When God tabernacles with men (Sunday II of Lent)

I’m not in a hurry to finish talking about the Mass, and we’re at the summit of it, where time and clocks don’t matter. Because at Mass we kneel among angels, in an eternity of time.

There is a beautiful church that was built for us in Derby city in the nineteenth century called S. Mary’s, and one of its most memorable features is its windows; in one of them, in the Lady chapel, there are angels dressed as Roman clerics: priests and deacons.

When Moses established the tabernacle religion at Mount Sinai, he was following a plan he saw of the heavenly temple, which is staffed by angel-priests. Before Solomon built the Temple in Jerusalem, King David his father established a liturgy, complete with musicians and various orders of deacons, again with a mind to replicating a heavenly model. And shortly after our Lord established the divine liturgy of the Mass, the Apostle S. John saw the visions of the book of Apocalypse (aka. Revelation), the last book of the Bible.

The book of Revelation is a complex picture of the Church at worship in the first century, in the midst of the turmoil of on-and-off persecution. S. John was a bit of a Padre Pio at least with these visions – he saw angels everywhere. He saw what we cannot ourselves – that as the Church lives her life on this earth, and especially when she is at worship, she walks with the angels. The church in Derby tries to make that visible. We know that we all have guardian angels (somebody at some point taught us that) and we get used to the priest saying in the preface to the Eucharistic prayer, ‘…with angels and archangels, thrones, and dominations, etc…,’ but we still usually think that these kindly spirits, shining with the Eternal light, are somewhere up there, and not down here.

So… if we think the Eucharistic prayer too boring – same old words, every Sunday of every week of every month of every year – I suggest that we listen for keywords. Some of these keywords I’ve been calling out for several Sundays now are ‘offering,’ and ‘we offer.’ For it is in offering constantly throughout our lives as Christians that we are a priestly people. So, let’s keep our ears out now for every mention of ‘offering,’ and also for every mention of the angels, as archangels, thrones, dominations, powers of heaven, etc. We shall find that when the angels are not filling the heavenly Temple with the smoke of incense, they are carrying our prayers and offerings (signified by that smoke of incense) up to the altar in that Temple.


Now, what would a crowd of angels be doing in our little parish churches in the countryside? They are here for us, yes, but far more than us, they are here for Him. If we take His presence in our churches for granted, they never do. In our gospel story today, the three cardinal Apostles catch a glimpse of Christ as the angels behold Him.

“It was about a week after all this was said, that He took Peter and John and James with Him, and went up on to the mountain-side to pray. And even as He prayed, the fashion of His face was altered, and His garments became white and dazzling; and two men appeared conversing with Him, Moses and Elias, seen now in glory; and they spoke of the death which He was to achieve at Jerusalem. Meanwhile, Peter and His companions were sunk in sleep; and they awoke to see Him in His glory, and the two men standing with Him. And, just as these were parting from Him, Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is well that we should be here; let us make three arbours in this place, one for Thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias.’ But he spoke at random: and even as he said it, a cloud formed, overshadowing them; they saw those others disappear into the cloud, and were terrified. And a Voice came from the cloud, ‘This is My beloved Son; to Him, then, listen.’ And as the Voice sounded, Jesus was discovered alone. They kept silence, and at the time said nothing of what they had seen to anybody.”

Gospel of S. Luke, 9: 28-36 [link]

As the glory of the Holy One flashes forth on the mountain, the law-giver and judge Moses appears and the prophet and moralist Elijah appear alongside. They were talking about the point where Law and prophecy come together, where justice and righteousness are fulfilled, where heaven touches earth and angels walk among men. They are talking about the Passion of Christ, His death and His resurrection. They are therefore talking about the Mass.

The terrified Apostle S. Peter says an odd thing – he wants to erect three tabernacles (arbours, or tents), one for each heavenly figure. This was about the time of the Jewish feast of Tabernacles, the time of year when Jews remember how their forefathers wandered through the desert with Moses as judge, when they lived in tabernacles (tents) and grew in their knowledge of God and their intimacy with Him, and received His promises. For He journeyed with them, and dwelt in a tabernacle just outside their camp.

And here’s where we can link the story of the Transfiguration to the season of Lent, for as we give up our usual sources of comfort in food and drink and other things we enjoy, we walk away from the flesh-pots of Egypt and through the wilderness, giving up the stability of stone and brick homes (worldly security) for the transitory nature of tents (greater dependence on God), putting ourselves at the mercy of nature, and at the mercy of God. Taking risks for Him. Abandoning to an extent our reliance on ourselves and trusting to a ministry of angels.

This will always be a challenge, for we are accustomed to relying for the most part upon ourselves and the systems of our society and culture. On the security of Egypt, let’s say. But S. Peter seems to have been hoping to keep heaven open a little longer, by keeping the presence of God (as presented by the heavenly figures) tabernacled with the people of Israel, as in the time of Moses perhaps. And so should we wish to preserve the desert experience constantly, with our lives of continued prayer, fasting and almsgiving.

And by walking with the angels. 

Published by Father Kevin

Catholic priest, English Diocese of Nottingham.

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