Listening

 

Readings 030126 

Blessed be God.  Praise be to Jesus Christ, forever and ever. Amen.  Come, Holy Spirit — fill us with joy, set our hearts ablaze with Your presence.

Lent slows us down long enough to listen.
And after all these years as a deacon,
I’m still learning how to listen—
to sift through the noise,
to notice the whisper,
to recognize the One voice
that speaks life into my heart.

We all feel that struggle.
We want to hear God.
We want to follow Him.
But the noise of life  pulls us in every direction.

Scripture says it clearly:
“This is my beloved Son… listen to Him.”
And today’s Gospel gives us the moment that shows us how.

“When the disciples looked up, they saw no one else but Jesus alone.”

Let that settle in your heart.
It is deep. It is revealing.
It is meant for us.

For the disciples—
men shaped by Moses and Elijah—
this was breathtaking.
Moses, the Law.
Elijah, the prophets.
The two great pillars
of Israel’s story.

And yet,
when the cloud lifts…
they are gone.
Only Jesus remains.

Not because Moses and Elijah failed—
but because their mission is fulfilled.
Everything they taught,
everything they foretold,
everything they longed for
now stands before them
in the shining face of Christ.

Jesus is not one more voice among many.
He is the voice.
And the Father repeats it
so we do not miss it:
“This is my beloved Son… listen to Him.”

But how many voices
tug at our hearts.
Voices that promise safety.
Voices that promise belonging.
Voices that promise control.

The enemy rarely tempts us with something ugly.
He tempts us
with something almost good—  riches that promise security,
honor that promises acceptance,
pride that promises strength.

None of these are evil.
But twisted just a little,
they pull us away
from the God who made us.

And into that drift,
Christ steps in.
He offers us the opposite
of what the world celebrates:
poverty of spirit,
not riches.
Powerlessness,
not honor.
Humility,
not pride.

These don’t sparkle.
They don’t shine.
But they open our hearts,
clear our vision,
and make room for God.

And once our hearts are open, something deeper begins.
 

Every real call from God
starts with disturbance—
a nudge, a restlessness,
a whisper
that unsettles the life
we’ve carefully arranged.

Lent is full of those whispers.
Because Lent is not about
making ourselves better—
it is about letting God
reveal Himself.

Abram hears it first:
“Go forth.”
Leave what is familiar.
Leave what is safe.
Leave what has shaped you—
so I can reshape you.

That is the pattern of discerning God’s voice.
He steps into our ordinary life
and says,
“I’m calling you deeper.”
And the first thing we feel
is not confidence—
it is disruption.

We think,
“I can’t do this… so God must not be in this.”
But in Scripture,
feeling overwhelmed
is often the first sign
that God is near.

Discernment has never been
about our strength—
it is about trusting
the One who holds us.

On the mountain,
Jesus shines—
not to dazzle the disciples,
but to strengthen them
for the road to the cross.

And the Father gives them  the one command
that carries through
fear, confusion, and suffering: 

“Listen to Him.”

That is the purpose of Lent.
Not listening to fear.
Not listening to comfort.
But listening to the One voice
that calls us beloved.

So this Lent,
God asks us gently,
lovingly:
Where is He inviting you
to “go forth”?
What part of your life
is He trying to transform—
not to punish you,
but to set you free?

Then comes
the deepest question of all:  Will you trust Jesus Christ enough to take the next step?

Because every call—
Abram’s, Timothy’s, Peter’s, and yours—
leads to the same place:
a life changed by grace,
a heart shaped by listening,
a soul that sees
“Jesus alone.”

And when we see Jesus alone,
we finally understand
who He truly is—
the One who calls us,
the One who walks with us,
the One who touches our fear
and says, “Do not be afraid.”

Listen to Him.
Be good, be holy,
and preach the Gospel
by the way you live your life and love one another.

Praise be to Jesus Christ,
forever and ever. 

Amen.

Prayer

Lord,
when the cloud lifts, let me see—
not comfort, not fear, but Your face alone.
Strip away the voices that lead me astray,
and teach me to walk the path You have shown.
Disturb what’s settled, unsettle my soul,
till surrender becomes my only goal.
Speak through the silence, whisper Your name—
and I will follow, in faith, not the same.
Amen.