Yesterday morning, I stepped outside and felt something rare—especially for August in Louisiana. A cool breeze. Just a hint of mercy in the air. It was like God cracked open the humidity and whispered, “I see you.”
As I walked, I noticed a Rottweiler loose in the neighborhood. Not growling or charging—just alert, watching another dog behind a fence. Her spike-studded collar made her look tough, sure, but she didn’t seem dangerous. I passed by. She ignored me.
Then—bam! Just a few steps later—she was all over me. Rubbed against my leg, whined for attention, drooled on my hand. She didn’t want to attack. She wanted connection. She was desperate to be seen.
And I thought... when I meet Jesus, I want to be like that. Maybe less slobber. But that same kind of abandon. That same longing. That same joy.
Today, we celebrate the Feast of the Transfiguration. One of those moments where heaven peels back the veil and we see glory. Not created glory—revealed glory. Daniel saw it—thrones, fire, angels, and one like a Son of Man riding the clouds. Cosmic. Majestic. Eternal.
Then Peter, James, and John saw it too—Jesus, praying on the mountain, shining like the sun. His face changed. His clothes turned dazzling white. And there beside Him—Moses and Elijah—speaking of His exodus. Not escape. Exodus. His journey through suffering into glory.
But the disciples? They were groggy. Half-asleep. They almost missed it. And when they did wake up, Peter tried to hold onto it: “Let’s build tents!” But Transfiguration doesn’t invite us to build something. It invites us to follow.
And friends, Ignatian spirituality calls us to find God in all things. Even in slobbery dogs and drowsy disciples. That Rottweiler didn’t care about appearances. She just saw someone who might love her and she ran.
That’s how I want to run to Jesus. Not polished. Not perfect. Just hungry. Just awake. Just ready to be dazzled.
Because Jesus is always radiant. Always revealing glory. The question isn’t whether He’s shining. The question is: are we awake enough to see?
Sure, it’s tempting to stay on the mountain. But that voice from the cloud—“This is my chosen Son; listen to Him”—reminds us that glory isn't a place we settle. It's a grace we carry back into the world.
So today, I pray:
Lord Jesus Christ,
True light of the world—
Transfigure my heart. Wake me up.
Make me unashamed in my longing,
Unreserved in my joy,
Unfiltered in my desire to be near you.
Let me see your glory—
Not just on mountaintops,
But in the cool breeze,
The quiet walks,
The unexpected, slobbery interruptions.
And let me carry your light into the world.
Amen.
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