We think we know light’s movements –
the way sun’s rays can play across
the surface of the water, the way
it falls from candle flame, or
softly sifts through leaves to lift
the petals on their stems, opening up
each blossom like a blessing.
We think we know light’s gradients –
the way it can take the shade of rain
or break into the colours of the rainbow;
the way it burns a hole in blue
from the blazing summer sun;
or reddens clouds before it gives
night’s gift of stars and moon.
We think we know light’s stories –
like the glow that shone from Moses’ skin
as he brought the law in stone down
from the mountain; or the brilliance
of the fire of the chariot and riders
that swept to heaven the prophet named Elijah.
But today the light we thought we knew
has taken on new radiance, has made
an unexpected move, is telling a new story;
it dazzles the eyes but more our hearts,
for this is the light embodied: this
is the light of the knowledge of God
that shines in the face of Jesus.
Nor is this the final story
that the light in Christ will tell:
the veil that is lifted so briefly
upon his unseen glory drops again;
the tale to remain untold
until his rising from the dead – when
the light we’ve begun to know
makes its home in the church,
to reveal his glory in us,
and transfigured will be me and you.