Today’s reading
Philippians 2:25-30
“Still, I think it necessary to send to you Epaphroditus--my brother and coworker and fellow soldier, your messenger and minister to my need; for he has been longing for all of you, and has been distressed because you heard that he was ill. He was indeed so ill that he nearly died. But God had mercy on him, and not only on him but on me also, so that I would not have one sorrow after another. I am more eager to send him, therefore, in order that you may rejoice at seeing him again and that I may be less anxious. Welcome him in the Lord with all joy, and honor such people, because he came close to death for the work of Christ, risking his life to make up for those services that you could not give me.” (Phil. 2:25-30).
Prayer
One word, Dearest Friend, you require but a single word to move me into the joyful mystery of your life. The word today: ‘brother.’ I get on a plane and travel to a place unknown to me, to meet familiar faces I have never met. I travel 800 miles to learn new names only to discover I have known them for years.
I come to a new place and find that I never left home. For you have been there long before me, waiting for my plane. The place and souls I meet are homes of your abiding; hence they are my home. The faces are those of my brothers and sisters, my mothers and fathers.
Walking among them, I hear familiar laughter and I know: You are here. And here I belong. I come all this way to discover ... again ... that I can never leave home, for I dwell in the geography of your grace. There is nowhere I have ever traveled where you left me without brothers and sisters. For in each place, I encounter those who bear the wonder of the Love you are. There is nowhere I cannot meet you and know again the home for which my heart has longed since I was small.
Thank you. May these tears of gratitude offer more perfect praise than my words can for this communal sacrament of the love in which you hold us. The tears are your work; the words but tortured attempts to speak a wonder and joy that far transcends mind and understanding.
You join me, you join us, in the harmonious unity of the love that dances at your divine heart. Today, grant me the good pleasure of holy gratitude for the home I find in you, among your beloved people. Amen.
Reflections on Scripture and the experience of God's presence in our common lives by David L. Miller, an Ignatian retreat director for the Christos Center for spiritual Formation, is the author of "Friendship with Jesus: A Way to Pray the Gospel of Mark" and hundreds of articles and devotions in a variety of publications. Contact him at prdmiller@gmail.com.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:25-28
“Still, I think it necessary to send to you Epaphroditus--my brother and coworker and fellow soldier, your messenger and minister to my need; for he has been longing for all of you, and has been distressed because you heard that he was ill. He was indeed so ill that he nearly died. But God had mercy on him, and not only on him but on me also, so that I would not have one sorrow after another. I am more eager to send him, therefore, in order that you may rejoice at seeing him again and that I may be less anxious” (Phil. 2:25-28).
Prayer
O Hidden Mystery, in the the darkness of our pain you labor to shape us into souls that are truly human, bearing the love that is your image. When the night of our fear and sorrow is impenetrable by human reason or meaning, you see the beauty that is your desire and delight to create in your beloved, in us. Give us the eyes to see or at least the heart to trust when the night is dark.
Your servant, Paul, knew the night of sorrow, loneliness and longing. Friends far off sent a servant, Epaphroditus, to accompany him in imprisonment. Now Paul sends him home to his beloved. Paul knew they hungered for the touch of his hand, the familiarity of his smile, the sound of his laughter, the silent bodily presence of a soul that could have been lost to them in this life.
Paul knew. He knew sorrow and loneliness. He knew what it was to long for missing friends and wonder if ever again he would see those souls to whom he was so joined in your blessed body of love and faith. In his knowing, you shaped the compassion in which he sends Epaphroditus home to arms that have missed him. Paul knew those anxious arms because he knew his anxiety.
Tell me, O Craftsman of Compassion, did you look on this and smile? Did you take delight knowing your divine desire had found fulfillment? You worked in Paul’s dark night to create the light of your eternal day, a light that glows in the lives of your beloved.
Create in me that compassion that glows with the light of your life. And give me the heart to trust that you labor in the darkness to bring your holy purpose to light even in the weakness of my flesh. Amen.
Philippians 2:25-28
“Still, I think it necessary to send to you Epaphroditus--my brother and coworker and fellow soldier, your messenger and minister to my need; for he has been longing for all of you, and has been distressed because you heard that he was ill. He was indeed so ill that he nearly died. But God had mercy on him, and not only on him but on me also, so that I would not have one sorrow after another. I am more eager to send him, therefore, in order that you may rejoice at seeing him again and that I may be less anxious” (Phil. 2:25-28).
