Some Sundays

We slog through the sacred

With all the zest of

Lawn-mowing or grocery shopping.

Some Sundays,

the Lord of the Damascus road

beams blindingly on us,

easing work and worry,

waltzing us on the water,

transfiguring us and the looming mountain.

We take some of that

dazzling light

down the hill, through the desert,

out to the store,
through the lawn, the workplace,

and we are gilded.

How could we have missed

the warm golden glow?

We'll look harder

for the burning bushes

from this point on.