Mystical experience is powerful indeed. Today we hear the recollections of how Abraham (still called Abram) in the Old Testament and of how Peter, James and John in the New Testament, experienced God’s powerful presence. In both accounts, the concept of “fear of the Lord” – being awestruck in God’s presence – is crucial. It is what makes the experience unforgettable. Let us be both clear and nuanced here: “fear of the Lord” and “awe in God’s presence” are not about fear of punishment, but rather about the sense of being overwhelmed by God’s reality in a way which changes the participants entirely and forever. Each event is also considered a “theophany,” i.e., a human experience of God’s presence in audio-visual terms through which the reality of God is clearly, powerfully, and unforgettably experienced. A combined mystical and theophanic experience takes the human participant beyond the metaphoric image of God, beyond the imagination, into the realm of the experiential. Words cannot effectively describe the event; human language is generally inadequate.

In Genesis 15, Abram engaged in the first covenant between God and humanity. Abram, already in his late 80s and Sarai (to be renamed Sarah) in her late 70s, were childless, and without hope of progeny. Yet, this covenant promised an uncountable number of descendants, and a land to call their own, a promise difficult for Abram to accept. For the ancients, those were the two most important measures of personal wealth and success imaginable: descendants to carry on one’s family and a land to call home permanently. We have many more options today, but these two values are still very important even to us. As with so many ancient stories, the importance is not in the details, but in the thematic purpose: a divine covenant. That covenant would change and evolve through time, first when Moses rose up as a savior and produced the Torah from God. And, it would change even more profoundly when Jesus and God’s Spirit would establish what we call the New Covenant or the New Testament. With it, the Spirit of God would expand the divine covenant by redefining those eligible to be considered descendants of Abraham. All humanity would be invited. For the ancient Jews, it was belonging to God’s Chosen People. For the early Christians, it meant expanding membership in God’s Chosen People to include all of humanity in the salvation offered by the Paschal Mystery of the Risen Jesus Christ.

The Transfiguration of Jesus was also a theophany, this time aimed at the three disciples, Peter, James and John. The great voice from the heavens which accompanied the transfigured Jesus and the vision of Moses and Elijah, addressed the disciples with a divine description of who Jesus was, and with the command to listen to him. Being overshadowed by a cloud while God spoke should remind us of when Moses went into God’s presence in the cloud each time he ascended Mount Sinai. The cloud prevented humans from visually seeing God, for God’s glory was deemed so great as to destroy the human observer in physical space and time! The apparition of the prophets, the authoritative voice, and the cloud’s shadow, all overwhelmed the disciples. Their reaction was a deep, wondering silence in an awe-filled moment. Everything they previously thought they had understood was now in question. They would go through the rest of Jesus’ public ministry wondering, listening carefully, questioning, and hoping. They would fully appreciate this encounter only after Pentecost when suddenly and powerfully it would all make sense. Thus, with God’s Spirit and their memories, they would embark on a mission to evangelize the world.

Paul was neither among Jesus’ disciples during his public ministry, nor was he at Pentecost. He had his profound experience of the Risen Jesus probably during the first decade or so of the Church’s existence after Pentecost. But, his experience was mystical as well (see Galatians 1 and Acts 10). He was knocked to the ground and blinded by the experience, and heard the voice of the Risen Jesus addressed directly to him. Only the waters of Baptism allowed him to see again and to begin to understand fully. He took a couple of decades of time to reflect on this experience before he began his public ministry, but the experience, and subsequent study and reflection, were the vehicles for tremendous personal and permanent conversion. By the time he wrote to his Christians in Philippi, a Greek city, he had begun to appreciate the indescribable transformation which resurrection implied. He pointed out to the Philippians that they had already begun their change when they accepted Baptism. That change touched all their earthly lives, but it also brought with it heavenly citizenship. With Baptism, believers belonged to God’s Kingdom. The saintly status came first; the final transformation of the whole person would come upon death and resurrection. No measurable details of resurrection are offered here or anywhere else. But the hope placed in it was reason enough to “stand firm in the Lord.”

Accepting Church membership at Baptism today is sometimes a cultural expectation more than a Gospel commitment. We baptize our children because that’s what Catholic Christians do. We want them to be “in the Church” with us adults. But, in the early Church, this was so significant a commitment that it was presumed to be for adults only, at least for a while. One studied and prayed intensely for a long time before being found ready to be initiated. Upon initiation, much was expected of the believer because of the profound change undergone. Lent is a time when we are expected to spend quality time considering the change which the Gospel has brought about in us. Routine must be shaken. Growth must be normal. We must evolve and develop, mature and renew as normal parts of our faith life. Paul was speaking to us, too, when he told the Philippians “Our citizenship is in heaven.” How do you live your saintly citizenship fully, as actively, and as consciously? From where do you hail?