Leaving the Mountaintop

Cristo Redentor
Corcovado, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Jesus took Peter, John, and James and went up a mountain to pray. While he was praying his face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white. And behold, two men were conversing with him, Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory and spoke of his exodus that he was going to accomplish in Jerusalem. Peter and his companions had been overcome by sleep, but becoming fully awake, they saw his glory and the two men standing with him. As they were about to part from him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good that we are here; let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” But he did not know what he was saying.

While he was still speaking, a cloud came and cast a shadow over them, and they became frightened when they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.” After the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. They fell silent and did not at that time tell anyone what they had seen.

~ Luke 9:28B-36

This account of the Transfiguration of Jesus, read at Mass on that feast this past Tuesday, naturally brought to mind my visit to the Cristo Redentor statue high above Rio de Janeiro. Perched atop a mountain in a vast park that protects Atlantic rainforest, the statue is often swathed in the rain, wind, and cloud that I and some fellow pilgrims encountered on our visit, during some scant free time amidst a wide array of World Youth Day programming. Amidst jubilant crowds– we were treated to the Paraguayan national anthem by a group of 50 people dressed in their national team's soccer jerseys– and occasional glimpses of the city below through fleeting breaks in the clouds, we literally soaked in the experience.

In the context of the silent prayer and meditation of my retreat this past week, this Gospel imagery and personal memory promoted further reflection not only upon this mountaintop experience, but also its aftermath. The disciples wanted to stay, but apparently "did not know what [they] were saying." They said nothing, whereas I and my companions at the clouded statue all exuberantly shared the account of braving the weather to see Cristo. In the days since we've each returned to our homes and communities, there have surely been numerous discussions about various vignettes, memories, and insights from our experiences in Brasil... that's certainly been the case as I've settled back in among my Jesuit brethren.

Santa Marta community, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Just as Cristo looks over Rio while residents, tourists, and others come and go about journeys both daily and extraordinary, I newly feel Christ watching over me as one journey ends and another– three years of graduate studies in theology at Boston College– is about to begin. Three weeks with inspiring, energetic, and hope-filled youth from all over the world constituted a remarkable joy and blessing, yet we were called to that mountaintop in order to be sent back home with new ideas, new graces, new insights, and new companions. Even as we encountered serious needs in Brasil– troubling social and economic inequality, unsettling physical and emotional suffering– we became more aware of the needs that seek our attention in the cities and nations that we call home. I've long known Boston as a visitor, as a "local tourist," as a city graced with wonderful parks, splendid museums, and one of the best marathons in the world. Now I'll get to know it as a resident; I desire to explore its neighborhoods, truly meet its people, and even learn– the phrase comes straight from one of my retreat meditations– "how Boston prays."

I'll keep supplies for physical and metaphorical tent-pitching on hand– there will always be mountains to climb– but it's now time to ensure that I truly go forth from the great peaks that I and so many ascended in Brasil, and to follow Christ's urging to take up the work that lies ahead in other terrain.