Eclipses and transfigurations

Image by Steffan Lewis from Pixabay


Two nice things happened to me recently – well, not just two nice things, but things relevant to writing.

I submitted four prayers for a prayer handbook and was delighted to hear from the editors that all four have been accepted for publication. The editors edited all but one of my poem-prayers, and I have to admit that their versions were better than my originals. Which just goes to show that we all need beta readers and editors! I’m gratified, though, that one of my prayers remains virgin and pristine – the editors were satisfied and didn’t think it needed any more work.

Last Saturday I went to a Lenten Quiet Day at St Benedict’s Retreat Centre in West Malling, Kent. Our retreat leader, Gilly Fenner, who writes beautiful poetry, led us in meditation on two Bible passages, one of which was the Transfiguration of Jesus (Matthew 17:1–8, cf Mark 9:2–13, Luke 9:28–36).

We were given plenty of space to be alone with God during the day. I sat in the peaceful grounds of St Benedict’s, soaking up the tranquillity, surrounded by white blossom and primroses, serenaded by robins and blackbirds.

You might remember that last Saturday there was a partial solar eclipse. Although it didn’t go dark, I became aware of a subtle change in light and atmosphere – the birdsong died down, there was a kind of hush, and a huge, cold cloud came over the sky. I was aware of the disc of the sun partially obscured by the cloud, yet still shining in a fuzzy glitter, and aware of the moon’s shadow through the cloud. (Of course I didn’t look at the eclipse directly). It felt very apt to be reflecting on the Transfiguration while a real-time solar eclipse was happening.

So I wrote a poem. It needs work. But here it is, unedited.

Bright cloud, dark sun

The moon’s bite out of the sun.
The cloud on the mountain,
Shekinah,
the glory, the dazzling glimpse
of another world.

White blossoms like a fountain
spring from cold earth.
The silver presence of spring
alights in a blessing,
the birds lighten the air with singing.

Radiance awakes.
The greening, the healing
of the earth.
The window into heaven closes.
Yet still I feel
Your presence.

May you feel his presence today, in your writing.

May you remember that his light is always shining, especially in these darkening times.

Be blessed, this glorious spring.

I work for the United Reformed Church at URC Church House in London. I’m also an Anglican lay minister. I wrote a devotional for the anthology Light for the Writer’s Soul, published by Media Associates International, and my short story ‘Magnificat’ appears in the ACW anthology Merry Christmas Everyone.