grace

When you want to stay, and God sends you.

We know those seasons when life settles into a gentle rhythm. The early, unhurried morning; the familiar commute with the same sea of stranger-faces; the workday where nothing is on fire; even a season when prayer feels easy and God feels close. There’s a quiet comfort in that routine, almost like being on a little mountain where the view is familiar and the air is calm.

In today’s Gospel, Peter has his own version of that moment. He sees Jesus shining like the sun, hears the Father’s voice, watches Moses and Elijah appear in glory, and his instinct is to stay put: “Lord, it is good that we are here… I will make three tents.” He reaches for permanence, for a way to hold onto the moment and make it last. You and I know that impulse well—whether it’s a beautiful family moment we wish would never end, or a comfortable routine we don’t want disrupted.​​

But before Peter can finish his sentence, a bright cloud overshadows them and the Father speaks: “This is my beloved Son… listen to him.” Not “build for him,” not “prove yourself to him,” but “listen to him.” The first call is not to perform, but to pay attention.​

Grace in a performance-driven Lent

In the second reading, Paul reminds Timothy—and us—that God “has saved us and called us to a holy life, not according to our works but according to his own purpose and grace.” That line cuts straight across a lot of the pressure we feel around Lent.

Lent can easily become a spiritual performance review. We set resolutions, compare our fasting or prayer habits to others, and listen to louder, more intense voices online that seem to say, “If you’re not doing as much as I am, you’re not serious.” Sometimes those voices are explicitly religious; sometimes they’re just the background hum of productivity culture, baptized in holy water.

But Paul says the opposite: it begins in grace, not in our performance. God’s call on your life is rooted in his purpose and his love, not in how dramatically you can give up coffee or how many holy hours you can log this month. The point of Lent is not to impress God; it’s to make space for God to impress his love and mercy more deeply into us.

That doesn’t mean we coast. Lent is “self-denial ordered toward love”—we willingly stretch, fast, and give, not because God keeps score, but because love wants to grow. We want to move beyond the bare minimum, beyond autopilot, and let God shape us into people who love more freely.

The danger is when that holy desire to “do more” quietly slides into a fear of not doing enough, of not being enough. When we start playing the comparison game—measuring our prayer life, our sacrifices, our spiritual “intensity” against what we see others posting—we can quickly forget that the foundation is grace. Sometimes we may just want a calm, private experience with God, away from the public eye, and that’s okay. Holiness doesn’t need a platform.

The temptation to pitch tents

Peter’s idea on the mountain is sincere. He’s not trying to escape responsibility; he’s just overwhelmed by a beautiful, holy moment and wants to hold onto it. You and I know that feeling. A retreat that changed us. A prayer time when Scripture suddenly came alive. A season when we felt close to God and everything seemed to flow. “Lord, it is good that we are here. Can we just stay like this?”​

But the Father interrupts with a different invitation: “Listen to him.” And what does Jesus say afterward? He doesn’t say, “Stay.” He says, “Rise, and do not be afraid,” and then leads them back down the mountain.​

In other words: the experience on the mountain is real, but it’s not the destination. It’s a gift meant to strengthen them for the journey ahead, a glimpse of glory that will carry them through the coming valley of the cross. The same Jesus who shines in light will soon sweat blood in Gethsemane.

The Little Flower Carmelite reflection captures this beautifully: God is both Place and Journey, the One who meets us on the holy mountain and the One who keeps calling us on when we would rather camp and pitch tents. God is not being cruel when he doesn’t let us stay in the “perfect” moment. He is inviting us into a deeper, more costly love.

Listening more than understanding

If you’re reading this on your phone late at night, or sipping coffee between notifications, it’s not news to you that we live in a loud time. Wars and conflicts across the globe, angry voices on every platform, headlines that pull our attention from one crisis to the next. It can feel like the world is on fire most days, and our instinct is either to doomscroll or to shut down and block it all out.

In that noise, “listening” can sound like a luxury. But the Father’s words on the mountain are surprisingly simple and practical: “Listen to him.” Not “understand everything,” not “solve all the problems,” but listen. Take his words seriously. Let them land in your actual life.​

Abram in the first reading does exactly that. God tells him, “Go from your country and your kindred… to the land that I will show you.” No map, no step-by-step plan, just a promise: “I will bless you… and you will be a blessing.” Abram doesn’t understand how it will all work out, but he listens and goes.

In Lent, listening often comes before understanding. We may not fully grasp why God is nudging us to forgive that person, to unplug a bit from our screens, to give more generously, to show up at Mass again. We may not see how our little acts of self-denial matter in a world on fire. But the pattern of Scripture is clear: God speaks, we listen, we step, and understanding often comes later.

Listening in this sense is an act of trust: “I don’t see the whole picture, but I’m going to take this next step with you, Lord.”

When you want to stay, and God sends you

So what does this look like for us, halfway through Lent?

Maybe your life right now feels like that peaceful routine: early mornings, familiar commutes, workdays on repeat, prayer that’s fine but not exactly stretching you. Or maybe it’s the opposite: too much noise, too many headlines, too many voices telling you what you should be outraged about today. In both cases, there’s a temptation to stay where we are—either comfortably settled or comfortably numb.

Lent, in this Sunday’s light, is Jesus taking us gently by the hand and saying: “Rise, and do not be afraid.” Not “rise and perform,” not “rise and prove yourself,” but “rise and come with me.” The Transfiguration reminds us that:​

  • We are called and saved by grace, “not according to our works.”
  • We are invited to listen before we understand.
  • We are meant to go back down the mountain with him, into a noisy, hurting world, as people who have seen his light.

