Homilies on the Transfiguration often begin with the acknowledgement that the section we read at Mass begins in midsentence. The missing part, “About eight days after he said this”, may sound inconsequential but the “this” is especially important. Indeed, the events of the last few weeks have made this “this” truly relevant.

The particulars of Jesus’s temptations in the desert 2000 years ago may not seem especially relevant to our time, but let us look at three contemporary situations.

First at the beginning of the pandemic, Father Grivowich suggested that we would know how we did morally during it by how well essential workers did financially. Although we praised low-wage high-risk workers who held our economy together when we needed them, he questioned if there would be permanent positive effects for them. He told us that if there was, we would have learned the value of every person and the nature of community; if not, then this would have been another nail in the coffin of human solidarity. It is too certain to tell and I presume that the results will be mixed, but I look at myself and my reactions are mixed as well. Although I am told that the rise in prices for Uber and Lyft rides has gone down some, has gone substantially to the drivers, when I’m honest with myself, I want them low. Again higher fees are mostly a minor annoyance for me, but can be a major help for the drivers and their families – a noble result – but I still want them lower.

The Devil taunted Jesus to turn stones into bread. Jesus was hungry and his desire for food understandable, yet Jesus was preparing himself for his ministry and was fasting for the common good. He responded, “One does not live by bread alone”. Comfort is a good thing, but not the only thing, and not at the expense of others. Many people have done very well financially during Covid, and what does this say about our values if we have not shared this bounty with people who have risked and suffered more than we did with much less recompense.

Today’s Gospel is the perfect selection to prepare for Lent. We are reminded so clearly that good deeds must flow from a good heart. Luke’s genteel, gentile audience would have endorsed this heartily but would have been bewildered by how Luke thought a good heart would be formed and how it would be tested and shocked as to how it would be expanded. 

All the examples of ethical living in today’s passage may be found in classical authors. Other New Testament writers such as Matthew or Paul may show familiarity with the moral theories of their day, but Luke is quoting them, and he knows that his highly educated audience knows that he is. They would have enthusiastically agreed that for ethical excellence a person must seek out a good teacher who is wiser and more experienced than he or she may be. They understood that teaching was a dynamic activity. At first a novice would blindly follow the master but in time he or she would be “fully trained” and be like his or her master making mature decisions. Until then he was if not ethically blind, at least visionally impaired.  

Classical authors found the efforts of the poorly formed to act like a master humorous and worthy of derision. These were usually young men who acted as if they had wisdom that they did not, caused general chaos and, in plays, were usually physically injured for their impertinence.  

Most importantly the noble pagans would have agreed that moral education sought what we now call conversion: an interior change. A good tree does not bear rotten fruit, nor does a rotten tree bear good fruit would have been understood by all  

How then is one formed into a good person? 

This is where Luke must show his genteel readers that they may be doing the same things, but they will be doing it for different reasons and for more people. 

A classical adage states “I hate and cast aside the vulgar crowd” (odi profanum vulgus et arceo, Horace). Contact with the ignoble would make a noble person base. The more contact with those whose hearts are not virtuous would challenge the virtue of another. This makes perfect sense. Classical people, indeed, most people up to the 18^th century, understood that we were formed by communities. A community which held out great virtues could lift a person up. Should one fall into a bad – literally vicious – community he or she would be dragged down. A good community would need to police itself so that those who lost their virtue would be removed without pity or delay. The noble romans would have included the poor, certainly the urban poor, and the uneducated among the base. We may find this morally unacceptable but at least they were honest about it. Our modern meritocracy often does the same but not as honestly or self-consciously. 

The power of groups is so great that this is a positive natural reaction. But Luke knows that there is more. There is the power of a loving God. Last week Luke told us to love our enemies. To make matters worse he said that the most high God is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. His comments about the poor, which we have come to call a preferential option, would also be scandalous for them. The prosperous gentiles are told to be merciful to the very people the best pagan authors told them to cast aside. . This is possible and indeed desirable because the creator of the universe is more powerful than anything in the universe. The power of sin is great and without the risen Lord as Paul shows us so beautifully in our second reading this week it will triumph: indeed, with original sin, it did. The church speaks of sin of the world. Without Jesus, it will overpower us. By ourselves we are not good enough. Luke knows that this is not a mere doctrine on paper but a living and challenging reality. We are expected to love those around us – the good, the bad and ugly – every day. Let us remember here the tendency to find ways of including the financially poor and the poorly credentialed in this. This is how we connect most intimately to each other and finally to God. Immediately after today’s passage Luke writes: “Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ but not do what I command? (Lk 6:46).