(This is an edited version of an older essay, but it says what I want to say today.) The 20th century composer Arnold Schoenberg wrote a beautiful piece entitled Verkärte Nacht—“The Transfigured Night.” Originally it was a chamber piece for string sextet, later expanded to be played by a full string orchestra. I know you don’t care, but my recordings of these pieces are by the Juilliard String Quartet and Friends, and by the Chicago Symphony with Daniel Barenboim. Here is the Richard Dehmel poem that inspired Schoenberg (in translation by Steward Spencer): Two people walk through a bare, cold grove;/The moon keeps pace and draws their gaze. The moon passes over the tall oak trees,/No wisp of a cloud to dim heaven’s light Into which the black jagged tips reach up. A woman’s voice speaks: I am carrying a child, but not by you; I walk beside you in a state of sin. I have done myself the most grievous wrong. No longer did I believe in joy And yet had a great desire,/For a meaning to life, for a mother’s joys And duties; and so, with a shudder, I allowed my sex to be held In a stranger’s embrace, And even thought myself blessed. Now life has had its revenge: Now I have met you, yes, you! She walks on stumbling. She gazes aloft,/the moon keeps pace. Her somber gaze is drowned in light. A man’s voice speaks: May the child you’ve conceived/Not burden your soul. See how brightly the universe shines! Its radiance casts its halo around us! You’re drifting beside me upon a cold sea,/Yet there passes a glow of inmost warmth From you to me, and from me to you. That warmth will transfigure the stranger’s child, And you’ll bear me that child, begot by me;/You’ve transfused me with radiance And made me a child myself. He puts his arms around her strong hips Their breath commingles in an airy kiss. Two people walk on through the high, bright night! What has gone on here, in this poem and in the music? It is simple—merciful, forgiving love has transfigured the night—they have moved from a “cold, black grove” to “the high, bright night.” In its own way, it imperfectly echoes the voice of Joseph to Mary…This is the power of love, of mercy, of forgiveness! This is (I believe) what Jesus wanted to reveal to Peter, James, and John on Mount Tabor. He tells them (in Mark’s version, anyway) not to talk about this vision “except when the Son of Man has risen from the dead.” But in John’s Gospel (John 20:19-23), it is precisely this time that Jesus risen and glorified breathes on the disciples and gives them the power & authority, in the Holy Spirit, to forgive others’ sins. The Transfiguration needs to be a moment when we can celebrate our own being transformed: that is, being forgiven. And we are therefore empowered (and in fact commanded) to share that transfiguring gift of forgiveness and mercy. - Fr. David (This is an edited version of an older essay, but it says what I want to say today.) The 20th century composer Arnold Schoenberg wrote a beautiful piece entitled Verkärte Nacht—“The Transfigured Night.” Originally it was a chamber piece for string sextet, later expanded to be played by a full string orchestra. I know you don’t care, but my recordings of these pieces are by the Juilliard String Quartet and Friends, and by the Chicago Symphony with Daniel Barenboim. Here is the Richard Dehmel poem that inspired Schoenberg (in translation by Steward Spencer): Two people walk through a bare, cold grove;/The moon keeps pace and draws their gaze. The moon passes over the tall oak trees,/No wisp of a cloud to dim heaven’s light Into which the black jagged tips reach up. A woman’s voice speaks: I am carrying a child, but not by you; I walk beside you in a state of sin. I have done myself the most grievous wrong. No longer did I believe in joy And yet had a great desire,/For a meaning to life, for a mother’s joys And duties; and so, with a shudder, I allowed my sex to be held In a stranger’s embrace, And even thought myself blessed. Now life has had its revenge: Now I have met you, yes, you! She walks on stumbling. She gazes aloft,/the moon keeps pace. Her somber gaze is drowned in light. A man’s voice speaks: May the child you’ve conceived/Not burden your soul. See how brightly the universe shines! Its radiance casts its halo around us! You’re drifting beside me upon a cold sea,/Yet there passes a glow of inmost warmth From you to me, and from me to you. That warmth will transfigure the stranger’s child, And you’ll bear me that child, begot by me;/You’ve transfused me with radiance And made me a child myself. He puts his arms around her strong hips Their breath commingles in an airy kiss. Two people walk on through the high, bright night! What has gone on here, in