For some of us, “going down the mountain” might mean stepping out of a comfortable spiritual routine and trying something a bit more courageous: going back to confession, returning to Sunday Mass, joining your family for prayer even if it feels awkward, reaching out to someone who is struggling. For others, it might mean turning down the volume of the world just enough to actually hear Jesus again: less doomscrolling, more Gospel; fewer hot takes, more quiet listening.

The Carmelite prayer asks God to “transfigure our cloudy and confused spirits so that we are not afraid to follow Jesus through the times of trial, tribulation and stretching.” That’s the heart of this Sunday. God doesn’t shame us for wanting to stay where it feels safe. He meets us there, shows us his glory, and then gently sends us back into the ordinary, carrying that light.

A simple listening practice for this week

If you can give God two or three quiet minutes sometime today or this week, here’s a small way to “listen more than understand”:

Three questions to sit with:

  1. Where am I most tempted right now to “pitch a tent”—to stay put spiritually or emotionally, rather than follow where Jesus might be nudging me next?
  2. Where have I slipped into a performance mindset with God—trying to earn his love, or comparing my efforts to others—instead of starting from grace?
  3. What is one small, concrete step Jesus might be inviting me to take this week, even if I don’t fully understand why yet?

A short prayer (adapted in the spirit of the Little Flower reflection):

Lord Jesus,
You are the beloved Son, and the Father tells me to listen to you.
Save me from the pressure to perform, and remind me that I am called by your grace, not my works.
When I want to stay where it feels safe, give me courage to follow you back down the mountain, into the world you love.
Take me through my clouds of doubt and distraction to your holy mountain, where I can see your glory,
and then send me as a quiet light into the places that feel dark.
Rise in me, Lord, and help me not be afraid. Amen.

If all you do this week is pause your scrolling long enough to ask, “Lord, what are you saying to me?” and then listen for a moment, that’s already a powerful Lenten step—not according to your works, but according to his grace.

Stumbling Along

Recognize

Everyone who comes to know Jesus stumbles because of him. He fails to meet our wrong expectations. He calls us to do impossible things or to become something we think we could never become. This is his way of teaching us how much we need Him. He breaks us to pieces so that he can put us back together in His image. -Michael Card

Renew

The rule is this: Christians are people who remember their own weaknesses and failure. They are under reconstruction. So they offer hope and forgiveness to people who fall and who need Jesus’ healing grace and hope. -Donald M. Joy

Revive

1 Corinthians 1:20-31
2 Corinthians 4:1-12

Commentary

1 Corinthians 1:20-31 – I found this passage oddly confusing, but the last part gelled it together: “…For this world in its present form is passing away.” It’s all temporary. To remember the way we were when Jesus calls us is important because that status (no matter how terrible or difficult it may have been) holds a key to the hope of our future: For all that we have, reflect as if we do not have it. For all that we lack, think not of our deprivation. Whatever status we are in is only temporary in the grander picture of eternity.

2 Corinthians 4:1-12 – A nice passage about how our own resurrection is through our dependency and our tie to Jesus Christ. We are in need of Jesus’ saving grace and hope. We are totally and completely dependent on Him for salvation.

Where Does Prayer Fit In?

We’ve been reflecting on prayer a lot lately in this blog, and I thought it to be an apt point to ponder. Why so much emphasis on prayer? Why do we pray? Doesen’t God know what we need before we even realize it enough to ask for it? The answer lies in the principles of humility. Until we are able to approach God, broken and helpless, we are simply deluding ourselves. Our everyday needs, our worries and our problems should all be given over to the hands of the Lord – everything is provided for by God and it is point to humble ourselves enough to realize that.

When we settle down each evening at the dinner table for our meal, do we dive in and eat hungrily, self assured that our hard labor has earned us our nourishment? And how do you suppose you got your job? What is the nature of your employment and the daily factors affecting it? It is too often that we allow the “ego” to rule our minds and our hearts. “I” worked hard. “I” earned my salary. “I” bought this food… the truth is, YOU didn’t do anything by yourself. It is the Lord that has provided for you; a point of humility… and thankfulness is the reason why prayer is appropriate at mealtime.

A recent blog article I read regarding the power of prayer raised an observation I think is common amongst many of us. The writer talked about how he realized that while trying to help a friend in trouble he ran through his mind all the things he could do to help… and only when he had no alternative left, he offered a prayer as the last resort. If prayer is so important, he argues, why did he save it for last? The answer to that is the mindset. Again, the “ego” comes into play – we may think that we are the “masters” of our destinies or at least the one in control for the many problems we encounter in our life… but that really isn’t the case. God is still behind the scenes running the show.

If I were in a similar situation, I would consider praying first. Ask God with humility for guidance and ask Him: “What would you have me do, Lord? Please help me help others… and when I cannot find the answer, please guide me to what is your will…” It is different when we look to God for guidance in the things that we do. In the action, we surrender ourselves and our needs to the hands of one who knows infinitely more about our destinies and what is best for our well being.

On the other hand, there is a difference between asking for help, then sitting back and doing nothing. With prayer there is also action. But it helps to put our minds in a prayerful state, humble and helpless, surrendering ourselves with the knowledge that it isn’t our individual efforts (as our big ego would like us to believe) that drives our destinies… but the providence and grace of God at work in our lives.