Last weekend with Jesus in the harshness of the desert, we heard God’s promise through the prophet Ezekiel: “I will take away your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” We talked about how easy it is for hearts to harden. Disappointment does it. Routine does it. Fear and anger can do it. Even faith, when it becomes mechanical, can slowly turn to stone.
Today’s readings show us what a heart of flesh looks like. In the first reading from Genesis, God says to Abraham, “Go forth from the land of your kinsfolk – to a land I will show you.” No details. No map, no GPS, no guarantees. Just a promise.
Abram is 75 years old. He is established. Settled. Comfortable. A heart of stone could easily say, “I’ve done enough. I’m staying right here.” But Abram goes.
That is a heart of flesh. A heart of flesh can trust. A heart of flesh can move. A heart of flesh can begin again – even late in life.
Notice something important. God does not change Abram’s heart so he can sit more peacefully where he is. God softens his heart so he can be open, so he can go.
Then in the Gospel, we climb the mountain of the Transfiguration. Jesus is radiant. His face shines like the sun. The disciples glimpse his glory. Peter wants to build tents. He wants to hold onto the moment. Freeze it. Stay there. A heart of stone wants to control holy moments. A heart of stone wants security and permanence.
Then the Father’s voice breaks in. “This is my beloved Son…listen to him.” That is the key to a heart of flesh. It listens. It does not cling. It does not grasp. It listens – and then it follows.
And notice what happens next. Jesus leads them back down the mountain. Back into confusion. Back toward Jerusalem. Back toward the cross. Hearts of flesh are not protected from struggle. They are simply alive enough to walk through it with trust.
So, here is the question for us: Where has my heart grown a little hard? Maybe it is in prayer, we simply go through the motions. Maybe it’s toward someone who hurt us. Maybe it is toward the Church, or the world, or even ourselves. Maybe it is toward change.
Abram could have hardened his heart and stayed home. Peter could have refused to come down from the mountain. But they did not. Because once God begins softening a heart, somethings shifts. We become more willing to risk faith. More willing to forgive. More loving. More willing to get involved, to step into the unknown.
Last weekend we heard God promise: “I will remove your heart of stone.” Today we see what that looks like in action. It looks like a 75 year old man packing up everything he knows and walking into uncertainty. It looks like frightened disciples following Jesus down a mountain they would rather stay on. It looks like ordinary people – like us – choosing to listen instead of retreating into fear.
Lent is not just about giving something up. It is about allowing God to do heart surgery. To soften what has calcified. To warm what has grown cold. To move what has been stuck.
“This is my beloved Son…listen to him.”
If we truly listen, he may ask us to go somewhere new. To forgive someone we have written off. To trust again. To begin again. To get involved. And that is always a little frightening.
Stone never moves. Flesh can. And the God who calls us to go forth is the same God who walks with us down the mountain. Hearts of stone stay behind. Hearts of flesh follow – and when we do our lives will be quietly transfigured.