Today’s reading
Philippians 2:19-24
“I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, so that I may be cheered by news of you. I have no one like him who will be genuinely concerned for your welfare” (Phil. 2:19-20).
Prayer
I hear the cry in Paul’s voice. It transports into depths of inescapable longing. You make us so needy, O Inexhaustible Wonder. You make us so vulnerable, so weak. You are Eternal Abundance, dwelling in boundless fullness of the Fullness you are. But you create us to need and to need so much more than bread. You fashion our flesh that we crave the smile and touch, the tear and silent presence of souls as vulnerable as we.
Have I said ‘thank you’ for that recently? I need. And I fly on the wings of my need into the arms of your eternal mercy--and into the presence of souls whose smiles and hugs are holy sacraments of an unspeakable grace, a grace you privilege us to bear and receive. Had you made me less needy, would I know you as well, or the beauty you fashion in the flesh of human souls?
Blessed be the needy; they shall be full of the Fullness you are. Blessed are you, Loving Mystery, for making me need. Blessed are we whom you have joined in a communion of souls who ache for the care and companionship we alone can give each other. Our sharing reveals the eternal generosity of your divine heart, the mystery of your triune nature. In our need, we know you, and know we need nothing more. Amen
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Friday, October 27, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
My care is too small so, too, my joy. I know: they are connected, dearest Lord of Laughter. Where there is great care gladness can grow into holy celebration. Should I come to greater care for the growth in grace, beauty and stature of those whom you have placed in my hands, my tiny heart would burst. You would expand my soul’s capacity to encompass the joy you surely know in the fullness of life your your Spirit inspires in these your beloved. I hunger to enter into the blessed laughter of your life.
But sharing your gladness invites the peril of pain from disappointment, abuse, failure, rejection, even destruction. All this you risked and received in your incarnation, and to this you invite all who would come after you. And you offer it with a smile on your blessed face. For you know: the risk is the gate of wonder and gladness. It is entry into the joy of seeing life abundant not only in one’s own flesh but in the lives of those whose souls and faith you, in holy madness, entrust to me and all called to pastoral ministry.
Your servant, Paul, surely took the risk, Pouring out his life for your beloved ones, he entered a gladness whose source is the impenetrable mystery of your divine life, where losing becomes gaining, giving becomes receiving and dying is the gate to startling and unexpected life.
So teach me, my brother, First-born of Eternal Laughter, blessed face of Perpetual Gladness. Such are my morning names for you, however inadequate. Teach me the joy of giving my soul to the souls of those to whom you have given me. In the growth of your life in them, may I enter your gladness. May they all truly know you, and may this be my truest joy. Amen
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
My care is too small so, too, my joy. I know: they are connected, dearest Lord of Laughter. Where there is great care gladness can grow into holy celebration. Should I come to greater care for the growth in grace, beauty and stature of those whom you have placed in my hands, my tiny heart would burst. You would expand my soul’s capacity to encompass the joy you surely know in the fullness of life your your Spirit inspires in these your beloved. I hunger to enter into the blessed laughter of your life.
But sharing your gladness invites the peril of pain from disappointment, abuse, failure, rejection, even destruction. All this you risked and received in your incarnation, and to this you invite all who would come after you. And you offer it with a smile on your blessed face. For you know: the risk is the gate of wonder and gladness. It is entry into the joy of seeing life abundant not only in one’s own flesh but in the lives of those whose souls and faith you, in holy madness, entrust to me and all called to pastoral ministry.
Your servant, Paul, surely took the risk, Pouring out his life for your beloved ones, he entered a gladness whose source is the impenetrable mystery of your divine life, where losing becomes gaining, giving becomes receiving and dying is the gate to startling and unexpected life.
So teach me, my brother, First-born of Eternal Laughter, blessed face of Perpetual Gladness. Such are my morning names for you, however inadequate. Teach me the joy of giving my soul to the souls of those to whom you have given me. In the growth of your life in them, may I enter your gladness. May they all truly know you, and may this be my truest joy. Amen
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
“You shine like stars.” I hear not Paul’s voice but yours, dearest Friend. You speak tenderly not only to my soul but to the souls of those among whom I live and serve and from whom I daily receive. “You shine like stars. Do you not see it? You are alive with the life I am. For I dwell in the depth of your desire to know me, to love me, to be the love whom I am. You walk about shining with a life not your own, if only you would stop and see and share it, speaking no longer from your fears but from the depth of my love as you have known it, and which you bear.”
