Until the Day Dawns

A Reflection on the Second Reading for Sunday, August 6th, 2023:
Feast of the Transfiguration

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2 Peter
1.16-19

We did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty. For he received honour and glory from God the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory, saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved. With him I am well pleased.”

We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain. So we have the prophetic message more fully confirmed. You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.

Pause. Pray. Reflect.​

“...until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.”

I keep thinking: it’s a series of dawns that He turns my face toward. I’m looking the other way, or I’ve got my head down looking at the dirt, and I’m missing the point. I’m missing how beautiful He is, so here, and so holy. I’m missing seeing Him in action, so simply transforming someone’s life. When He cups my chin, and I let Him direct my gaze, what I finally see looks like the dawn. It warms and softens something in me, so full of growing light and grace. But each of these dawns, seemingly glorious to me, are only reflections of the actual Dawn yet to come. 

There are many windows in my house, but none of them face east. I can see the muted, changing colours at the edge of dawn, but I can’t see the cresting light from where I sit. These lines of light outside my window rise, perpendicular to the sea — reflection of dawn on the metal masts of sloops. I can see a wall of glass to the east come alive with light — every single window on one face of the apartment building across the way is a square of gold. I can see dawn reflected, not actual, and it’s enough to change what I think of this day. 

“…until the day dawns and the morning star rises…”

​All I know and love, and all I miss and ignore, exists in the confines of that “until”: until He comes again; until heaven and earth are remade in the Light of His glory. All of time is lived in the pre-dawn. 

In our second reading, Peter witnesses that he was given a moment to see a glimpse of that Dawn, not just a reflection. On the high mountain of Transfiguration he, himself, heard the Father. None may have seen the Father, except the Son, but Peter heard Him — heard Love Himself claiming His Son as His own, as His Beloved, as His pleasure. Peter saw the majesty, the glory, of Dawn Himself. No wonder he wanted to build something to contain Him. Even this fleeting apprehension of the coming Light changes what Peter thinks of his life.
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Jesus, until I can see You, I will look toward You. I don’t want to miss a thing. I will see the muted colours of what You touch. I will see Your reflected light in dark places, until the day dawns, until the Morning Star rises.




Noreen Smith

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