Or, if I may be so bold, in a less formal way:

I turned, only to see a man in the middle of seven lampstands – like the ones that were once in the temple in Jerusalem.  He was a man, but not like any man I had seen before…and yet somehow familiar at the same time.  He was dressed like a priest with a long garment down to His feet…I know because His brightness was such that I needed to turn my eyes downward to avoid His light.  His feet were actually the first things before my eyes for that very reason.

As my eyes were drawn upwards, I noticed the sash of golden material across His chest – and it spoke to me of His purity and majesty and His great value (which seemed an odd thing to think of a man).  His head, covered by His hair, shown white – white as wool, and snow, and, well, white.  The white was so bright that in a way it made His whole garment look white – though I cannot say for sure its color.

And then my eyes met His – and if it were possible, the brightness and whiteness just a moment before seemed dull as compared to the brilliance of His eyes.  Like a flame of fire, they purged and purified at the same moment that they cleansed and healed! 

Immediately, out of reflex I lowered my eyes to His feet again, but truly seeing them for the first time, I now noticed the burning, sparkling – almost like stars falling through the bronze of His feet. His feet that I somehow knew had carried Him through trials…such trials!  Even into the very depths of Hades (making mine seem a cool breeze in comparison).  His feet that had trod those trials victoriously – bringing all of His enemies to a crushing defeat.

His voice, though I know He had spoken before – like the sound of a trumpet, loud and strong, was now to me like the roiling of waters in a stream – gurgling almost laughing – exhilarating.  I believe I was trying to look at His mouth to see if He was really speaking, when out of the corner of my eye I saw in His hand – His right hand – seven stars of brilliance. I wondered at them and then, noticing again the lampstands around Him, I wondered at them as well.

My eyes, which had only briefly been distracted, returned to look at His mouth – hoping to discern if the sounds I heard were words He was speaking.  What I “saw”, coming from His mouth both scared me and comforted me.  For what came from his mouth was the Word of God like a sword of battle – a double-mouthed sword, sharp and swift.  Behind His spoken words, which more took shape than sound, I looked at His face, which emanated light and warmth like the noon day sun – but on a winter day so that it warmed, not scorched.

And then it struck me.  All the memories of His face: from our first meeting on the edge of the sea to our journeys across Judea, to that time on the mount (His face then very much like His face now), to when He broke bread and washed our feet – and then His tortured face, His marred and broken face.  But then He lived, and we saw His face again and we were comforted by it – but only for a short time.  He looked on us, commissioned us, and then said farewell – as His face disappeared into the clouds.

His face – His majestic, loving, awesome, kind, yet terrible face.  These memories flashed through my mind quicker than a blink and then I knew: this is the face of Jesus!