Homilies & Thoughts

Tragedy & Grace

Solomon, bright as morning sun,
a crown heavier than gold,
wisdom poured like water
into vessels of endless thirst.
He spoke of cedars, hyssop,
and the secret songs of birds,
boundless as sand,
greater than kings.

A temple rose at his command,
stone and cedar, prayer and glory,
a dwelling built for God—
but could not hold the builder's heart.

In love multiplied, his wisdom stumbled;
the splendor fractured in shadows cast
by altars raised to lesser gods.
Seven hundred queens,
thousands of whispered promises,
and the quiet slipping of his soul.

Yet greatness lingered,
undiminished but stained,
a king's sorrow woven through gold.
The throne remained,
but the kingdom tore like fabric,
and Israel bore the weight
of a heart turned away.

But in tragedy echoes hope:
though Solomon fell, God's love did not.
For it is not in wisdom,
nor riches nor mighty deeds,
but in mercy given freely,
that a king is redeemed.

Solomon, grandeur mingled with grief,
human and holy intertwined,
God loved you still—
and that is what remains.

A Reflection

The life of Solomon resonates with us because it encapsulates the profound paradox of human existence—greatness shadowed by frailty. His extraordinary wisdom, divinely bestowed and unmatched, exemplified humanity’s highest potential. Solomon spoke eloquently of nature’s wonders, resolved intricate dilemmas, and presided over an era of unparalleled peace and prosperity. Yet, this exceptional wisdom and splendor could not shield him from human vulnerability.

When we reflect on this particular Gospel scene, we tend to focus on Peter’s confession of faith and the Lord’s response to it. But I think there is something interesting at the very beginning—when the Lord asks his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” What is the word on the street?

The disciples offer various answers. But, in a way, I believe this part of the Gospel serves as a warning: do not listen to the crowd. There are many opinions out there, and most of them are wrong. Faith is not something determined by opinion or consensus. It is not shaped by the majority view or the prevailing cultural sentiment. Rather, faith is something revealed directly by God. That is what the Church teaches us. She calls faith an infused virtue—“infused” meaning that it must be given by God. He places it directly into the minds and hearts of the faithful.

The Fathers of the Church see in the Transfiguration a prefiguring of the Resurrection. That is, when Jesus radiates light and his clothes become dazzling, what we behold in that moment is the world recreated after the Resurrection—a world God is going to give us in the life of heaven. And that is important, because what he is doing for three of his disciples—Peter, James, and John—is strengthening them. Knowing the journey to Jerusalem is beginning and that all these terrible events are about to unfold, he gives them a glimpse of glory to give them hope, the strength to keep going—even in the face of what is to come—so they might make it to the Resurrection.