Sunday, February 10, 2013

Sunday Poem: Transfigured into Glory



This is my Son,
God says.
This is my Son,
He is the turning
of your life,
you must believe
you must listen
to my Son.

He is transfigured
in my day.
He has become
sunlight through beveled glass, 
skid marks
from running boys,
little voices laughing
over Legos.

He is transfigured
in my home.
He has become
a first cup of coffee,
the flow of black ink,
the look in my child's
eyes when he finally
gets it.

He, Jesus,
is transfigured,
visible in so many
small hinged moments
when God says,
stop,
listen,
this is my Son.
Pay attention
to Him.

He is transfigured
and the Voice is
heard, and it is my
decision, hinged here,
on His voice.
Do I pivot, do I
turn, do I
accept transfigured Glory
or do I close
my eyes, ignore this
simple seeking moment, and
walk back down
the mountain?

Will I remember this
Moses, Elijah, Jesus joy
or will the cock crow thrice
and break my heart?


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