzling white. Moses and Elijah appeared beside him. God the Father’s voice thundering from heaven.

Think about that. These men had walked with Jesus, witnessed his miracles, heard his teachings. Yet this glimpse of divine glory terrified them. Even more striking? This extraordinary moment didn’t prevent their later failures. These same apostles would scatter during Jesus’ passion. Peter would deny him. Their mountain-top experience wasn’t enough to sustain their faith when darkness fell.

Isn’t that frustrating?  We often think that if we had these definitive moments that it would somehow fill those spaces where disbelief creeps in.  Why is that? Because like us, they struggled with competing voices. Voices of doubt that whisper “What if?” Voices of fear that ask “Are you sure?” Voices that make us second-guess everything we thought we knew about God, about ourselves, about our purpose.

St. Paul understood this battle. In today’s second reading from Philippians, he warns about those “whose God is their stomach” – people so focused on earthly concerns they miss the divine. Instead, he reminds us our “citizenship is in heaven.” Not to ignore our earthly struggles, but to view them through a different lens.

When the apostles learned to listen to Jesus above those other voices, everything changed. They found strength to preach truth to power. Courage to face persecution. Grace to forgive themselves and others. Their transformation wasn’t instant – it was a journey of stumbling forward, of learning to trust one step at a time.

That’s why we hear this Transfiguration story every Second Sunday of Lent. Right when our Lenten commitments start feeling heavy. When our initial enthusiasm fades. When we begin wondering if transformation is really possible.

Look at your own life. Maybe it’s a medical diagnosis that’s rewritten your future. A relationship fracture that seems beyond repair. Financial pressures that keep you checking your account at 3 AM. Or perhaps it’s the wider world – scenes of war, terrorism, division – that steals your peace. Like Peter, we might want to stay in those rare moments when everything makes sense. Build tents. Hide from reality.

But Christ calls us down the mountain. Into the mess. Into the struggle. Into a world that desperately needs light. He invites us to listen:

Listen to Him in Scripture, where ancient words speak to modern hearts.
Listen to Him in the Eucharist, becoming what we receive.
Listen to Him in the voices of those who suffer, calling us beyond comfort.
Listen to Him in reconciliation, where wounds become windows of grace.
Listen to Him in silence, where anxious hearts find peace.
Listen to Him in community, where we carry each other’s burdens.

When God’s voice faded on that mountain, St. Luke tells us “Jesus was found alone.” Everything spectacular disappeared – the heavenly visitors, the dazzling light, the thundering voice. What remained? Just Jesus.

That’s the heart of our journey. When anxiety overwhelms, when fear paralyzes, when darkness presses in – we’re called to fix our eyes on Jesus alone. Not on our circumstances. Not on our inadequacies. Not on the voices that say we’re not enough. Just Jesus.

This Lent, we’re all climbing our own mountains. Some carry burdens that feel crushing. Others wrestle with doubts that shake their foundation. Many find themselves, like those disciples, wide awake in the darkness of uncertainty.

But here’s what the Transfiguration reveals: the same Jesus who stood in glory on that mountain walks with us through every valley. The voice that shook the earth still whispers peace in sleepless nights. The Lord who was transfigured before his disciples continues to transform lives today – including yours and mine.

So dare to listen. Not just with your ears, but with your heart. Not just in moments of clarity, but especially in confusion. Because when we truly listen, something extraordinary happens: fear transforms into faith, anxiety into peace, isolation into communion.

Remember – they had to leave that mountain. And so do we. But we don’t descend alone. We carry the vision of who Jesus really is, and more importantly, who we’re called to become in Him. For the glory revealed on that mountain wasn’t meant to stay there – it’s meant to shine through us, here and now, in the ordinary moments of our extraordinary lives.

This is the promise of the Transfiguration. This is the hope of Lent. This is the power of listening to Him. When everything else fades away, Jesus remains. And Jesus alone is enough.