Reflection for the Second Sunday of Lent C
Readings: Genesis 15: 5-12, 17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:7 – 4:1; Luke 9: 28-36.
(RCL for those who marked the Transfiguration two weeks ago: Luke 13: 31-35.)
Anyone who ever stumbled through a crowded train station struggling with an unwieldy four-wheeled suitcase must have been struck by the painful irony.
This poorly engineered piece of luggage, once you hoisted it on the train and managed to park it somewhere, was on its way to a happily anticipated visit to family or friends, or maybe to a wonderful vacation spot. And so were you.
Not these swarms of frightened, desperate families.
They were fleeing for their lives, with a few things stuffed quickly into a suitcase.
A week before, the restaurants and cafes had been crowded with carefree clients.
Now, crowds were fleeing the sudden terror of rocket attack, explosion, and fire.
Their homes destroyed, or about to be destroyed. Loved ones gone missing.
Lugging a case with a few clothes. Or a beloved dog or cat wrapped in a blanket.
Sometimes a father or brother accompanied the family to the train, or as far as the border. Then the family continued onward, and the man turned back to join the country’s defence forces.
When did this happen? Exactly three years ago, in the first stage of the Russian invasion of Ukraine.
At first glance you might not think there’s any point of connection between the Transfiguration story in the Gospel of Luke, and the incomprehensible aggression that uprooted millions of ordinary people from their homes, from one day to the next. In fact it’s there, but you have to dig for it.
Scripture scholars are sharply divided about whether this story was supposed to anticipate Christ’s resurrection. But a wealth of details point in a different, more immediate and more ominous, direction. The key is the journey motif.
Among the three Synoptic Gospel writers – Matthew, Mark and Luke – only Luke relates what Jesus, Moses and Elijah were talking about, in this vision of dazzling, blinding glory. They were
“speaking about his departure, which he was about to accomplish in Jerusalem.”
Peter, of course, doesn’t notice: he’s babbling on about setting up three tents, one for each of them. His cluelessness grabs the spotlight and shifts the focus sideways, right at a crucial moment of insight.
The word used in Greek, exodos, means “going out on the road,” or departing. Yes it’s the same word as the Exodus of the Hebrew people from slavery in Egypt, on the road for a very, very long time before they settled in Canaan. But the word exodos also serves as a euphemism for death — setting out on a singular journey, departing from among the living. This story began with
“he went up on the mountain to pray,”
and this acute realization unfolded for him in prayer. Another was that his death would not end his mission, but rather pave the way for a new “exodus,” new life from death, not only for one person but for many.
Barbara Reid and Shelly Matthews write,
“There are Christians who declare that ‘God sent his Son to die for our sins.’ Such a formulation cannot be sustained from the Gospel of Luke. In Luke, Jesus’ death is that of a rejected prophet, not an atonement for sin. As chosen one, Jesus also chooses. He chooses to continue his mission by going to Jerusalem.”*
Jesus did not make the journey to Jerusalem to escape the danger of death, but instead to face danger, and death, head on. He came down from the mountain, quietly determined, aware of what was to come. No happy destination in sight. No place to stow unwieldy luggage. No safe refuge. No tents.
“And when the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.”**
© Susan K. Roll
*In Luke 1-9, Wisdom Commentary series, (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2021) p. 288.
**Luke 9: 51.
This Reflection has been updated from that of March 13, 2022.
Susan Roll retired from the Faculty of Theology at Saint Paul University, Ottawa, in 2018, where she served as Director of the Sophia Research Centre. Her research and publications are centred in the fields of liturgy, sacraments, and feminist theology. She holds a Ph.D. from the Catholic University of Leuven (Louvain), Belgium, and has been involved with international academic societies in liturgy and theology, as well as university chaplaincy, Indigenous ministry and church reform projects.
