"Beloved sons” abound in this Sunday’s readings, and God is moving in big ways around them. In the end Abraham did not have to sacrifice his beloved son—though he was willing to—but either way it’s a harrowing story.

The readings this week start with the author of Genesis saying that God put Abraham to the test. There will be many people in the pews this weekend who feel as though they are being put to the test—with chronic and serious health problems, with family turmoil, with job troubles, with loneliness, etc.

Children have it easy when it comes to obeying authority. They know the drill: Adults are in charge, do what they tell you. When adults collide, what Mom and Dad say trumps the older sibling, the neighbor, the teacher, and the stranger.

Those of us who live at sea level often have trouble breathing when we are up in the thinner mountain air. Many people have trouble sleeping. Others notice that their appetites are affected.

The Enron and WorldCom scandals spurred a new round of calls for tough legislation against corporate greed and promises from CEOs to clean up their acts and police themselves. But mass firings and major restructurings seem to be the only fixes they ever propose.

Have you seen the T-shirt that says, “God’s not finished with me yet?” Maybe that’s the souvenir Jesus should have bought the disciples after they went up the mountain with him and saw him revealed in all his glory. The apostles thought they’d attained a state of perfection.

Aware that everything belongs to the Lord, we present these our prayers as a living sacrifice to our loving God.

God put Abraham to the test. Journeys to mountaintops figure in both the first and gospel readings this Second Sunday of Lent. Indeed, the readings this week are the most interconnected of the Lenten Sunday lections.

The great reason for this Transfiguration was to remove the scandal of the cross from the hearts of his disciples, and to prevent the humiliation of his voluntary suffering from disturbing the faith of those who had witnessed the surpassing glory that lay concealed. —Saint Leo the Great (d. 461)