My intention is not to gripe about how easy it is today when compared to the past. But, in a few concrete ways, it was a lot tougher in the “not-so-good old days.”

Take, for instance, the rule when I was growing up at home that nothing—no food, candy, absolutely nothing—could be eaten in the living room. That is, unless you were an adult guest of my parents. They could eat in the living room. But, the non-adult kids of my parents’ guests had to eat in the kitchen with the rest of us at “the kids’ table.”

Then there was the god-awful summertime heat and humidity. Air-conditioning? Forget it. Yes, there was a “breeze box” in the living room window. But all the breeze box did, in my estimation, was to blow hot and humid air around all day. Then, at night, all it did was to blow around more hot and humid air. Today, most kids have never heard of a “breeze box.” Neither have they tried to fall asleep in the allegedly cooler night air supposedly wafting through the house, only to wake up in the morning soaking wet. That was pretty tough.

In the midst of all of this, however, there were a few experiences that made all of the rules, heat, and humidity pale by comparison.

One of those experiences occurred during the summer of 1958 when my Mom and Dad traveled to Pensacola, Florida, because my Dad had to re-certify his Navy jet pilot’s credential each summer.  Rather than have my grandmother stay at our house for the two weeks, my parents worked out a deal so that we would stay at my paternal grandparent’s house.

On what was a dreadfully hot and humid July day, my grandfather came home from work carrying a huge watermelon. It was the hugest watermelon I had ever seen. It glistened with water droplets because the watermelon had been refrigerated. Gazing upon that watermelon, dinner really didn’t matter much because the thought of eating a luscious piece of cold watermelon was a far superior proposition to its alternative, eating vegetables.

At some point during dinner, I suspect that my grandmother told my sister and me to eat all of the food on our plates if we were going to eat watermelon for dessert.  Being little kids rather than teenagers, I doubt that either of us even gave a thought to debating the matter.  So, I suspect, we dutifully finished our dinners and, then, proceeded to the living room to watch the news with my grandfather while my grandmother cleared the table and washed the dishes.  (That was another one of those tough things in the old days. The dishwasher was a human being—there was no such thing as a dishwasher machine—and, as my sister and I grew up, we became dishwashers.  She claims that I broke her front tooth one evening as we were doing dishes.  She claims that I hit her in the kisser with a dinner plate.  The simple fact of the matter is that she was standing on the countertop and slipped, falling down and hitting her chin against the countertop.  That’s what broke her tooth.  Honest. I’d never hit my sister in the kisser with a dinner plate.)

So, while my grandmother washed and dried the dishes, each of us kids snuggled up to my grandfather on the couch, my sister on his left side and me on his right side. He then placed his arm around us.

I don’t know if my grandfather felt what I felt; but, for me, there’s nothing quite like having a grandfather put his arm around you.  Everything seems so perfect or, in this instance, just about perfect. Why “just about”? Because after my grandmother cut the watermelon and put a huge wedge on each plate and set it at our places at the kitchen table, my grandfather said, “Stella,” my grandmother's name was Estelle, “we’re going to eat dessert in the living room.”

Not skipping a beat, my grandmother responded, “Walter, no. Absolutely not. There’s going to be no mess in the living room. Before you know it, seeds will be all over the carpet and juice will stain the couch.”

“Stella, don’t worry.  It’ll be all right,” my grandfather said in a stern tone as he winked at us kids.  “The kids are sitting here perfectly still like little angels.  Set the plates on their laps.  Let them eat the watermelon in here.”

“Walter,” my grandmother said in a somewhat unnerving tone, “if they spill anything, Walter, you’re going to be responsible.”  A cold shiver went down my spine and I wondered for a fleeting moment what that could have possibly meant.

Well, I couldn’t believe it.  Here we were eating watermelon in the living room, sitting on the couch. And, I was still alive!  I can still remember the look in my grandfather’s eyes spying on us as we ate the cold watermelon and its juices ran down our cheeks...onto the plate, of course!  I think the moment was as special for him as it was for the two of us kids.

But, there’s something far more important to this little story, something that has to do with what I saw in this experience.

Sitting there snuggling up against my grandfather with his arm around me and holding me close to him—not to mention the fact that he was allowing us to break my mom’s rule about not eating in the living room—I saw more than a grandfather. It was for just a fleeting moment, but I had a glimpse into something far greater than the events of the moment and what being fulfilled feels like.  It was a moment that transcended space and time and yet was so fleeting that, even though I wanted the moment to last forever, it disappeared in an instant, like water running through an open hand.  In that brief instant, I had a glimpse into what God must be like and distinctly remember thinking to myself, “how good it is to be here,” the very words St. Peter said in today’s gospel.  I hoped that the four of us could be here tomorrow and the next day and the next, eating cold watermelon in the living room although it was a hot and humid July evening.

This is precisely the kind of experience that Peter, James, and John had with Jesus on that high mountain.  As they talked with one another, the three disciples saw Jesus in his true light. In that moment, he wasn’t just a friend, the son of a carpenter. In that moment, he wasn’t just a teacher who could debate with the best of teachers.  And, in that moment, he wasn’t just an itinerant preacher who forgave sins.  No, in that fleeting instant of spiritual insight, the disciples saw who Jesus truly was: God’s only begotten son, the one whose life was the fulfillment of the law, the prophets, and all that the Jewish people had longed for.

