Friday was the Feast of the Transfiguration, one of my favorites. I think because many years ago I went to confession on or very near the feast and when the priest was praying for me just before absolution, he spoke some beautiful words to me that have stayed in my heart. I couldn't quote them exactly if I wanted to. It is enough that I feel their impact often.
In any case, today as I sat at Mass, trying hard to focus while gently shushing my chatty three year old, I looked up and noticed how the shadows were falling above the altar. We have a beautiful dark wood, impressive baldachin over the tabernacle. You can see it in the slideshow here. As I glanced up tonight, the triangles were casting a shadow on the gold wall behind the altar and instantly I thought of Our Lord transfigured on the mountain. Superimposed on this was the shadow of the crucifix. The glory and the suffering. As I took it all in I realized that this was indeed the tent Peter longed to build. There it was, over mystery of the Eucharist hidden in the tabernacle, under the appearance of simple bread. And yet glorious, transfigured by Christ's suffering.