The Icon of the Transfiguration as a Symbol of Cultural Transformation

In this essay, I explore how beauty and culture led me to Catholic faith over thirty years ago, using an icon of the Transfiguration as a metaphor. I was drawn to the Church not primarily through theological arguments, but indirectly. I was drawn to Christ by the light of Catholic culture—its art, music, and the graceful lives of believers—which served as heralds pointing toward something greater. The icon’s mandorla, with its bands that darken toward Christ at the center, illustrates my journey: initially I could perceive only the outer rings of divine light reflected in the beauty of Creation and Christian culture. Only after taking my “leap into the blinding Light” through entering the Church’s sacramental life could I encounter Christ more directly. Now, as part of His mystical body, I too contribute to the cultural beauty that draws others toward God in some small way, along with all other Catholics—revealing how Christian cultural transformation is both an effect and a cause of faith.

Mosaic of the Transfiguration, St Catherines Monastery, Sinai. 6th century

I am a convert to Catholicism. Becoming Catholic was a decision as important as any I have ever made and one I have never regretted. I became Catholic well over 30 years ago because I believed that if I did so, I would be happier in this life and have the possibility of perfect happiness in the next. Being Catholic has more than fulfilled my hopes and expectations for this life and so increased my conviction that it will deliver in the next!

People often ask me why I made the decision. How could I know what the future would hold for me as a Catholic? How did I come to the conviction that being a Catholic was a route to happiness? For all the good reasons one might present for being Catholic to persuade me of its truth and goodness, and there were many, I could never really know whether the proposition was true until I tried it. And I can’t fully experience the life of faith until I am received into the Church. At some point, I have to decide that I am ready to put aside my doubts, take the plunge, and give it a go.

One might liken that final decision to one that is, at least partially, a leap into the unknown, or into the dark. I prefer to think of it as a leap into the Light, albeit a Light so bright and dazzling that it temporarily blinds and appears dark.

Until I was Catholic and participating in the Church’s sacramental life, the Light —the Light of the World—Jesus Christ—was too bright for me to grasp directly. But once I was part of the Church, my eyes of faith could, by degrees, focus more clearly on and perceive the source of that Light and be transformed by it, supernaturally.

However, before I became Catholic, there were ways I could perceive the Light, but only indirectly and dimly. I interpreted these glimmers as promises of what I might receive. Some powerful signs of the Light were the grace, love, beauty and happiness in the lives of Catholics. Another sign was the beauty of Catholic culture. A third was the beauty of Creation, which spoke to me of the One who had created it, the Creator.

Within Catholic culture, it was the art and the music in particular that drew me in. Each person is unique and will likely respond to different aspects of that culture differently, but the wonderful thing is that Catholic culture is so rich; there is something there for just about everyone.

St John the Evangelist tells us in his gospel (John 1:6-8) of the emergence of St John the Baptist, also known as John the Forerunner, acting as a herald of that Light:

There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that Light so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the Light; he came only as a witness to the light.

In many ways, the beauty of Catholic culture acted for me just as John the Baptist, the Forerunner of the light, did for the Jews of the 1st century AD. Like John the Forerunner, the beauty was not the Light, but it bore witness to it, powerfully and irresistibly. The beauty of Catholic works of art, music and architecture, for example, was a sign of what inspired their creation by the Christian artists, composers and architects of the past.

Those who contributed to that culture were participating in God’s governance, I now realize, by creating beautiful manifestations of the Light. Their beauty, the creation of which I now know was inspired by the Faith and by God, stimulated my desire for the source, Beauty itself. I was aware that beauty was creating in me a yearning for something more early on, but I didn’t immediately realize that it was God I was yearning for. I have heard this yearning described as a ‘wound’ of beauty because it creates in us an awareness that what we have is not enough, for, of its beauty, we are missing out on something even greater, and we yearn for whatever that might be.

Initially, I responded by seeking greater beauty, which began as a deep interest in Western culture. As I was to discover, traditional Western culture is, at root, a Christian culture, and all Christian culture is, at root, Catholic culture. All the beauty that I found was a reflection, a sign, of a whole new worldview —the Faith.

Consider now this painting of the Transfiguration. It is a 16th-century Russian icon.

Icon of the Transfiguration of Jesus, in Yaroslavl, Russia, 1516

In the portrayal of this event, which took place just before His passion, we see Christ on the mountain flanked by the two prophets and with the three disciples stunned by the sight of the transfigured Christ. Their vision was a glimpse given to the disciples of His heavenly glory, which had hitherto been unseen. Jesus revealed to Peter, James, and John who He is—God and man—and what all Christians will become in Him. All of us are invited to embrace that joyful path that He has prepared for us.