this poem and in the music? It is simple—merciful, forgiving love has transfigured the night—they have moved from a “cold, black grove” to “the high, bright night.” In its own way, it imperfectly echoes the voice of Joseph to Mary…This is the power of love, of mercy, of forgiveness! This is (I believe) what Jesus wanted to reveal to Peter, James, and John on Mount Tabor. He tells them (in Mark’s version, anyway) not to talk about this vision “except when the Son of Man has risen from the dead.” But in John’s Gospel (John 20:19-23), it is precisely this time that Jesus risen and glorified breathes on the disciples and gives them the power & authority, in the Holy Spirit, to forgive others’ sins. The Transfiguration needs to be a moment when we can celebrate our own being transformed: that is, being forgiven. And we are therefore empowered (and in fact commanded) to share that transfiguring gift of forgiveness and mercy. - Fr. David (This is an edited version of an older essay, but it says what I want to say today.) The 20th century composer Arnold Schoenberg wrote a beautiful piece entitled Verkärte Nacht—“The Transfigured Night.” Originally it was a chamber piece for string sextet, later expanded to be played by a full string orchestra. I know you don’t care, but my recordings of these pieces are by the Juilliard String Quartet and Friends, and by the Chicago Symphony with Daniel Barenboim. Here is the Richard Dehmel poem that inspired Schoenberg (in translation by Steward Spencer): Two people walk through a bare, cold grove;/The moon keeps pace and draws their gaze. The moon passes over the tall oak trees,/No wisp of a cloud to dim heaven’s light Into which the black jagged tips reach up. A woman’s voice speaks: I am carrying a child, but not by you; I walk beside you in a state of sin. I have done myself the most grievous wrong. No longer did I believe in joy And yet had a great desire,/For a meaning to life, for a mother’s joys And duties; and so, with a shudder, I allowed my sex to be held In a stranger’s embrace, And even thought myself blessed. Now life has had its revenge: Now I have met you, yes, you! She walks on stumbling. She gazes aloft,/the moon keeps pace. Her somber gaze is drowned in light. A man’s voice speaks: May the child you’ve conceived/Not burden your soul. See how brightly the universe shines! Its radiance casts its halo around us! You’re drifting beside me upon a cold sea,/Yet there passes a glow of inmost warmth From you to me, and from me to you. That warmth will transfigure the stranger’s child, And you’ll bear me that child, begot by me;/You’ve transfused me with radiance And made me a child myself. He puts his arms around her strong hips Their breath commingles in an airy kiss. Two people walk on through the high, bright night! What has gone on here, in this poem and in the music? It is simple—merciful, forgiving love has transfigured the night—they have moved from a “cold, black grove” to “the high, bright night.” In its own way, it imperfectly echoes the voice of Joseph to Mary…This is the power of love, of mercy, of forgiveness! This is (I believe) what Jesus wanted to reveal to Peter, James, and John on Mount Tabor. He tells them (in Mark’s version, anyway) not to talk about this vision “except when the Son of Man has risen from the dead.” But in John’s Gospel (John 20:19-23), it is precisely this time that Jesus risen and glorified breathes on the disciples and gives them the power & authority, in the Holy Spirit, to forgive others’ sins. The Transfiguration needs to be a moment when we can celebrate our own being transformed: that is, being forgiven. And we are therefore empowered (and in fact commanded) to share that transfiguring gift of forgiveness and mercy. - Fr. David (This is an edited version of an older essay, but it says what I want to say today.) The 20th century composer Arnold Schoenberg wrote a beautiful piece entitled Verkärte Nacht—“The Transfigured Night.” Originally it was a chamber piece for string sextet, later expanded to be played by a full string orchestra. I know you don’t care, but my recordings of these pieces are by the Juilliard String Quartet and Friends, and by the Chicago Symphony with Daniel Barenboim. Here is the Richard Dehmel poem that inspired Schoenberg (in translation by Steward Spencer): Two people walk through a bare, cold grove;/The moon keeps pace and draws their gaze. The moon passes over the tall oak trees,/No wisp of a cloud to dim heaven’s light Into which the black jagged tips reach up. A woman’s voice speaks: I am carrying a child, but not by you; I walk beside you in a state of sin. I have done myself the most grievous wrong. No longer did I believe in