But, as quickly as the disciples recognized God manifesting Himself in His only begotten son, the moment of spiritual insight dissipated. “How good it is to be here,” Peter uttered, perhaps half-amazed and half-terrified, just as I was, sitting on the couch in my grandparents’ living room and eating watermelon.  But, as soon as the disciples recognized what was happening, the moment was gone.  And, no matter how many tents Peter would build to preserve the experience and to make it a continuous present, seeing Jesus in the light of God’s truth was now a memory.  However, it was a memory that impacted and would ultimately transform Peter, James, and John long after Jesus ascended into heaven.

People oftentimes think about spiritual insight and holiness in terms that are distant from the reality about how God manifests His presence in our lives, at least as this is represented in today’s gospel of Jesus’ Transfiguration.  And, by distancing spiritual insight and holiness of life from daily reality, people miss the opportunities they have to savor many moments for what they are.  The people wonder instead why God is the “Great Absent One.”

God manifests His presence, for example, when young couples see “something special” in one another that begins to orient them away from selfishness to selflessness.  To observers, it’s foolishness.  “I just don’t know what he sees in her” (or vice versa) one or another parent may say.  But, the couple knows what they see.  In that moment, they see one another in their true light and experience the abiding presence of God manifesting Himself in His love for them, their love for Him, and their love for one another.  This is not infatuation but spiritual insight into who each truly is, an insight that forms the bond of trust and intimacy that opens spouses over the years to levels of self-giving they never previously have conceived.  How good it is to be there in a marriage where both spouses see God’s presence in their daily lives.

God also manifests His presence when parents behold their newborn for the first time.  The awe, the love, the palpable bond of love uniting mother, father, and baby is unmistakable.  But, there is also something so real and yet so indescribable in that first moment as parents behold God the Creator manifesting Himself in the life of their newborn.  In the true light of that moment when God makes His presence known, lives are changed forever as parents begin reordering what they want in light of what their children need.  How good it is to be there in a family where parents and kids see God's presence in their daily lives.

God also manifests His presence when people strive after their dreams and against all of the odds, as God did when 16-year-old Sarah Hughes soared from fourth place to win the free skate and Olympic gold medal last Thursday night.  In an interview following her performance, Sarah said that she wasn’t focusing upon winning or losing, only upon having fun. Going “with the flow,” Sarah Hughes allowed her hopes, dreams, and hours of training to coalesce in the performance of her life.  Even so, those of us who saw the 16-year-old figure skater make the extraordinary look so ordinary may have missed Sarah’s grace and virtue revealing something about the Creator.  For those who saw her performance in its true light, how good it was to be there—even as a member of the television audience—and to see a performance that stirs the heart to focus not on winning or losing but striving for new heights by following one’s hopes and dreams.  How good it is to be with such people and to celebrate their success as they recognize God's presence as they chase their hopes and dreams.

Would that each and everyone of us was capable of seeing God manifesting His presence in the true light of the ordinary events of our daily lives.

Unfortunately, as many of us know and perhaps all too well, the opposite is oftentimes the case. Instead of feeling “how good it is to be here”—whether that be at home, at work, or practically anywhere—it’s easier to feel “how unpleasant it is to be here.”  Instead of seeing people and events in their true light—the light in which God reveals His presence—it’s oftentimes easier to see and to judge people according to our own dark categories.

In addition, as we craft these dark categories into attitudes and then into a lifestyle, we slowly begin to see everyone and everybody enshrouded with a pall of darkness of our own creation.  Sadly, people trapped in this self-made snare may view a spouse, a marriage, a child, one’s in-laws and family, or perhaps, neighbors and co-workers in this way.  Furthermore, people trapped in this self-made snare convince themselves that they are living holy lives and are ever so quick to attest that all of these other people aren’t.

But, to the eye that sees these people in their true light, their attitude betrays a lack of holiness. Their fraud is so clear—perhaps to everyone but themselves—because they profess how their lives would be qualitatively improved, if only these people would just somehow disappear from the face of the earth. Consider what Jesus could have chosen to see in St. Peter, the friend who betrayed Jesus not once but three times. Yet, Jesus forgave Peter. Should we not be willing to do the same?

We all know that Lent is a time for personal conversion and, in light of today’s gospel, a time for changing how we think about and how we view people and events.  It’s a nice idea, but it’s a more daunting endeavor to make conversion a way of life.  But, that’s the pathway God calls us to follow, as today’s first reading suggested.  It isn’t an easy pathway, however.  Don’t forget that Abraham was in his late-70s when God called him to leave behind everything defining him as a success and to venture upon the path where all Abraham had was his faith in God.

To the degree that any one of us experiences God as the Great Absent One, Lent is not a time to wonder or to ask God why He is distant, because He is not.  Instead, Lent is a time to wonder and to ask ourselves why we don’t see people and events in their true light.  Then, in all humility, Lent is also the time to ask God to heal our blindness and to strengthen our spiritual insight, so that we will once again be capable of beholding people and events in the blazing light of God’s glory manifesting itself in our lives.