Transfiguration and Sukkot: When You Change the Way You Look at Things
Welcome, and thank you for visiting the Our Lady of Lourdes blog. I’m so glad you’re here. In this post, I want to share a bit of my story — and how God has used it to transform the way I see people, Scripture, and the world around me.
Growing Up Between Tents and Tenements
I grew up in Brooklyn, New York, in a world that was part Italian, part Irish, and part Jewish. My parents were good Italians, so when I was born we lived with my grandparents in Bensonhurst—a neighborhood so Italian it sometimes felt like there were more Sicilians there than in Sicily. Eventually, when I was about two, we moved to the Flatbush–Midwood section of Brooklyn, an Irish and Jewish area.
I grew up with the Goldsteins and all our Jewish neighbors, and with the Callahans, Quinns, and Shaughnessys—the Irish families on the block. Every fall, around September or October, something strange and wonderful happened: our Jewish neighbors would build tents in their backyards. They built them on balconies, patios, anywhere they could. As a kid, I thought it looked like a party—food, laughter, and family gathered together in those little tents.
At the time, I didn’t understand what they were doing. I just knew it looked like joy.
Discovering Sukkot: The Feast of God’s Presence
Only later did I learn those “tents” were part of the Jewish feast of Sukkot—also called the Feast of Booths, Tents, or Tabernacles. Sukkot is a harvest feast, a time of gratitude and joy. It remembers that God was with Israel as they wandered in the wilderness, dwelling in tents, completely dependent on his care.
Sukkot is about more than camping in the backyard. It celebrates a God who chooses to “pitch his tent” among his people. It is a loud, happy, eight‑day reminder: God is with us. Even the eight days of Hanukkah echo Sukkot’s length in Jewish tradition, underscoring how central this feast of presence and gratitude really is.
For us as Christians, that phrase “God with us” should sound familiar. Matthew’s Gospel calls Jesus Emmanuel—“God with us.” The same God who dwelt with his people in tents now dwells among us in the person of Jesus.
Matthew’s Gospel: Jesus as the New Moses
Matthew is writing to a Jewish audience. He knows they love their Scriptures, their feasts, their stories. He wants them to see that Jesus is not an outsider to that story, but its fulfillment. One of Matthew’s major themes is that Jesus is the new Moses.
Before the Gospel of the Transfiguration, Matthew tells us about a crucial moment: Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter gets it right—“You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Jesus affirms him, but then immediately explains that he must suffer and die, and that anyone who wants to be his disciple must deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow him. That is not an easy message to hear.
Right after this comes the story of the Transfiguration.
Up the Mountain: Echoes of Sinai
Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a mountain after six days. For a Jewish listener, those details ring bells. Moses went up the mountain on the seventh day, and he brought with him Aaron and the two brothers Nadab and Abihu. Moses had Aaron as his right‑hand man, just as Jesus now takes Peter, his right‑hand man, along with two brothers, James and John.
When Moses encountered God on the mountain, his face shone with divine light. It shone so brightly that people were afraid to look at him. Over time, a mistranslation of the Latin word describing his “shining” face led to depictions of Moses with horns in art, like Michelangelo’s famous statue. The “horns” are really meant to signify that his face radiated the glory of God.
In our church, the Transfiguration window shows Jesus radiant in glory. That shining is not decoration; it is theology in glass. Just as Moses’ face shone when he met God, Jesus radiates with divine light because he is the presence of God.
Law, Prophets, and the Beloved Son
On the mountain, Jesus is transfigured before Peter, James, and John. His face shines like the sun. His clothes become dazzling white. Moses and Elijah appear with him: Moses represents the Law, Elijah the Prophets. Together they embody all that Israel has heard from God throughout its history.
Matthew is not simply reporting that the disciples recognized Moses and Elijah by their beards. He is telling his community something theological: in Jesus, the Law and the Prophets converge and find their fulfillment. Jesus comes not to abolish the Law, but to fulfill it. Everything God has been saying through Scripture is now focused in the person of Christ.
Then the glory cloud—what Jewish tradition calls the Shekinah, the visible manifestation of God’s presence—overshadows them. Out of the cloud comes a voice: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. Listen to him.”
“Listen to him.” Listen to what? Listen to what Jesus just told them in the previous chapter: “If you want to be my disciple, deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.” The glory of the mountain does not erase the cross; it confirms the path through it.
Why Peter Wants Tents
Peter, overwhelmed by the moment, blurts out: “Lord, it is good that we are here. Let me build three tents—one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” For years, I heard this and thought Peter just wanted to go camping on a mountaintop or freeze the moment in time.