I see my brother. I see that our life is not a competition to get what we think we need. The life you give is a communion in the shining of God, a sharing in the glow of divine glory in world. We share in the splashing forth of the resplendence rushing eternally from your face. Your divine splendor, expressed in your healing of the broken, your feeding of the hungry, your mercy on the denied and abused, lights human souls with a love that lifts us above our fears and the walls of self-interest into the self-giving you are.
“You shine like stars,” you say again. “Do not be disturbed my light in another is different or seems brighter than your own. All this shining blesses me. It blesses you. So help them shine.” And I see. It is your desire that we shine with your love that your grace may be the more, your incarnation larger that all might see and savor you. Seeing you blesses me. Your desire is that I may see and share the blessing and joy of dwelling in the presence of love larger than any human flesh can produce.
Today, let me see my life not as a competition by as communion in the glory of your life as you shine in the lives and limbs of all you love. Thank you for the constancy of your love for me. Only in your love can my soul live. Only in you am I me. Amen.
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
“You shine like stars.” I hear not Paul’s voice but yours, dearest Friend. You speak tenderly not only to my soul but to the souls of those among whom I live and serve and from whom I daily receive. “You shine like stars. Do you not see it? You are alive with the life I am. For I dwell in the depth of your desire to know me, to love me, to be the love whom I am. You walk about shining with a life not your own, if only you would stop and see and share it, speaking no longer from your fears but from the depth of my love as you have known it, and which you bear.”
I see my brother. I see that our life is not a competition to get what we think we need. The life you give is a communion in the shining of God, a sharing in the glow of divine glory in world. We share in the splashing forth of the resplendence rushing eternally from your face. Your divine splendor, expressed in your healing of the broken, your feeding of the hungry, your mercy on the denied and abused, lights human souls with a love that lifts us above our fears and the walls of self-interest into the self-giving you are.
“You shine like stars,” you say again. “Do not be disturbed my light in another is different or seems brighter than your own. All this shining blesses me. It blesses you. So help them shine.” And I see. It is your desire that we shine with your love that your grace may be the more, your incarnation larger that all might see and savor you. Seeing you blesses me. Your desire is that I may see and share the blessing and joy of dwelling in the presence of love larger than any human flesh can produce.
Today, let me see my life not as a competition by as communion in the glory of your life as you shine in the lives and limbs of all you love. Thank you for the constancy of your love for me. Only in your love can my soul live. Only in you am I me. Amen.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
My stomach churns at the passion and vulnerability I hear in Paul’s words. The depth of his care marks a surrender to the Spirit’s call. It subjects him to immense pain and disappointment, emotions against which I do my best to protect myself. To love is know pain. To love greatly is to know great pain from the struggle and need of the beloved, pain you can neither stop or control.
Paul risks great pain. Passionately poured out for the faith and souls of those he loves, their failure to live in Christian witness would mean his failure, his loss, his collapse. It is not enough for him to name Christ among them with whatever power and persuasion he possesses, and then walk away. Not nearly. All is vanity unless they live in faith, in gentle peace and unity in the Spirit of the One Love that won’t let him go.
So different from my ways. Failures of grace and love within your holy church make me want to walk away, troubled, depressed, wounded, wanting only to distance myself from the disappointment of again not finding the incarnation of your love my soul most needs. So I seek to tell my little stories, make my witness and press on.
But it is not enough. Do I care enough to struggle, to suffer pain, to subject myself to the risk of running in vain so that my efforts amount to nothing? Is this really your call, to invest so heavily in the souls and faith of those I serve that their murmuring, their failures to live in the peace of your Spirit, their turning from the depth of soul’s commitment you would work in them becomes my pain, my sorrow, my grief?
If so, I haven’t the reserves for this kind of life. I cannot do it, not without you. Be with me my blessed brother. Grant me my measure of the Spirit in which you loved all the way to the cross. Maybe then I will know Paul’s passion and participate in the Love you are. Amen.
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
My stomach churns at the passion and vulnerability I hear in Paul’s words. The depth of his care marks a surrender to the Spirit’s call. It subjects him to immense pain and disappointment, emotions against which I do my best to protect myself. To love is know pain. To love greatly is to know great pain from the struggle and need of the beloved, pain you can neither stop or control.
