2nd Sunday of Lent 2020 - The dangerous business of going out your door

 One of the great works of literature from the 20th century was written by Catholic author J.R.R. Tolkien. You may have read or watched the film production of his “Lord of the Rings” Trilogy. This fantasy saga about hobbits and elves and wizards and dragons is heavily infused with imagery inspired by Tolkien’s Catholic faith.

The tale begins with the discovery of a magic ring. The main character, Frodo, and his friend Sam are tasked with the perilous quest of bringing the mysterious ring to a group of wise elves who will determine what to do with this dangerous artifact.

I thought of Tolkien’s story in regards to our first reading today. Abraham is tasked by God to leave his home, his native land, and venture to a new place, filled with strangers and enemies. A perilous quest for anyone, but particularly Abraham who was 75 years old.

There is a great scene near the beginning of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, where Frodo and Sam, having walked for about a day and half from their village, reach the edge of field, and Sam stops and says, “this is it…If I take one more step, I'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been.” To which Frodo responds, “Come on, Sam. Remember what my uncle used to say: "It's a dangerous business,  going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no telling where you might be swept off to."

Sam spoke those words with no idea that his feet would take him so far from home, farther than he could ever dream of, and he would do things he never thought himself possible of doing. Like Abraham, like moses, like the prophets, like the apostles and saints. These holy men and women all took a risk of stepping out their front door, and allowing God to lead them to unknown lands, figuratively and oftentimes literally, further from home than they’ve ever been. God invites all of us to trust him, to allow him to lead us into the unknown, into new ways of service and sacrifice,
prayer and evamgelization.

In the Gospel we hear of Peter, James, and John being led up a mountain by Jesus. They had already taken the risk of leaving their fathers’ fishing businesses, following this itinerant preacher and miracle worker all over Galilee. And now, he was leading them up this strange mountain. St. Matthew uses this wonderful word in the Greek for Jesus’ act of leading his apostles up the mountain side. The word is anaphora. Anaphora means to lead up or carry up or bring up.  The word also has the connotation of offering up:  as in the high priest offering up sacrifices for the forgiveness of the sins of the people.

This connection of being led up a mountain and offering up a sacrifice, should certainly make us think of our blessed Lord being led up to mount calvary by the will of his father. And indeed, Christians have always seen the story of the Transfiguration as a foreshadowing of the Lord climbing the Mount of Calvary and also our vocation of following where our master has gone before us.
Peter, James, and John, like their Lord would go on to climb the mountain of suffering for the sake of the Gospel; they “bore their share of hardship for the gospel” as Paul writes to timothy in our second reading. Peter, like the Lord, was crucified. James, was the first to be martyred among the apostles. John, though he died of old age, suffered greatly, he was even boiled in oil, but he survived.
We must all trust the Lord enough to allow him to lead us up the holy mountain. It’s not an easy journey. It’s steep. It’s hard. It requires courage and fortitude. It might even be, like it was for Peter James and John, quite terrifying, initially.

But something happens at the top of the mountain that makes the terrible journey worth it. At the top of the mountain, we encounter God. And that too might be terrifying at first, as it was for Peter, James, and John. But that mountain top encounter with God, changes you, bolsters you, in fact, we long for it. This desire for the mountaintop encounter with the true and living God is deeper than our fears.

Pope Benedict writes, “This letting oneself be guided where one does not want to be led is an essential dimension of our service, and it is exactly what makes us free. In this being guided, which can be contrary to our ideas and plans, we experience something new—the wealth of God’s love.”
There is no doubt, for each and every person here, some place, that God wants to lead us, where we, initially, don’t want to be led. It could be because of our swollen ego, or our fear of suffering, our fear of being rejected by our fellow man. But each one of us, no doubt, is being called by God up a mountain.

That mountain’s name for some of us, might be “forgiveness”, forgiving someone who hurt you deeply. For some, it might be “chastity or self-control”, putting an end to unchaste or spiritually unhealthy habits and actions. For some, it might be “generosity”—learning to trust God enough to give to others more generously. For some, the name of that mountain might be “Confession”. The Sacrament of Confession is sometimes daunting because it requires us to name our failures and seek to change, a very steep mountain indeed.

But, atop each of these daunting, steep mountains, is an encounter with Jesus Christ, which will set you free and bring you joy. In the end, that holy mountain, is the only one worth climbing.
The Eucharistic preface for this second Sunday of Lent, proclaims how the Lord brings the apostles up the holy mountain to show them that the Passion leads to the glory of the Resurrection. We willingly undergo the sufferings of the Christian life because of that promise, that what we suffer leads to the glory of the resurrection.

So this Lent, take a risk. Pray more than you ever have. Read the Bible more devoutly and reflectively. Fast more strictly than you ever have, trust that the Lord will feed you with what you will give you life. And Give like you never have. Take a risk, step out your front door, climb the mountain. Offer him your time, your body and soul.

The early Greek Christians used that wonderful word Anaphora to describe the Mass. And we Romans Catholics too, refer to that part of the Mass as the anaphora, when bread and wine are offered to God to become the flesh and blood of Jesus the High Priest who offers himself to the Father for our salvation.

As the Lord is offered up, may we offer our lives in union with him, and allow him to lead us in holiness, to grant us courage in leaving the comfort of our native lands, further from home than we’ve ever been. It’s dangerous out there, but he is with us, leading the way, for the glory of God and salvation of souls.