But remember Sukkot. For a Jewish listener, tents are not random. Tents are about God’s presence, about the feast of Tabernacles, about the dawning of the messianic age. When Peter wants to build tents, it is as if he is saying: “Let’s make this Sukkot. Let’s celebrate that the time we’ve been longing for has arrived. God is here. The Messianic age is beginning.”
Peter is right that it is a holy moment and that God is with them. But the Father’s voice calls them not to stay on the mountain in permanent festival mode, but to listen—to follow Jesus down the mountain and into a path that includes the cross.
Did Jesus Change—or Did They?
The original Greek behind “he was transfigured” suggests something more than Jesus changing costumes. It is not that Jesus becomes someone else; it is that the disciples finally see him as he truly is. The veil drops. The divine glory that has always been there shines through.
We could say it this way: it is not so much that Jesus changed, but that their vision changed. They see with new eyes.
One of my favorite sayings captures this: “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” When Peter, James, and John change the way they look at Jesus, they see the beloved Son, the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets, God‑with‑us standing in front of them.
The challenge of the Transfiguration is not only to see Jesus differently, but to let that new vision change how we see everyone and everything.
How We See the Condemned: Monsters or Children of God?
Several times, our community has travelled to the prison in Stark for scheduled executions. It’s a stark and painful place—literally and spiritually. On one side of the field, there are people who support the execution; on the other, we gather to pray, sing, and bear witness to the Gospel of life.
There is a man, Bill, who frequently comes as a vocal supporter of the executions. He brings loud music, and he protests our presence. Over the years, some of us have gone over to speak with him, to listen and to share.
Once, in conversation, he said, “That guy deserves to die.” I responded, “We’re praying for everyone—for the victims, for the families, for those who died brutally and too soon, and for the one about to be executed. We want to bring a peaceful, loving presence of Christ into this horrible situation where we think it’s okay to kill people.” He insisted, “He’s not a child of God. He’s a monster, a child of Satan, and he deserves to die.”
If you look at a person and see only a “monster,” then killing them can start to seem reasonable. But if you look and see a broken human being, a child of God, someone created in the image and likeness of God with a tragically twisted story—then everything changes.
When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.
This does not deny the horror of crime or the terrible pain of victims and their families. It does not excuse evil. But it refuses to let anyone’s worst day become the total definition of their identity. No one wants to be judged forever on the worst moment of their life. The Transfiguration invites us to look for the image of God even in the darkest places.
How We See “Those People”: Neighbors or Vermin?
Closer to home, our parish runs several ministries for people who are struggling. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we have our pantry, where we give out bags of food to families who can’t make ends meet. On the third Saturday of each month, we host a breakfast with health screenings and other services for our neighbors in need.
Most of you know the joy and the chaos of those mornings: the smells of breakfast, the noise of conversation, the mix of people, the small miracles that happen when someone is treated with dignity and care.
But not everyone sees it that way. One neighbor across the street becomes especially upset on the third Saturday. From her perspective, we are “bringing those people into the neighborhood.” She calls them “vermin” and sees Our Lady of Lourdes as the enemy because we feed and welcome them.
I don’t see her as a monster. I see her as a frightened, angry daughter of God. And I try, as do many of you, to meet her with patience and love. It is not easy to see people who are homeless, hungry, or mentally ill. They can be messy, loud, unwashed. It can feel threatening.
But again: when you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change. If we look and see “dangerous, dirty people,” we will respond with fear, walls, and rejection. If we look and see brothers and sisters, children of God, we will respond with compassion, boundaries rooted in love, and a desire to help.
Transfiguration in Everyday Life
The Feast of the Transfiguration calls us to ask: Do we see as God sees? Or do we settle for surface impressions, stereotypes, and our own fears?
Maybe someone hurt you in the past, and you’ve carried a grudge for years. Maybe you look at whole groups of people—immigrants, the poor, the addicted, people of another race or political party—and think, “They are all dangerous, corrupt, or evil.”
The Gospel and the mountain of Transfiguration ask us to let Jesus change our vision.
- To look at our enemies and see people for whom Christ died.
- To look at the condemned and see broken lives in need of mercy.
- To look at the poor and see Christ hungry and thirsty in our streets.
- To look at ourselves and see not only sin and failure, but beloved sons and daughters called to holiness.
The cloud on the mountain still speaks: “This is my beloved Son… listen to him.” Listening means accepting the hard call to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Jesus into the uncomfortable places—prisons, food lines, tense conversations, strained relationships—where mercy is needed most.
When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change. On this feast, may the Lord transfigure our eyes, our hearts, and our parish, so that anyone who walks among us can say, “God is with us here.”