This icon is also a good illustration of how a Christian culture is simultaneously the effect and a cause of Christian faith.

The nimbus that surrounds Christ in this picture is called a mandorla. It is called a mandorla because it is often depicted in an elliptical, almond shape, and mandorla is the Italian word for almond. The mandorla surrounding Christ usually shows concentric bands of shading, which get darker toward the center rather than lighter. It is painted in this way to communicate to us, pictorially, that we must pass through stages of what seems like increasing mystery to encounter the person of Jesus Christ. This encounter, which takes place most profoundly in the Mass with the Eucharist at its heart, transforms us supernaturally, so that we can now begin to grasp the glory of Christ both directly and indirectly.

This encounter with Christ present in the Eucharist in the liturgy is made possible by the sacraments of baptism and confirmation, by which we have ‘put on Christ’ as St Paul calls it in Galatians (Gal 3:2,7). God’s actions are not in any way restricted by the sacraments, of course, but as a general rule, until we become Catholic, we are dazzled into blindness. We are blind to the transfigured Christ, so to speak, so that the mandorla prior to our being in the Church is perceived as a jet-black envelope with a heart of darkness. Only when we take that leap into the blinding Light and are received into the Church are we able to participate in the sacramental and supernatural life of the Church. As a result, we can, in a new way, see Christ directly with our eyes of faith. Only then does his person become visible to us as he was suddenly, to the three disciples.

To ‘see Christ’ in this context does not mean, for most people in this life, literally seeing with their eyes a human figure, but rather to be able to know Him deeply, as one does when one loves someone. To love Christ is to accept His love and return that love to Him. We return that love to Him most profoundly in our acts of worship in the Church, and we glorify Him by leading a life of virtue and beauty and loving Him through our interactions with our neighbors. In the next life, we will see God as the angels and saints in heaven see Him now and as the disciples saw him in glory on Mt Tabor.

Icon painted by Theophan the Greek, 15th century

Returning to consideration of the icon, before being fully part of the body of Christ and the Church, although we cannot see Christ we can perceive the outer rings of the mandorla. These represent the Light of Christ reflected in the cosmos, in Christian culture, and art, and in the loving and graceful lives of good Christians. This is what I was seeing in the beauty of the world and culture before I became Catholic. It is the beauty and grace of the effects of the Christian life in a beautiful Christian culture, and in the work of God in Creation, that tell us there is always more to know and love. If we allow this message to touch our hearts, we yearn for the source of all beauty, grace, and love, who is God and who is portrayed at the heart of this image.

Beauty is, in this sense, a perceptible sign of the source of all good things, Almighty God. It calls us to itself and then beyond to Him who inspired it, who is Beauty itself. Creation is beautiful because it bears the thumbprint of the Creator, and the culture or any aspect of it, whether mundane or sacred, high or simple art or even everyday Christian activity, any of this is beautiful - graceful - if God inspires it. The rings of the mandorla represent the Light reflected in the beauty of the world, of Christian culture, and in the lives of Christians.

The Christian life well lived is one in which potentially every action contributes to the increasing brightness of those outer rings of the mandorla, and which in turn draw people, just like me, into the Church. We contribute to the intensification of that brightness by creating beautiful things and living graceful lives as best we can.

As Christians, we are part of the Church, the mystical body of Christ. Each of us, therefore, is mystically a pixel of supernatural light in the person of Christ depicted in the heart of darkness in the mandorla! To the degree that we lead the life of a good Christian, we become part of the source of Light as much as the reflections in the cultural Light. This is the paradox of Christianity. Both the artefacts we create and the lives we lead that enable us to create them, participate deeply in the beauty of the Light. The Christian painter is called to create beautiful art and to lead a virtuous life. But it is also true that every Christian, through just about every human activity, can create beauty if he cares to, which gives glory to God and joy to our fellow man.

The icon of the Transfiguration speaks of the whole mission of the Christian life. It reminds us that if we want to transform the culture, our lives must begin and end with Christ himself. He is both the end and the means by which we attain that end. By keeping our sights firmly on Him, we become icons of Christ and draw people to Him through our lives of grace and virtue, participating in God’s governance. We are part of the mystical body of Christ, and we contribute to the creation of the concentric rings of the mandorla that draw others to Him also.

By Aidan Hart, 21st century, English