Below are three of Fr. Abbot's homilies: for the Feast of the Transfiguration of Our Lord, and for the 11^th and the 13^th Sundays After Pentecost, 2007.

The Gospel for today's feast begins with Jesus taking three of his disciples "up a high mountain apart." Why take them up a mountain? Why not just find a quiet place that is more easily accessible? It is because Jesus was about to grant them an extraordinary divine encounter and, in terms of religious anthropology, a mountain is the best place to do that. This is so because a mountain is the highest point in any given area, that is, it is symbolically closest to Heaven, to God. In the Old Testament, God is occasionally called the "God of the Mountain," and more frequently "the Most High." God chose to reveal Himself in great mountaintop theophanies. He revealed Himself to Moses on Mt Sinai and to Elijah on Mt Horeb (which is another name for Sinai). So it is fitting that Moses and Elijah appear with Jesus on Mt Tabor, confirming the truth that the Transfiguration of Christ is indeed a special revelation and manifestation of God.

This event happens quite without warning in St Matthew's Gospel. Jesus led them up a high mountain and immediately he was transfigured before his disciples. Perhaps "transformed" would be a little more accurate, since the Greek word metamorphosis literally means a change of form. In Philippians, St Paul says that Christ had always been in the form of God (morphe Theou), but through the Incarnation He was, in a sense, transfigured into the form of a servant (morphe doulos), that is, into the form or "scheme" (design or configuration) of man (skhemati os anthropos). As man, Jesus' divine form was hidden from the naked eye, but on Mt Tabor, this divine form was revealed through the glorious trans-form-ation He manifested there.

So what does all this form-changing mean? First of all, it tells us something about who Jesus is. If He can manifest the "form of God" at will, by allowing the Uncreated Light to shine forth from Him, then we know that He is divine by nature. By ordinarily manifesting his humble human form, He lets us know that He has become man for our sakes. The early history of the formulation of Christological doctrines shows that some people had a hard time believing He was God, while others had a hard time believing He was man! The truth lies not in one or the other but in the union of both: one divine Person with two natures. Since Jesus was not in the habit of lecturing his (mostly) illiterate disciples in metaphysics or ontology, He simply showed them the truth in his works, in his signs and marvelous wonders. Little by little, through the grace of the Holy Spirit, they became able to articulate the great and divine mysteries.

I won't lecture much in metaphysics or ontology, either, but since I cannot work signs and wonders, I can only refer you back to the Gospel and some of its better commentators. Pope Benedict says that the mystery of the Transfiguration illustrates the article of the Creed in which we profess that the Son is "Light from Light." That is, unlike Moses, who reflected something of God's radiance after his Sinai experience—the source of this light being outside of himself—Jesus generated from within Himself the divine Light. Moses could not manifest at will the divine radiance, but Jesus could.

One point that applies both to Jesus and to Moses, each in his particular way, is that beautiful saying of Scripture about Moses, that his face shone because he had been talking with God. We know that Jesus was in an ongoing and perpetual dialogue with his Father, but Luke makes it explicit by saying that Jesus was transfigured while at prayer. His face shone like the sun, for He had been talking with God. "Look towards Him and be radiant," said the psalmist. Does our prayer make us radiant as well? Can people tell that we have been talking with God by the love and peace and serenity that radiate from our faces?

It is quite astonishing that not only Jesus' face manifested the glory of God, but even his garments, says the evangelist, became "white as light." Perhaps this is another symbol of the Incarnation. Not only his inner essence radiates Divine Energy, but that with which He "clothed" Himself, his humanity, is also radiant with the light of divinity. Those very garments would later be drenched with his blood and violently torn from Him, symbolizing the stripping of his human dignity during his humiliating execution. But his divine glory never left Him and was in fact manifested—though quite differently than on Mt Tabor—in the self-emptying agony of the Cross. For this too was another "metamorphosis," a transfiguration. The passion and death of Jesus was an essential element of the whole process of the kenosis, which was the laying aside of the manifest "form of God" while embracing the humble "form of a servant" unto the ultimate kenosis of death on the Cross, and then to the renewed manifestation of the "form of God" through resurrection and exaltation (see Phil. 2:5-11).

