Second Sunday of Lent
(A-cycle)  February 17, 2008

The Apostles needed a Transfiguration just like we need an occasional break from the cold and dark of winter. We know how our spirits soar when the sun comes out and the temperature rises. They needed some uplift badly because a bewildering series of events had left them stunned and crushed. Jesus had asked them, "Who do you think I am?" Peter had given the right answer, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." They were overjoyed when Jesus said he was right. To them the Messiah was a Son of David who would sit on the throne of his great ancestor, and as a mighty king and warrior would drive the Romans out and restore freedom to Israel. Then came the bad news. Jesus told them what kind of a Messiah he would be: not what they had in mind, but a suffering servant of the Lord. "The leaders of the nation," he said, "will make me suffer terribly. I will be killed, but three days later I will rise to life." They didn't even hear the last part. Suffer? Be killed? "No," Peter screamed. "We won't let you!" And Jesus said, "Get behind me Satan, because you think the thoughts of men, not God."

 

So they needed a Transfiguration, and Jesus gave them one. For a few moments, he let his divinity shine through, and they were dazzled by two of the greatest names in the Jewish scriptures: Moses and Elijah. In his gospel, Luke tells us Jesus was talking with them "about his exodus" about his departure from this life.

 

In our society we don't talk much about death. Even though it's the only sure thing that will happen to us, we avoid the subject. That's why the success of a book called "Tuesdays with Morrie" is rather astonishing. It's way up there on the best-seller list, even though it's all about death. The Morrie of the title is Morrie Schwartz, a former professor at Brandeis University. The author of the book, Mitch Albom, had been a student in Morrie's sociology class and loved him. "Have you ever really had a teacher?," he says, "One who saw you as a raw b ut precious thing, a jewel that, with wisdom, could be polished to a proud shine? If you are lucky to find your way to such teachers, you will always find your way back. Sometimes it is only in your head. Sometimes it is always alongside their beds."

 

In l994, some l5 years after his graduation, Mitch Albom, now a Detroit sportswriter, found his way to Morrie's bedside. While channel surfing, he saw his old mentor on Ted Koppel's Nightline. Someone had told Ted Koppel about this beloved professor dying of Lou Gehrig's disease to whom legions of friends and former students were making pilgrimages. Mitch Albom joined the procession. He was shocked by what he saw. Morrie had been so full of vitality, a pixie-like man who loved to dance. Now he was wasting away, incapable of even the most basic acts of taking care of himself. But his s pirit was unconquerable, and Mitch made a bargain to visit him every Tuesday and interview him about his exodus, his. departure from this life.

 

A deathbed is a place where you discover what's important and what's not. "There's a big confusion in this country over what we need versus what we want," Morrie said. "You need food, you want a chocolate sundae. You have to be honest with yourself. You don't need the latest sports car, you don't need the biggest house. The truth is you don't get satisfaction from these things. You know what really gives you satisfaction? Offering others what you have to give." "You sound like a Boy Scout," Mitch said. "I don't mean your money, Mitch. I mean your time. Your concern. Your storytelling. It's not so hard. There's a senior center that opened near here> If you're a young man or woman and you have a sk ill, you are asked to come there and teach it. Say you know computers. You are very welcome there and they are very grateful. This is how you start to get respect, by offering something that you have. There are lonely people in hospitals and shelters who only want some companionship. You play cards with a lonely older man and you find new respect for yourself because you are needed. This is how to make your life meaningful: Devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to the community around you, devote yourself to something that gives you purpose. Mitch looked around the room and realized that except for medical equipment Morrie hadn't bought anything for himself for a long time "The day he found out he was terminally ill, he lost interest in his purchasing power." "Why do you think it's so important for me to hear other people's problems? Don't I have enough pain and suffering of my own? Of course, I do. But giving to other people is what makes me feel alive."

 

Luckily for us, Morrie had a great need to communicate. There hadn't been a lot of communication in his home when he was a child. His mother died when he was nine. He had to read the telegram from the hospital to his immigrant father who was illiterate in English. His father forbade him to talk about his mother after that. And he needed to talk about her so badly. Every night his father would leave his family and read his paper under a streetlight, when Morrie wanted so badly to talk with him. He lost his life one night when he was held up under the streetlight and had a heart attack. Ted Koppel came for one final program and some last words: "Be compassionate and take responsibility for each other." But Mitch got some even later ones. "Forgive yourself. Forgive others. Don't wait. Not everyone gets the time I'm getting. Not everyone is as lucky."

 

In losing our lives, we find them. I have come not to be served but to serve. Be compassionate as your heavenly father is compassionate. Forgive as you have been forgiven. These are words of Jesus, words to live and die by, words he might have been exchanging with Moses and Elijah, words not so different from Morrie's.