In a recent article, I came across the wonderful expression “goggles of habit.”

I love this, goggles of habit.

Goggles are of course protective eyewear.  Swimmers and subcontractors and scientists wear goggles because they need to see in otherwise risky situations.

But goggles also distort vision.  They protect, but they also obscure.  They limit the normal range of vision to some degree or another.

And "goggles of habit" are the metaphorical goggles that you and I wear simply because, as human beings, we so easily get used to things. We get desensitized to so much through repetition, through familiarity.  In particular, we easily grow numb to things around us that are truly joyous and marvelous. 

We are surrounded by things of beauty, experiences of wonder, but because we are in the habit of seeing such things, beauty is replaced by boredom, and wonder is simply taken for granted.

In a typical day, playing in the background there is the richness of Beethoven and Bob Dylan and Beyonce. I am surrounded by trees and clouds, and shorelines and mountains.  I have a supercomputer in my back pocket that can answer most any question I have.  Science delivers to me a constant stream of new discoveries about the beauty and complexity of the world around me. 

Go to the grocery store. Options there include a hundred kinds of coffee, a couple dozen kinds of bread, salt and sugar and spices from around the world.  I can be a dedicated carnivore, or a hardcore vegan.  And to get to the store I hop in my car or ride my bike or take a bus – incredible machines that squeeze miracles from physics. 

But for the most part, I take all these wonders for granted. The familiar routines of daily life have dulled my vision.   I can no longer see the world as it actually is.  I will see the frustration, and the darkness, and the boredom – but I no longer easily see the joy and beauty and marvel that hides in plain sight.

The goggles of habit  limit my vision. 

But this past week, just a few days ago, we celebrated the Feast of the Transfiguration.  On that day, on Mt Tabor, Peter and James and John  witness a radiance that shocks them.  Christ appears, speaking with Moses and Elijah, and from Christ an everlasting light overwhelms them.  The voice of the Father Himself speaks directly to the Apostles, saying "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him."

For Peter and James and John  the goggles of habit are ripped away.  And rather dramatically.  The trinitarian glory of Christ is no longer in question.  They see Christ as he actually is.

And Peter then says the only thing that makes any sense to say. “Lord it is good that we are here.”

Peter thanks God for grace to see the truth. Grace that will later sustain and comfort them in the dark and confusing days of Christ’s passion.  An experience that will confirm for them the resurrection.  Truth that will later power their apostolic preaching.

And we, brothers and sisters, we as the Church are founded on this same experience.

For Peter and James and John, in those days before the Resurrection, the Transfiguration was an exception.  It was a break from the routine. It temporarily removed the goggles of habit.

But for us, on this side of Christ’s resurrection, the Transfiguration is not the exception, Christ's Transfiguration is the rule.

And when we celebrate the Transfiguration  we do not celebrate a distant event. We celebrate the Transfiguration as a way of life.

Because of the Cross, because of the death and resurrection of Christ, the light that shines forth from Christ on Mt Tabor is the permanent light by which we now see all creation.

 Because of the Resurrection, we also can now see the world as it is meant to be seen.  We can remove the goggles of habit and find Christ everywhere.

And a profound example of this, an example of how the resurrection changes the way we see, is the example of the Apostle Peter.

This morning, in the gospel, with raging chaos all around, Peter dares to walk on water.  He dares to leave his boat and challenge a stormy sea because Peter, for a moment at least, Peter sees the world as it is meant to be seen. He sees Christ at the center. He sees the mercy and fellowship and unbreakable love that comes from Christ as Savior.  Peter sees beyond the surface of the storm. He sees the power of Christ, and he is encouraged by it.  

It is only when Peter looks at his feet, when once again puts on the goggles of habit, that he is overwhelmed by the world and begins to sink.

We are like Peter. Either we choose Transfiguration as a way of life. Either we dare to see the world as a place where hope and light and togetherness with God are eternal possibilities. Either we see stormy water and think “I too can walk there, with Christ as my guide.”

Or, we allow the sin of extinguished wonder to cloud our vision and to dead-weight our feet.  

Brothers and sisters, transfigurations are all around.  Everyday transfigurations surround us and support us.

Worship is transfiguration.  This worship. Our worship.  The Eucharistic Liturgy is the transfiguration of all space and time, where we offer back to God what is His, on behalf of all, and for all.

Prayer is transfiguration. The human being who prays is the human being as she actually is.  To pray is to glorify Christ and to see the world as a reflection of that glory, despite the storms and rough seas around us.

Compassion.  Compassion is the transfiguration of the human will.  Through compassion, we see other human beings, not as objects, but as persons. Compassion replaces the routine of command and control with relationships. Relationships that bring life.

Forgiveness. Forgiveness is the transfiguration of the human ego, the transfiguration of our sense of self.  Because of Christ, because of the radiance of the resurrection, I can now see each human being, myself and others, I can see each human being as an eternal person.  Forgiveness obliterates the goggles of habit and allows me to see others as fellow pilgrims into an eternal kingdom.

Icons are the transfiguration of matter, showcasing the uncreated light of Christ.

And the saints. Each saint is a transfiguration of the to-do list. Holiness is nothing more than living life, while at the same time loving God with all that we have and loving others just as much.

And on and on. In small ways and big ways, Christ walks on the stormy sea around us, sharpens our vision to see beyond the squalls, and invites us to join him.

Brothers and sisters, keep the feast this week and continue to celebrate the Church as Transfiguration.  The Church as prism that scatters the light of Christ into every dark corner and into every hopeless place.  Because of Christ, we can see the world as it actually is.

And despite the stormy seas, even while standing with Christ on the stormy sea, we also can say “Lord it is good that we are here.”