The transfiguration of Christ on Mt Tabor stands as an expression, an anticipation of the full realization of his mission on Earth. St Luke tells us that when Moses and Elijah appeared with Jesus in glory, they spoke to Him about his "exodus," his passage from this life to Heaven through death and resurrection—a passage that would be the very means of our own successful exodus from this world, the only way for us to share in the divine life and joy forever.

What about the disciples who witnessed all this? They were dumbfounded and prostrate on the ground. Peter started babbling about building monuments to honor Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, but the evangelist tells us he didn't really know what he was talking about. Peter, the one who was fond of jumping into the sea when he recognized the Lord (Mt 14:19; Jn 21:7), jumped the gun here by suggesting his own plan of action. But he was silenced by the voice of the Father, who told Peter and the others all they would have to do: "Listen to Him." This is a good lesson for us, who may think that we have some good ideas for honoring or serving the Lord. That's just the problem; they are our ideas, our plans, which translate: our will. There's an echo of the Martha and Mary scenario here: the better part is to sit at the Lord's feet and listen to Him, not to propose an agenda that may not in fact be what the Lord wants.

Our interior transfiguration will not come as a result of extraordinary manifestations, but rather as a result of obedience to the will of God, as He manifests it in the normal channels of daily life. We have to have listening hearts, willing hearts that do not calculate our personal cost, advantages, or preferences, but rather hearts that accept that transfiguration which is kenosis, the metamorphosis that can only be accomplished on the Cross. Jesus has plenty of fair-weather friends, who praise Him when they are feeling good but who grumble when it is time to make a sacrifice for his sake. He doesn't need any more of those. He wants faithful followers and friends who will listen to his word and carry it out, no matter what the cost.

The litmus test for all this—whether or not we will listen, follow, humble ourselves even unto the Cross—is our love for Jesus. I read an article recently which asked why there are so few holy priests (this can be applied to any Christian). The answer was simple: because they don't love Jesus. We can wax eloquent about all the mysteries; we can become televangelists with fancy cars, lots of money and adoring followers; we can even build our own little self-insulated world from which we can look down on others and deceive ourselves that we are serving God—but all of this is worthless without a genuine and self-sacrificing love for Jesus. St Paul spells it out in 1Corinthians 13.

So let the fruit of this extraordinary mystery we are celebrating be love—love for Jesus, who emptied Himself of his divine glory so as to take our form upon Himself, to take our sins upon Himself, to suffer the kenosis of humiliation and death, and so, though his exaltation, to clear the path for our return to Paradise. Our love for the Lord will initiate the transformation of our souls. We will never literally be transfigured into the "form of God," yet St Peter, a witness of this mystery, writes that by grace we can come to "share in the divine nature." Christ is the beloved Son of God the Father. Let us heed that divine command issuing from the brilliant cloud enveloping Mt Tabor. Let us listen to Him. Let us love Him.

The mystery of the Kingdom of Heaven is something beyond our comprehension. But Jesus has tried to explain it to us in human words and concepts, to give us some idea of how to understand it, how to prepare ourselves if we wish to enter it. He has compared it to a mustard seed, to yeast which makes the dough rise, to a hidden treasure and a precious pearl. In this Sunday's Gospel (Mt 18:23-35) He focuses on a different aspect of the Kingdom, one that emphases an essential element of the Christian Gospel: forgiveness, and by extension, judgment on those who refuse to forgive. We do well to pay close attention to this parable if we wish to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

St John reminds us that Jesus knows human nature well, knows what is in the heart of man (Jn 2:24-25). Therefore He has no illusions about human attitudes and behavior, and this parable bears it out. Jesus knows that we are eager to have our own sins and failures forgiven, and that at the same time we are not at all eager to forgive those who have sinned against us. We practice a continual double standard. We want mercy for ourselves but a strict accounting for others. We want our huge faults overlooked, but we scrutinize the minor faults of others. We minimize our own sins and maximize those of others. In short, we maintain the plank in our own eye while we can't endure the speck in our brother's eye. But Jesus will not let us get away with that. He says if we act like that we will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Forgiveness is dear to Him; He suffered and died to forgive our sins and he expects the servants to be like the Master.

