The Branches

May your mercy, Lord, be upon us; as we put our hope in you. (Psalm 33:22)

August 4, 2026

Hello Everyone — 

This week, we have a number of wonderful liturgical celebrations to mark the passage of our days. Among the saints, there is John Marie Vianney (today), Pope Sixtus II, Cajetan, and Dominic, as well as the anniversary of the dedication of one of the major Roman basilicas, St. Mary Major. Each with their own biography and/or history.

However, on Thursday, we will celebrate the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord. And it is here that I wish to spend a short time in reflection. The gospel for the day comes from Matthew 17:1-9. In fact, it is the same scripture passage that was used this year for the Second Sunday of Lent (March 1, 2026).

From your own reflection and prayer, you may have come to realize that especially at the high points in Matthew’s Gospel, we experience a clear tension between two ways of understanding the spiritual life: what a living relationship with God is all about and what we can expect from such a relationship.

The first is peace — a deep sense of well-being or inner calm. In touch with God, I am well-grounded, in good order, and in harmony with life. With God, I am at home. The second, strangely enough, sounds like just the opposite. In touch with God, I am motivated, challenged, and uncomforted or dis-comforted. With God, I am on a journey.

Despite this seeming contradiction, it is necessary to see our lives in both ways. We can expect to experience God as both present and absent — as available and unavailable — as with us and ahead of us — as known and unknown — as intimate and distant — sometimes all at the same time.

If God is truly personal, isn’t such a dynamic to be expected? Doesn’t a good marriage, a strong family, or a long-lasting friendship bring with it both comfort and challenge, a sense of security and a sense of being stretched? Even within oneself, doesn’t even a mature person feel both at home in one’s own skin and restless?

Faith is a way of living this creative tension — this experience of humanity — this mystery. In the transfiguration story, this tension or dynamic is at play.

Peter says to Jesus: “Lord, it is good that we are here.” But Jesus does not respond. As the story unfolds, He reaches out and touches them, saying, “Rise, and do not be afraid.”

Only after Jesus had gone up onto the mountain did he cure the crippled, the deformed, the blind, and the lame. It was from the mountain to which Jesus had called them that he sent the disciples forth to make disciples of others. Situating the transfiguration on a high mountain marks its importance and makes it among the most significant moments of Jesus’ life and ministry.

On this particular mountaintop, Jesus is in very good company. He is talking with Moses and Elijah, consulting with experts as it were. They know what faith and struggle are all about. They know what it feels like to be at home in their own skin and restless at the same time. They both know first-hand the dynamic of intimacy and distance, God’s availability and unavailability.

Of course, the disciples accompanying Jesus were overcome with fear. Mountaintop experiences are awesome and bewildering. The same is true of life. The call to be with the likes of Moses, Elijah, and Jesus is neither lightly extended nor lightly accepted.`

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Do not tell the vision to anyone until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

The stakes are high. It is the consequence of transfiguring moments and encounters in any life. Following Jesus guarantees a life-altering trip.

As I do for you, please pray for me,

Most Reverend Jeffrey S. Grob
Archbishop of Milwaukee