Light and Darkness: Transfiguration 2021

‘A-Day’ First atomic bomb explosion at Bikini in the Marshall Islands
1 July 1946

A Local Event and Hiroshima

This morning, at 8 o’clock, Western Power will switch off the electricity supply to this area and we shall be plunged into a temporary physical darkness. It should only last a day, but we won’t be able to supplement natural light at the flick of a switch or do many of the things we usually take for granted. At 8.15 a.m. on this day in 1945 a nuclear bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and in its glare the world was changed for ever. A moral darkness descended on the human race. It is not just the number of those killed or the way in which they died that appalls, but the fact that another boundary was crossed. Nothing in war was now beyond limits and that would have an impact on the way in which we behaved henceforth. As Robert Oppenheimer remarked earlier, after watching the detonation of the first nuclear weapon, a piece of Hindu scripture had run through his mind: ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’ In vain did he spend the rest of his life urging stricter control of nuclear energy and more thought about the possible consequences of its development.

Physical and Moral Darkness

Physical darkness, moral darkness, how do they connect with an event that Christians believe took place roughly two thousand years ago in what we have come to call the Transfiguration? Was that episode in the life of Christ another kind of boundary-changer, the spiritual triumph of light over darkness, begun on Tabor and completed on Calvary? Many have speculated that the Transfiguration took place at night, which would have made its strange and luminous beauty even more wonderful to those who saw it. It is not the loveliness of the Transfiguration that matters, however, but its significance.

The Transfiguration

Mark’s account is brief (Mk 9.2-10). As always, there is no lingering over the detail. He moves quickly to meaning and purpose. This is God’s beloved Son to whom we are to listen and as a consequence find life. The vision of the unity of the Old and New Covenants is meant to do away with doubt and disbelief but, of course, it has done no such thing. We continue to live with doubt, fear, death. Today, as much as ever before, the old certainties are crumbling. Climate change and the loss of habits and species in the natural world parallels the loss of agreed values in the social and political order. Even our religious institutions have shown themselves to be often corrupt and untrustworthy. Sin, we find, is not an abstraction but a brutal reality in the lives of us all. In a sense, we are still waiting for the promise to be fulfilled, still living in the not-yet of the kingdom, of eternal life glimpsed but not yet fully grasped..

That is not the whole story, of course. Sin and death do not have the last word; the promise is fulfilled, only those of us alive today have yet to experience its fullness when, as we affirm, ‘all is made new’.

I am encouraged by the fact that liturgically the Transfiguration is very much a Benedictine feast, popularised by the Cluniacs. Benedictines are not much given to hype — or despair. We just go on, century after century, trusting in God and hoping, little by little, to be refashioned into the likeness of our Saviour, Jesus Christ. That surely is the connection, the answer to the conundrum. Just as on Tabor Jesus allowed his disciples to glimpse his glory as God, so, in our everyday lives, his grace transforms us, allowing us to achieve the impossible because, in the end, good will always triumph over evil, love over hatred, life over death. God wills that all should be saved. We think about that too little or somehow dismiss it as something that doesn’t really apply to us. Yet that is the hope the Transfiguration confers on us and the whole human race. We may not see the glory now nor realise how wonderful is the promise made to us, but it is there, shimmering and shining throughout time and eternity. We are, because of Him, ‘immortal diamond’. Let us give thanks, rejoice — and pray for peace.

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O Oriens and Our Need of Light 2016

It is the shortest, darkest day of the year here in Britain but today’s O antiphon shimmers and shines. For the first time since we began the sequence, the coming of God as Saviour and Redeemer is hailed with three dfferent titles, all of them luminous: Morning Star, Splendour of Eternal Light, Sun of Justice. In a world that has embraced the thickest moral darkness we have seen for many a year, that Light is what we cling to in hope and over which we rejoice.

O Oriens, splendor lucis æternæ, et sol justitiæ: veni, et illumina sedentes in tenebris, et umbra mortis.
O Morning Star, splendour of eternal light and sun of justice, come and illumine those seated in darkness and the shadow of death.

It is a short, ostensibly simple prayer but what a reversal of our usual thoughts and feelings it contains! Many sensitive and kind people are saying things like ‘I cannot have a happy Christmas while people are suffering in Syria’ or ‘how can we possibly rejoice when fear and terror are all around?’ I think that is to misunderstand what this antiphon explicitly teaches, that God will deal with the darkness, in his own way and his own time. What we have to do is to co-operate — and that is harder than it looks, because, of course, we want to be the doers, we want to be the ones who decide. We can and should rejoice at Christmas because the Son of God has chosen to be our Morning Star, our Light in the darkness, our source of justice and healing. It takes a special kind of courage to turn everything over to God, but that is precisely what we are asked to do.

There is another kind of darkness I should mention, the interior darkness of distress and mental confusion that many also experience at this time of year. It is a prison, a shadow, an all-enveloping gloom that causes much pain and suffering, made all the worse because often it cannot be shared with anyone. Loneliness adds to the sense of misery, and frequently there is a sense of failure, too, because, of course, no one actually wants to be ‘down’ or out of step with the season. It is easy to say that from this too Christ comes to redeeem us, but although that is true, it is not a truth universally experienced.

Sometimes in the early morning, when I go into the oratory to pray, everything is dark, as only a house in the countryside can be dark. Gradually, there is a little glimmer of greyness that marks the beginning of dawn. Then slowly, beautifully, light begins to flood the room until everything is transformed. Even the dust sparkles. Our lives are like that. For some, in this life, there is only darkness and the light will come later; for others, probably the majority, the light begins to shine even now, but uncertainly, by fits and gleams; and for a few, a very few, life is irradiated with sunshine from the very first. What we have to hold to is this: the light will come. ‘His coming is as certain as the dawn.’ Indeed, yes: come, Lord Jesus.

ADVENT O ANTIPHONS AND CHRISTMAS NEWSLETTER
If you would like to read more about Advent and listen to the ‘O’ antiphons sung in Latin according to a traditional plainsong melody, with a brief explanation of the texts and references, see our main site, here. Flash needed to play the music files as I have not yet replaced the player with HTML5.

Our Christmas Newsletter is available online here: http://eepurl.com/cukCsr. It has a stunning photo of the sun shining on the earth taken from space.Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail