Years ago I saw a man transfigured. I was attending a 12-step recovery meeting in Cambridge, Massachusetts, that took place at First Baptist Church on Central Square. The meeting was popular with residents from the area’s substance abuse recovery programs and halfway houses. Many participants were court-ordered to attend 12-step meetings; even so they generally appreciated the coffee and fellowship that the meeting provided.
I remember one young man who attended every day for several weeks. He arrived just as the meeting began, kept the visor of his Red Sox hat pulled low, never opened his mouth to share, and left just as the meeting ended. He brushed off anyone who tried to speak to him and kept to himself with such skill that after a while, I barely even noticed he was there.
That winter was unusually cold. The church had opened its doors to local homeless people who gathered on cots and chairs at the other end of the basement we used for our 12-step meeting. The homeless people usually kept to themselves, but one day, one of them shouted out, grabbed his chest, and fell to the floor. He was having a heart attack.
In an instant, the angry young man went over and took control of the situation. We helped him move the stricken man to a safer position, and he requested that someone call 9-1-1. He administered CPR until the ambulance came, and then he went with the homeless man to the hospital. Throughout the crisis, his calm confidence and authoritative words got an instant response from the rest of us, and he saved the man’s life.
I later learned that the young man had been a paramedic before drugs rendered him homeless and unemployed. In fact, it had been his dream job. This became clear in that moment of crisis; he spoke with authority not just because he knew what to do, but because he had regained himself and showed us who he truly was. Later I realized that the man I saw that day – that calm, lifesaving presence – was the man God always sees. The chaos of human existence had hidden that vision from my eyes until a moment came when it was simply impossible to miss.
“This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.” In this Sunday’s Gospel reading, the disciples see Jesus as God always sees him. They had only known the carpenter, or teacher, or reformer, or prophet. Jesus was indeed all these things, but he was also God’s own son, who bore his Father’s radiance and shared the same love for humanity.
The church reflects on this Gospel passage during Lent not just to anticipate the glory of the resurrection but to remind us that every person we encounter bears a transfigured face in God’s eyes. It took the disciples a long time – and a mystical revelation – to see the truth of Jesus. How much harder it is for us to see clearly the complicated people we encounter every day and think we know well. The reconciliation we hope for during Lent only begins when we realize that, in the loving eyes of God, every human face has a glory like Christ’s.
I don’t know what happened to that young man. The next time I saw him, he was back to his old self, ignoring anyone who tried to compliment or thank him. After a while, he stopped attending, likely when his court-ordered treatment ended. Nonetheless, I will always remember him, and treasure the day I was able to catch sight of his transfigured face.