
Antelope Canyon, Arizona by Fr. Matt
There is
something deeply human about the desire to capture a perfect moment. I have
been learning about the secrets of winning a photo contest, and the lesson is
striking: most of us drive to a breathtaking place like the Grand Canyon or
Niagara Falls, roll down the window, snap a quick shot on our phone, and drive
away. We call it a tourist photo. The odds of winning a gold medal with that
kind of effort? About one in a billion.
And then comes
the harder truth. A photo judge reviewing 2,600 entries has only three seconds
— three seconds — to look at each image and assign a score between one and ten.
Three seconds to decide whether a photograph says something worth saying, or
whether it is just another snapshot of a place everyone else has already
photographed a thousand times before.
Now here we
are, on the Second Sunday of Lent, and the Gospel places us on top of a
mountain. Six days after Jesus had
spoken plainly about his coming suffering and death, he took Peter, James, and
John up a high mountain. There, he was transfigured before them — his face
shining like the sun, his clothes becoming white as light.
This is no
tourist snapshot. This is the WOW moment. And it raises a serious question for
all of us as we make our way through these forty days: what kind of Lent are we
planning to live?
Because let's
be honest with ourselves. Lent can feel a lot like that tourist photo. We
examine our conscience, come up with something to give up — chocolate, a glass
of wine, scrolling through our phones — and we hope we can survive forty days
without going completely sideways. Habits are hard to break, especially the
ones that are not good for us. And if we handed that Lenten practice to the
Lord the way a photographer hands a tourist snapshot to a judge, what score do
you think we would receive?
The WOW factor
in photography, as it turns out, begins with planning. Before going to
photograph Antelope Canyon near Page, Arizona — a place photographed a billion
times by tourists and professionals alike — the serious photographer does the
homework first. You study what has already been done. You look for the image
that would make someone stop, look twice, and say, "WOW." You plan
your shot so that when the light hits just right, you are ready. You are not just pointing and hoping. You know what
you are looking for.
Christ's
Transfiguration aims at strengthening the apostles' faith in anticipation of
his Passion: the ascent onto the "high mountain" prepares for the
ascent to Calvary.
That is not
accidental. Jesus did not simply wander up a mountain and happen to glow. This
was deliberate, planned, purposeful. In other words, Jesus was planning ahead
for his disciples. He knew what was coming — the arrest, the trial, the cross —
and he wanted them to have something to hold onto when the darkness fell. He
gave them a glimpse of the destination before asking them to walk the road.
Jesus was not
putting on a show. He was equipping his closest friends with something they
would need desperately in the days ahead — the memory of having seen the glory
of God with their own eyes.
From the
bright cloud came the voice of the Father: "This is my Son, the Beloved;
he enjoys my favour. Listen to him." When the disciples heard this, they
fell on their faces, overcome with fear. But Jesus came up and touched them,
saying, "Stand up, do not be afraid."
Notice what
the disciples received on that mountain. Not a checklist. Not a set of rules.
Two things: a command to listen, and a command not to be afraid. Those two
instructions are the entire blueprint for a Lenten WOW factor. Listen to Jesus.
And do not be afraid.
In this
Transfiguration, the glory on the mountain was meant to carry the disciples
through the agony in the garden. It was meant to carry them through Good
Friday. It was the image they were meant to hold in their hearts when
everything else looked like defeat.
And here is
where the photo contest metaphor becomes something more than clever. The
photographer who wins the gold medal is not the one who drove to the Grand
Canyon and points a cell phone at it. The winner is the one who studied the
light, planned the composition, arrived before dawn, waited patiently, and
captured something nobody else had seen in quite that way. The winner is the
one who was fully present, fully intentional, fully committed.
So what does a
WOW factor Lent actually look like? It looks like planning. It looks like
asking, honestly and prayerfully, where the Lord is calling you to make a real
difference — not just in your own comfort level, but in the lives of actual
people around you.
For me, it is
reaching out to a family member struggling with dementia and their exhausted
caregiver spouse, and not just offering sympathy, but rolling up your sleeves
to find them real help — a medical team, a care plan, a safe place to live, a path
forward. It might look like connecting my fire chief who has volunteers but no
grant funding with someone who can teach him how to apply for what he needs. It
might look like standing with our Latino brothers and sisters who are living in
fear right now — not just feeling sad about it, but providing them with
concrete, practical guidance to protect their rights and their dignity. It
might look like protesting unjust policies, volunteering at an animal shelter,
or simply helping a neighbor access medical or home care services they cannot
navigate alone.
The divine
voice commands us to listen to Jesus. But listening is more than hearing. As
Jesus says in the Sermon on the Mount, building on the rock means not only
hearing his words, but acting on them. Lent is not a season for better
intentions. It is a season for becoming people who act on what we hear.
I have a good friend 83 years
old whose spouse died in 2024, he shared that reading this
reflection brought back the loneliness that he felt with the loss of his Rosemary
but also the comfort of his family and friends who brought him through the pain
and feeling of despair. He wrote: “I will never forget all the love and
support I felt. It brought to mind the love and support he felt as a 9 year old
when his dear mother died suddenly. By the grace of God he survived. That
is a wonderful feeling."
That hard walk
is human life itself, marked by suffering, doubt, broken dreams, anxiety and
loss. Without a glimpse of what lies ahead at the end of our striving, despair
easily takes hold. And the nightly news gives us plenty of reasons for despair,
doesn't it? Violence, injustice, corruption, people living in fear, communities
being torn apart. It is precisely for moments like these that we return to the
mountaintop. We return to the memory of the Transfiguration — not to escape the
valley, but to find the courage to go back down into it.
The
Transfiguration serves as a foretaste of the glorified state in heaven awaiting
the faithful. It reminds us of our ultimate destiny — to share in the divine
life and glory. The glory we glimpsed on that mountain is not just for Jesus.
It is the destination to which he is leading all of us.
So what will
be the focus of your WOW factor this Lent? What photograph of yourself are you
going to hand to the Lord? What image of your life, your love, your service,
will make him stop and say — WOW?
The three
disciples fell to the ground in fear. But Jesus reached down and touched them.
"Get up," he said. "Do not be afraid." Those words are for
us too, right now. Whatever feels overwhelming — whatever injustice feels too
large, whatever need feels too great, whatever cross feels too heavy — get up.
Do not be afraid. You have seen the glory of the Lord. You know where this road
leads.
Lord, I pray
for all your people this Lent, that we will take the time to search our hearts
for a plan that will truly make a difference — not just for ourselves, but for
the people you have placed in our lives. Give us the wisdom to make of
ourselves a picture that reflects your love and your compassion for all your
people. May the light that shone on that mountaintop shine through us, into
every dark corner of this world that needs it.
Listen to
Jesus. And do not be afraid.