Paul risks great pain. Passionately poured out for the faith and souls of those he loves, their failure to live in Christian witness would mean his failure, his loss, his collapse. It is not enough for him to name Christ among them with whatever power and persuasion he possesses, and then walk away. Not nearly. All is vanity unless they live in faith, in gentle peace and unity in the Spirit of the One Love that won’t let him go.
So different from my ways. Failures of grace and love within your holy church make me want to walk away, troubled, depressed, wounded, wanting only to distance myself from the disappointment of again not finding the incarnation of your love my soul most needs. So I seek to tell my little stories, make my witness and press on.
But it is not enough. Do I care enough to struggle, to suffer pain, to subject myself to the risk of running in vain so that my efforts amount to nothing? Is this really your call, to invest so heavily in the souls and faith of those I serve that their murmuring, their failures to live in the peace of your Spirit, their turning from the depth of soul’s commitment you would work in them becomes my pain, my sorrow, my grief?
If so, I haven’t the reserves for this kind of life. I cannot do it, not without you. Be with me my blessed brother. Grant me my measure of the Spirit in which you loved all the way to the cross. Maybe then I will know Paul’s passion and participate in the Love you are. Amen.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain” (Phil. 2:14-16).
Prayer
I have seen you, O Gracious Vision. I have seen you shine in human faces alight with a glory beyond human capacity. Names and faces, manifestations of your eternal beauty, ever ancient, ever new, appear in the mind’s eye. They “shine like stars in the world.”
I see Magdalena praying at hospital beds, weathered hands folded, her brittle skin an ancient papyrus on which I can read every indignity she ever suffered, every child she mourned, every neighbor’s sorrow she absorbed as her own. It was never enough. Her folded hands and tender heart bore the weight of human woe until she had so completed your sufferings she could carry no more—and fell asleep in you. And we all rejoiced to have known her, silently giving thanks to have witnessed a glory more than human.
I see Eilert, dying with words of gratitude and blessing on his lips, blessing me and all he loved. I see George forgiving more than I can imagine, the glistening black eyes of his blessed and murdered Christina, shining from the little photo on his lapel. The love alight in those eyes shines, too, in George’s weary hope that violent death will claim no more, a hope he holds as a shield against all likelihood and despair.
There are so many more, O Ancient Beauty, in whose luster I have seen the light of eternity. Far too many to name. Each shines like the sun, some now in the intimacy of your eternal embrace, and all of them in me—exciting my heart and illumining my imagination to the beauty you are pleased to reveal in your saints, and in me.
For such stars in the world I give you thanks. Thanks, too, for eyes to see your beauty. Today, may I live so closely to you that the beauty you are may appear also in the contours of my face, in a way pleasing to your divine mercy. Amen.
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain” (Phil. 2:14-16).
Prayer
I have seen you, O Gracious Vision. I have seen you shine in human faces alight with a glory beyond human capacity. Names and faces, manifestations of your eternal beauty, ever ancient, ever new, appear in the mind’s eye. They “shine like stars in the world.”
I see Magdalena praying at hospital beds, weathered hands folded, her brittle skin an ancient papyrus on which I can read every indignity she ever suffered, every child she mourned, every neighbor’s sorrow she absorbed as her own. It was never enough. Her folded hands and tender heart bore the weight of human woe until she had so completed your sufferings she could carry no more—and fell asleep in you. And we all rejoiced to have known her, silently giving thanks to have witnessed a glory more than human.
I see Eilert, dying with words of gratitude and blessing on his lips, blessing me and all he loved. I see George forgiving more than I can imagine, the glistening black eyes of his blessed and murdered Christina, shining from the little photo on his lapel. The love alight in those eyes shines, too, in George’s weary hope that violent death will claim no more, a hope he holds as a shield against all likelihood and despair.
There are so many more, O Ancient Beauty, in whose luster I have seen the light of eternity. Far too many to name. Each shines like the sun, some now in the intimacy of your eternal embrace, and all of them in me—exciting my heart and illumining my imagination to the beauty you are pleased to reveal in your saints, and in me.
For such stars in the world I give you thanks. Thanks, too, for eyes to see your beauty. Today, may I live so closely to you that the beauty you are may appear also in the contours of my face, in a way pleasing to your divine mercy. Amen.
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