. . . Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. . . . Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” —not knowing what he said. Luke 9:28b-29, 33.

When my mother was dying, one of my deepest fears was that I would forget her face. We sorted photographs for the memorial service, and I realized I had already forgotten. I couldn’t remember what she looked like before the cancer, before the chemo broken her body under its toxic weight. It had been so long since she had really been herself.

This amnesia went on for months. I would look at an old photo—my mother smiling, her hair sunlit from behind as she threaded a worm on a fish hook for my son—and I’d hold her in mind for a moment, before memories of those last wrenching months would overwhelm me, and I’d be left with the face of her dying—familiar, yes, but utterly strange. Now, six years later, it’s better. For the most part, I see through the memories of her last days to the “her” that has always been and always will be.

I wonder if something like this—something like fear—prompted our dear foolish Peter to blurt out: I know! Let’s make a shrine! Just as we clutch the memories of those we have loved, we want to hold fast those moments when God seems real. And present. And so solid! But it’s not long before life interrupts, water on the stone of our knowledge of Him.

Often it seems that feeling out of His presence is the same as being out of His presence, so we spend a lot of energy trying to feel connected with God. The results can make us a bit crazy, always seeking the next reassuring encounter, a new spiritual high. And in the process, our standards get higher. Next time we want Moses, Elijah and Abraham. Before long, we fail to see God’s face where it truly dwells. I find my mother now, not in photos, but in the particular shadow a butterfly casts over me as I tend the garden, or in my son’s lightning wit which is 100% her.

Thomas Merton writes: “We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and God is shining through it all the time.” How could we possibly forget God’s face? And yet, this fear of the loss of Him can keep us from finding His radiance in the world—especially in those dark and broken places where hope seems lost. Jesus returned from the mountain to the crowds, the chaos, the loneliness, and there!—can you see it?—a moment of healing threaded with Light.
 
Catch the shine @ www.trinityspokane.org