joy And yet had a great desire,/For a meaning to life, for a mother’s joys And duties; and so, with a shudder, I allowed my sex to be held In a stranger’s embrace, And even thought myself blessed. Now life has had its revenge: Now I have met you, yes, you! She walks on stumbling. She gazes aloft,/the moon keeps pace. Her somber gaze is drowned in light. A man’s voice speaks: May the child you’ve conceived/Not burden your soul. See how brightly the universe shines! Its radiance casts its halo around us! You’re drifting beside me upon a cold sea,/Yet there passes a glow of inmost warmth From you to me, and from me to you. That warmth will transfigure the stranger’s child, And you’ll bear me that child, begot by me;/You’ve transfused me with radiance And made me a child myself. He puts his arms around her strong hips Their breath commingles in an airy kiss. Two people walk on through the high, bright night! What has gone on here, in this poem and in the music? It is simple—merciful, forgiving love has transfigured the night—they have moved from a “cold, black grove” to “the high, bright night.” In its own way, it imperfectly echoes the voice of Joseph to Mary…This is the power of love, of mercy, of forgiveness! This is (I believe) what Jesus wanted to reveal to Peter, James, and John on Mount Tabor. He tells them (in Mark’s version, anyway) not to talk about this vision “except when the Son of Man has risen from the dead.” But in John’s Gospel (John 20:19-23), it is precisely this time that Jesus risen and glorified breathes on the disciples and gives them the power & authority, in the Holy Spirit, to forgive others’ sins. The Transfiguration needs to be a moment when we can celebrate our own being transformed: that is, being forgiven. And we are therefore empowered (and in fact commanded) to share that transfiguring gift of forgiveness and mercy. - Fr. David (This is an edited version of an older essay, but it says what I want to say today.) The 20th century composer Arnold Schoenberg wrote a beautiful piece entitled Verkärte Nacht—“The Transfigured Night.” Originally it was a chamber piece for string sextet, later expanded to be played by a full string orchestra. I know you don’t care, but my recordings of these pieces are by the Juilliard String Quartet and Friends, and by the Chicago Symphony with Daniel Barenboim. Here is the Richard Dehmel poem that inspired Schoenberg (in translation by Steward Spencer): Two people walk through a bare, cold grove;/The moon keeps pace and draws their gaze. The moon passes over the tall oak trees,/No wisp of a cloud to dim heaven’s light Into which the black jagged tips reach up. A woman’s voice speaks: I am carrying a child, but not by you; I walk beside you in a state of sin. I have done myself the most grievous wrong. No longer did I believe in joy And yet had a great desire,/For a meaning to life, for a mother’s joys And duties; and so, with a shudder, I allowed my sex to be held In a stranger’s embrace, And even thought myself blessed. Now life has had its revenge: Now I have met you, yes, you! She walks on stumbling. She gazes aloft,/the moon keeps pace. Her somber gaze is drowned in light. A man’s voice speaks: May the child you’ve conceived/Not burden your soul. See how brightly the universe shines! Its radiance casts its halo around us! You’re drifting beside me upon a cold sea,/Yet there passes a glow of inmost warmth From you to me, and from me to you. That warmth will transfigure the stranger’s child, And you’ll bear me that child, begot by me;/You’ve transfused me with radiance And made me a child myself. He puts his arms around her strong hips Their breath commingles in an airy kiss. Two people walk on through the high, bright night! What has gone on here, in this poem and in the music? It is simple—merciful, forgiving love has transfigured the night—they have moved from a “cold, black grove” to “the high, bright night.” In its own way, it imperfectly echoes the voice of Joseph to Mary…This is the power of love, of mercy, of forgiveness! This is (I believe) what Jesus wanted to reveal to Peter, James, and John on Mount Tabor. He tells them (in Mark’s version, anyway) not to talk about this vision “except when the Son of Man has risen from the dead.” But in John’s Gospel (John 20:19-23), it is precisely this time that Jesus risen and glorified breathes on the disciples and gives them the power & authority, in the Holy Spirit, to forgive others’ sins. The Transfiguration needs to be a moment when we can celebrate our own being transformed: that is, being forgiven. And we are therefore empowered (and in fact commanded) to share that transfiguring gift of forgiveness and mercy. - Fr. David