Thursday, March 3, 2011


Harvey S. Mozolak
refiguring Jesus
he is not just a molded baby
put away in the tissue stuffing
of a box in the attic or basement
he is hung in the living room
in the place where we must eat to live
the rooms where we rest and play
on the wall an ugly reminder
dressed up from its nakedness
and wounded dying display
by closed eyes
stole and robe or limp limbs
and everywhere seen
like the beams of the day
and candles in the sun’s evening rest

today the light is bright
as it kneels in fright
in the story at another mountain
between Bethlehem and Jerusalem
where his presence was a seeing
beyond sight
his hidden might
shown at its great height
as best squinted eyes and gripped hearts
can glimpse and be held

if all light were so refiguring
revealing beyond the blood
the wine of heaven
under the folds of flesh
the flash of Sonship divine
with the words
the power of change
could we be seen talking with him
hearing the voice from the brightness
alone in Jesus?

until the refiguring
of the grave’s cloudy shadows
it is difficult not to see
and yet to tell
of mountains beyond carved crèches
and the nail-hung crucifix
on nearby neutral painted walls

(for the Feast of Transfiguration)

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