We may try to resist the word of the Lord by insisting that our sins are in fact less serious than others'. I am not a murderer or an adulterer or a child abuser, we might say. But as usual, we judge superficially and by appearances or our own reasoning or observation, which don't go very far at all. God alone sees and judges the heart. He may see that a murderer has not received the abundance of grace that we have, has not been instructed in the faith, has not had all the opportunities and means of salvation that we have had. And so we may discover on judgment day that in the eyes of God our sins were worse than the murderer's, for God can see what no one else can; He can weigh the evidence and judge the guilt as we cannot. And here we hold ourselves superior to those we judge sinners, while they end up saved and we end up lost. It's just as Jesus said to the Pharisees: "prostitutes and publicans will enter the Kingdom before you will."

This doesn't mean that we should assume that all apparent evildoers will be saved and all apparently good people will not. But it does mean that we are to withhold judgment and be generous in forgiving. Let us not minimize our own sins. God has already forgiven us more than we will be required to forgive others. We cannot pay the debt we owe. We can only live in gratitude for the Lord's mercy. But Jesus is telling us today that the way we are to express this gratitude is not by mere words or feelings, but rather by forgiving those who have hurt or offended us.

The point of this whole parable is expressed in these words: "Should you not have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?" The first thing to note is that all people are "fellow servants" in the eyes of God. All the inequalities of this life will be erased before the judgment seat of God. Those who have legitimate authority in this world have the right and duty to exercise it, but they will be judged accordingly. Those whose duty it is to submit to authority will be blessed if they do but will be judged unfavorably if they resist or resent it. God sees the heart and is impartial in judgment. Since we do not see the heart, the Lord requires us to give the benefit of the doubt and forgive. If any judgment is due, He will be the one to administer it. If we try to take matters into our own hands, like the ungrateful servant in the Gospel, we will find ourselves at the wrong end of God's wrath.

Many people like to soften the sharp edges of the Gospel, making God the Father seem like a kindly old grandpa who just pats us on the head, whether we are good or bad. But Jesus shows us another side of the Father in this parable. When the Master discovered that his wicked servant did not forgive after he had been forgiven, he delivered him over to the torturers. Then Jesus says: "My Father will do the same thing to each of you, unless you forgive your brother from the heart." No benign grandpa here, but a righteous Avenger of wrongdoing.

I have recently read the biography of someone who exemplifies the Gospel teaching on forgiveness to an extraordinary degree. She is Mother Antonia Brenner, who has lived in a Mexican prison for the past 30 years, ministering to the inmates while sharing the hardships of their lives. In the violent and harsh environment in which she lives, she has much to forgive. The drug trade is very active in Mexico, and the drug lords are like mafia chiefs, and there are often murders of competing drug traffickers, and murders for revenge of some insult or slight. Mother Antonia is known to love all people indiscriminately, the criminals as well as innocent victims.

Her first counsel to all those who have had loved ones murdered or who have themselves been injured or unjustly treated is to forgive. She understands what they are going through and she says: "I know that forgiving is hard, but not forgiving is harder." The desire for revenge is a burden that crushes, because it becomes an obsession. The perverse pleasure of holding a grudge is equally self-destructive. Mother Antonia says: "Unforgiveness will age me, it will make me sick, and it will make me ugly. Nothing can bring me so low that I'm going to not forgive somebody and destroy myself. Because that's what unforgiveness does. It's a boomerang that comes back." She says to those who were victims of injustice that those who did the injustice (assuming they were convicted) would be paying for their crimes for the rest of their lives—but if we refuse to forgive we will also pay for the rest of our lives, bearing the self-destroying burden of anger, hate, or resentment.

She has been severely tested in her resolve. She has had dear friends murdered, but she would immediately go to visit their murderers, offer them coffee and blankets if they were cold, and try to minister to them, telling them that God loves them and wants them to repent and be saved.

