The Glory of Love — Silvio José Báez, ocd

The Gospel of this Second Sunday in Lent is filled with sun and light (Mt 17:1–9). Jesus took Peter, James, and John with him and led them up a high mountain. There he was transfigured before them: his face shone like the sun and his clothes became dazzling white (Mt 17:1).

This took place shortly after Jesus had revealed to them that he was resolved to go to Jerusalem, where the Jewish authorities, after making him suffer greatly, would put him to death (cf. Mt 16:24–25). The disciples had been shaken by the Master’s words and filled with fear at the tragic destiny awaiting him. Everything had grown dark for them: they were confused, afraid, and beginning to lose heart.

On the mountain, the three disciples contemplate for a moment, in the intimacy of the mountaintop, the humble glory of God hidden in the humanity of Jesus. He wanted them to understand the path of love he was ready to walk—even to suffering and death. There he chose to reveal to them the secret concealed within his humanity: the glory of love that moved his heart and led him to a boundless self-giving for humanity.

The radiant face of Jesus is an image to be engraved on the heart for the darkest day, when his face will be struck, insulted, humiliated—when it will no longer appear transfigured but disfigured. This is the great challenge that Peter, James, and John must accept. They are called to discover the mysterious thread that unites the Mount of the Transfiguration and Mount Calvary: the disconcerting relationship between blazing light and total darkness, between the transfigured face of Jesus and the disfigured face of the Crucified One.

For the three disciples, such an experience was necessary—one that would strengthen them, enlighten them, and make them feel enveloped in the love that filled Jesus’ life. They needed to step back from daily reality, from their fears and shadows, and open their eyes to something new and luminous. They had to understand that the final word in history does not belong to suffering, injustice, evil, or death. Soon they would live through the night of Jesus’ passion and death; it was important that they experience it knowing that its darkness would not last forever. No night in life lasts forever.

Jesus led them to the summit not to distance them from reality, but so they might step back and gain a broader and deeper vision of life. From above, the landscape can be seen more clearly. It isn’t healthy to live only on the flatlands of routine—conditioned by the pressures of daily life—filled with fear before the challenges we face. We must step back and rise above the quicksands of failure, mediocrity, and hopelessness, and free ourselves from the ideological quagmires that make us rigid or pessimistic.

On the mountain, Peter, James, and John were able to see, beyond appearances, a deeper truth: in the humble humanity of Jesus they contemplated the radiant glory of God. Today this same challenge stands before us: to see beyond appearances with the eyes of faith. The world teaches us to judge by success, outward beauty, and visible power; faith invites us to see with different eyes. On a cross, the world sees defeat; faith sees the triumph of love. In our crises, the world sees failure; faith discovers opportunities for growth. Every difficulty contains a seed of grace; every tear can become a spring of blessing.

Faith is like a new pair of lenses that allow us to see reality clearly. Without faith, we look at life through the eyes of fear, hopelessness, and human calculation. With faith, we see with the eyes of love, hope, and eternity. Faith helps us recognize that God is never absent; he is always weaving something beautiful, even when we cannot see it. Faith allows us to glimpse resurrection in the midst of death, light in the midst of darkness, meaning in the midst of chaos. With that gaze, we can move forward when everything seems lost, because we know that the end of the story will be fullness of life and light.

In society as well, there are moments of confusion. We feel scattered, weak, even unsuccessful in achieving the results we hoped for. Injustice and violence seem invincible; no paths toward resolution appear. Weariness, failed attempts, and disappointments overwhelm us. In those moments we must climb the mountain: step back, rise above the flatlands of personal interests, and leave behind the ideological quagmires that make us rigid or pessimistic. The light of the Risen Lord—which conquers sin and death and is already present, in anticipation, on the mountain—enables us to see reality with new eyes and widens our vision and our hearts.

The new light radiating from Christ transfigures us; it grants us a renewed vision of life and history; it gives us strength to continue striving for a new world and keeps our hope from withering. Illuminated by Jesus, we won’t be sowers of darkness or prophets of doom, but humble sowers of sparks of light where shadows seem to reign.

Like Peter, James, and John, we too must climb the mountain again and again and allow the light of the Risen Lord to shine into the darkness of our existence. We climb the mountain when we pray. In prayer, in silence with the Lord—even for a short time—his light transfigures us. Moments of prayer aren’t useless; they are necessary. We must expose ourselves to that loving light, dedicate time to listening to Jesus, to conversion, and to rejoicing in his luminous presence.

When we contemplate the light of the Risen One, we aren’t blinded, nor do we forget our commitments. Like the disciples, we must always descend into the valley of daily life: the ordinary rhythm, the struggle and fatigue of each day. In this Eucharist we stand on the holy mountain, contemplating the radiant face of Jesus and listening to his voice. When the celebration ends, let us descend into the valley of everyday life enlightened by him. May the light of Jesus make us strong and radiant. May it help us discover the beauty of life, hidden like a drop of light in the living heart of all things.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily for the Second Sunday in Lent
Miami, March 1, 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Detail from a 15th c. icon of the Transfiguration by the hand of Theophanes the Greek currently in the collections of the Tretyakov Gallery. Image credit: Wikimedia Commons (Public domain)

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