Have you ever prayed the same prayer so many times that it starts to feel worn out?
Same intention. Same names. Same worry.
You bring it to God again. And again. And again.
And after a while, if you’re honest, the temptation comes:
Maybe I should stop asking. Maybe God isn’t answering. Maybe God isn’t even listening.
I’ll be honest with you — I know the feeling. I have prayed and prayed for members of my family to come back fully to the Church and the faith. I’ve brought their names to prayer more times than I can count.
And if I’m honest, sometimes it’s frustrating.
I want to see movement. I want clarity. I want the mountain-top breakthrough instead of the long valley of waiting.
And I know many of you are carrying similar prayers in your own hearts.
That’s why I love how today’s Responsorial Psalm ends:
“Our soul waits for the Lord,
who is our help and our shield.
May your kindness, O Lord, be upon us
who have put our hope in you.”
“Our soul waits…”
Not panics. Not demands. Waits.
And why can it wait?
Because “He is our help and our shield.” He is our hope.
Not the answer we want. Not the timeline we prefer.
He is the hope.
And if He’s the hope, then sometimes what has to grow isn’t the situation — but our souls.
We have to train our souls to be patient.
And that’s exactly what the Transfiguration is about.
Right before this Gospel, Jesus tells the apostles He’s going to Jerusalem to suffer and die. They don’t want to hear it. They expected visible success, triumph, something impressive.
Instead, He talks about rejection and a cross.
So what does Jesus do? He takes Peter, James, and John up a mountain, Mount Tabor.
And for a moment, He lets them see the end of the story.
His face shines like the sun. His clothes become dazzling white. Moses and Elijah appear. The Father speaks:
“This is my beloved Son… listen to Him.”
It’s a glimpse. Not the whole journey — just a glimpse of the destination.
But notice when this event happens.
Not after the Resurrection. Not after He appears to them on Easter Sunday.
It happens before the Cross.
Jesus shows them the glory so they can endure the suffering.
He lifts their eyes before they walk into darkness.
And that’s important for us, because we’re all travelers.
We don’t always think of it that way. We settle into routines. We build houses. We make plans. But this isn’t our final home.
We’re all on a pilgrimage.
And the Transfiguration pulls back the curtain for a moment and says:
This is where you’re going. This glory — this radiance — this is the end of your journey.
Not just seeing Jesus glorified. But sharing in that glory, being glorified yourself.
We’re called to be glorified with Him.
The Transfiguration shows us what lies ahead.
But like the Apostles, we can’t stay there.
Peter tries to. He wants to build tents, to freeze the moment.
I think we all can understand that.
When prayer feels strong, when God feels close, things are going well — we want to stay there. Many who have been on a retreat before know the feeling.
But the apostles and we have to come down the mountain.
Back to ordinary life. Back to confusion.
Back to the Cross.
Because that’s where we live. In the waiting. In the repetition of prayer. In the dark valley.
That’s why the image of a marathon helps.
Most casual marathon runners aren’t racing others. They’re not trying to win the Boston Marathon. They’re mastering their bodies. Training their endurance. Pushing through fatigue to reach a goal.
They don’t measure themselves by looking sideways at everyone else running. They fix their eyes on the finish line.
And they keep moving.
The Christian life is much more like that than we realize.
We’re not competing with one another. We’re not trying to be more impressive than the person in the pew next to us.
We’re all trying to be faithful. All trying to stay on the course. All training our souls for eternity.
And prayer — even dry prayer — is part of that training.
Waiting — even frustrating waiting — is part of that formation.
I’ve come to see that in my own life.
That prayer for my family members hasn’t been answered the way I want it. Not yet.
But even though He hasn’t answered that prayer yet, God is working in the situation — just not always in the way I expected. He’s doing something deeper.
He isn’t just shaping the situation — He’s shaping me.
Teaching me patience. Teaching me surrender.
Teaching me to trust Him more than any outcome.
Teaching me to slowly detach my heart from needing immediate results.
And when I remember that, I can take heart. Because the work He’s doing in me is just as real as the work I’m waiting to see around me.
He’s training my soul. He’s training your souls too.
That’s what it means when the Psalm says, “Our soul waits for the Lord.”
Disciplined trust. That’s what this pilgrimage is all about.
When the Psalm says, “Our soul waits,” that’s not passive. It’s choosing to keep showing up. To keep praying. To keep walking — even when you don’t see results.
Because you know where this road leads.
The beauty of the Transfiguration is Jesus doesn’t just show Peter, James, and John his glory and then leave them there. When they’re scared — and they are scared — the Gospel says He comes over, touches them, and says:
“Rise, and do not be afraid.” Then they walk down the mountain together.
He doesn’t say, “Figure it out.” He says, “Get up. Let’s go. Together”
That’s what He says to us.
Keep going. Keep praying. Keep trusting.
Keep your eyes on the prize.
But remember, the prize isn’t comfort or an easy life, or getting everything we want.
The prize is communion with Him. The prize is glory. The prize is what they glimpsed on Mt. Tabor.
We persist in prayer because we know where we’re headed. We wait because we trust the destination.
We endure because we have seen — by faith — the finish line.
So if your prayer feels repetitive — don’t stop. If your soul feels tired — treat it gently.
If the road feels long — lift your eyes.
“Our soul waits for the Lord, who is our help and our shield.”
He’s not distant. He’s forming you. He’s walking with you.
And the glory you can’t see yet is more real and more sure than the dryness you feel today.
So stay on the course. Keep moving. Help others move with you. You pray for me and I’ll pray for you.
Because the glory Peter, James, and John glimpsed for a moment in today’s Gospel is the glory you are made for forever.