How can she do this? Primarily, of course, it is the grace of God at work in her. But there's one thing that she said which I think is the basis for her will and efforts to forgive. After a particularly painful and trying experience in which she offered compassion to those who had just massacred a number of women and children, she said: "I know that once I choose who I love and who I don't, I am no longer God's servant." Let us listen to that again and reflect on it: "once I choose who I love and who I don't, I am no longer God's servant." Is not this discrimination at the basis of our own unwillingness to forgive? We choose whom we love and whom we don't, and so we cease to be God's servants. We become instead servants of our own desires, emotions, and preferences. We love those who love us, who affirm or honor us, who do good things to us, who make us feel good. But Jesus says in another place that there is no merit before God in that, because even sinners do as much. If we really are servants of God, we will not be selective about whom we love and hence we will not withhold forgiveness from anyone. This goes against the grain of human nature and perhaps against the grain of our own long-standing habits, but Jesus never said it was going to be easy to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. In fact, He said it was going to be very difficult, and that we must endure to the end in fidelity to his word if we are going to be saved.

So let us resolve to live according to the Gospel of Jesus. Let us not choose to love some and not others, to forgive some and not others. If we insist on choosing those whom we love, however, then let this be our criterion: We will choose to love only those whom God loves. That is the only acceptable choice.

Jesus told us that the Kingdom of Heaven is going to be like a Master settling accounts with his servants. We know we cannot pay our debts, so we beg with confidence for mercy. But let us have no illusions—we will be forgiven to the extent that we forgive others, and if we refuse to forgive, we will have to make the acquaintance of the infernal torturers. Let us be aware that the Kingdom of Heaven is worth whatever it costs to be found worthy to enter it. We will then learn to love; we will choose to forgive.

We have in this Sunday's Gospel another parable of the Kingdom of God (Mt 21:33-43). This is somewhat different than most others, for it is not primarily eschatological, that is, it is not only about the fulfillment of the Kingdom at the end of time. This one actually looks backward, for the most part, into salvation history, and only hints about the future. So let's look first at its historical context and meaning, and then at how it speaks to us today of the Kingdom of God.

This parable is basically an allegory. The vineyard is Israel, which association is taken from Old Testament imagery (Is. 5; Ps 79/80, etc), and the tenants are God's chosen people. God expected his people to fulfill the terms of the covenant He had made with them, that is, He expected them to bear fruit and make an offering of worship and thanksgiving to Him. So God sent his servants, the prophets, to remind the people of their obligations toward God, but the people did to them what the wicked tenants did to the Owner's servants in the parable: they beat and stoned and killed them. The Lord in his mercy sent still more prophets, who were treated the same way.

Finally, the owner of the vineyard sent his son. This might seem foolish, given the fact that everyone else he sent was beaten or killed. But the son represented his father, the owner, the boss, who had the authority to remove the tenants from their position, so he thought, "they will respect my son." They didn't respect him, however, and plotted to kill him so as to receive his inheritance. For a long time I did not understand their reasoning. How could they possibly think that if they killed the owner's son, the owner would make them the heirs of his fortune? According to the laws of the time, this is not so far-fetched. If a man died without any relatives as heirs, his property became unoccupied land that went to the first claimant; the tenants had the first opportunity to claim by occupation. Yet to do that they would have had to kill the owner, too, before he had opportunity to do away with them!

In the allegory, the beloved son is, of course, Jesus Christ, who came after the prophets, the Father's last resort in calling his people to repentance and fidelity to Him. They killed Him, thinking (in terms of the parable) that the messianic inheritance would be theirs without having to bother with obedience to the Messiah. But it didn't work that way. In the parable, the owner of the vineyard brought the wicked tenants to a bad end and gave the vineyard to others, who would give Him the good fruit He sought. The message is clear: Jesus ends by saying, "The kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a nation producing the fruits of it." He cites a passage from Psalm 117/118: "The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes."

This brings us to the delicate issue of the relationship of Christians and Jews. The saying of Jesus manifestly asserts that what was given and promised to the chosen people, and reiterated by the prophets and finally the Son of God, would be given to others because of the Jews' rejection of the prophets and the Messiah. Only a small minority did accept Jesus; the vast majority did not. Yet the development over the centuries of a severe and sometimes even fanatical anti-semitism is not justifiable and is surely displeasing to God. Some of our own prayer services are still sadly marked by this and should be purged of all such hatred and denigration (though it is nearly impossible to get Eastern ecclesiastical authorities to do anything when it comes to liturgical reform).

Their rejection of the Messiah is incontestable, however, and the passage about the rejected cornerstone turns up in several places in the New Testament, a key text for explaining what had happened. In the Acts of the Apostles it is used as a direct accusation against the Jewish authorities: "Jesus Christ… is the stone rejected by you builders, but which has become the cornerstone" (4:10-11). In St Peter's first letter he uses the passage against unbelievers in general: "for those who do not believe, 'the very stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone'" (2:7).

St Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, better known as Edith Stein, was a Jew who converted to Catholicism but who never renounced her Jewish identity and heritage. Most Jews who become Christians don't think of themselves as leaving Judaism for Christianity, but as being fulfilled by Christianity. Christ Himself said He did not come to abolish the law and the prophets, but to fulfill them. The apostles and the first generation of Christians did not consider themselves as converts to a new religion; they considered themselves Jews who had found and embraced the Messiah.

Anyway, Edith Stein, in commenting on the Stations of the Cross, produced an allegory of her own. In reflecting of the three falls of Christ while carrying his Cross, she said that these correspond to three major tragedies in the history of mankind, the triple fall of humanity. The first fall represented the original sin of Adam and Eve, the second fall represented the rejection of the Messiah by the chosen people, and the third fall represented the falling away of those who bear the name of Christian, that is, the sin, disobedience, and even apostasy of those who are supposed to be the new and worthy tenants of the vineyard.

So we are in no position of superiority to condemn the Jews for their rejection of Christ. Every time we sin we reject Christ as well, and our judgment will be more severe than theirs, because we are supposed to know better.

We should then look at this parable in terms of our own lives and relationship to God. God has made us the new tenants of his vineyard, the Church, yet because we still regard the Old Testament as the word of God, the Church is not in a radical discontinuity with Israel, but rather represents her fulfillment in the mystery of Christ—her Savior, Messiah, and Bridegroom. St Paul calls the Church "the Israel of God," for Israel is still beloved of God, whether fulfilled in the Church or still sadly waiting for the Messiah who has already come.

The Gospel says that the owner of the vineyard sent his messengers during the "season of fruit" to collect his share. For Christians, it is always the "season of fruit," because we are called to bear fruit at all times. The fathers interpret Jesus' cursing the barren fig tree as a judgment on Israel, which failed to bear fruit when the beloved Son came to collect it, even though He came out of season. This is a call for us to be vigilant, for it is the Master, not the servants, who will decide when it is time for harvest, and we are often warned in the Gospel that He will come at a time we least expect.

The Lord sends us many messengers in the meantime: the saints, the Scriptures, the Sacraments, the many and varied graces which call to our hearts like prophetic voices: "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand." Shall we stone or kill the prophets, that is, ignore or reject the invitations of God to repent, to pray and do penance, to forgive and to act charitably, to deny ourselves and take up our crosses to follow his beloved Son? When St Peter quoted the passage about the rejected cornerstone, he followed it with a related one: "a stone that will make men stumble, a rock that will make them fall," and he explains, "they stumble because they disobey the word."

So let us resolve today to obey the word of God, in every way that it comes to us, and to be ready to offer the spiritual fruit of prayer, sacrifice, and good works, in season and out—for since the Messiah has come it is always the season of fruit; we are always called to be diligent and watchful. The vineyard can be taken away from us as well. St Paul warned the Gentile Christians not to be haughty or complacent, for if the Jews, God's favorites, were cut off from the vine for their unbelief, then all the more will the latecomer Gentiles be cut off if they become lazy or unfaithful. St Paul fully expected the Jews to come back to Christ before the end—and I'm sure if they do they will be the most fervent of disciples, putting many complacent Christians to shame.

God repeatedly sends his beloved Son to us, in a most precious way in the Holy Eucharist. Let us welcome Him and begin to bear fruit for his glory and for the salvation of his chosen people—of both the Old and New Testaments.

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