Prayer
O Hidden Mystery, in the the darkness of our pain you labor to shape us into souls that are truly human, bearing the love that is your image. When the night of our fear and sorrow is impenetrable by human reason or meaning, you see the beauty that is your desire and delight to create in your beloved, in us. Give us the eyes to see or at least the heart to trust when the night is dark.
Your servant, Paul, knew the night of sorrow, loneliness and longing. Friends far off sent a servant, Epaphroditus, to accompany him in imprisonment. Now Paul sends him home to his beloved. Paul knew they hungered for the touch of his hand, the familiarity of his smile, the sound of his laughter, the silent bodily presence of a soul that could have been lost to them in this life.
Paul knew. He knew sorrow and loneliness. He knew what it was to long for missing friends and wonder if ever again he would see those souls to whom he was so joined in your blessed body of love and faith. In his knowing, you shaped the compassion in which he sends Epaphroditus home to arms that have missed him. Paul knew those anxious arms because he knew his anxiety.
Tell me, O Craftsman of Compassion, did you look on this and smile? Did you take delight knowing your divine desire had found fulfillment? You worked in Paul’s dark night to create the light of your eternal day, a light that glows in the lives of your beloved.
Create in me that compassion that glows with the light of your life. And give me the heart to trust that you labor in the darkness to bring your holy purpose to light even in the weakness of my flesh. Amen.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
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. All of them are seeking their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But Timothy’s worth you know, like a son with a father he has served with me in the work of the gospel. I hope therefore to send him as soon as I see how things go for me. For I trust in the Lord that I will also come soon” (Phil. 2:19-24).
Prayer
He trusted, but did his hope see fruition? Did Paul again hold in his arms those dear to him? Was he able to take their faces in his hands and peer into eyes and souls for whom he had longed? Did he know this joy for which all our souls long?
I have seen such scenes in some of the world’s most tortured places, Dearest Friend, Sudan, Somalia, Rwanda, Ethiopia. It is one of the great gifts you have given me. Souls who imagined their beloved were lost to them in war, by displacement or starvation, catch sight of each other again. Frozen a moment in perplexity and disbelief, suddenly they realize their fondest hopes are fulfilled. Some ran into each others arms. Others stood weeping, holding their faces in their hands, wiping away the tears only to make sure that their joy was not illusion. Some faced each other, hands caressing and tracing the contour of their beloved’s cheek.
Scenes of homecoming, these were, even when most knew they would never again see the homes they were forced to flee. The moment was a sacrament, a sacred bearer of that final reunion when all these souls, faces aglow, still bearing the scars of war and deprivation, enter the eternal mercy in which you will hold all that is ... and me.
But even on sacramental days of reunion there were others, some who had also trusted in you, who turned again and again, sorting through the crowd, not finding the faces of their longing. Lonely hunters, they searched for souls--husbands and wives, daughters and sons--still missing, forever missing, who lay beneath the sod of some killing field.
“I trust in the Lord that in will come soon.” You give us the privilege of loving connection with others in the Love you are. Sometimes this love is joy beyond speaking, and our hopes are fulfilled in reunions and homecomings that bear the mark of your eternal promise. Sometimes this loves breaks our hearts. And fondest desires for the arms of our beloved must await a yet greater day. Grant us, O Eternal Home, a sure and certain hope for that final unity into which you will join all things. Grant that our hearts should know that there are none forever missing to you. Amen
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. All of them are seeking their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But Timothy’s worth you know, like a son with a father he has served with me in the work of the gospel. I hope therefore to send him as soon as I see how things go for me. For I trust in the Lord that I will also come soon” (Phil. 2:19-24).
Prayer
He trusted, but did his hope see fruition? Did Paul again hold in his arms those dear to him? Was he able to take their faces in his hands and peer into eyes and souls for whom he had longed? Did he know this joy for which all our souls long?
I have seen such scenes in some of the world’s most tortured places, Dearest Friend, Sudan, Somalia, Rwanda, Ethiopia. It is one of the great gifts you have given me. Souls who imagined their beloved were lost to them in war, by displacement or starvation, catch sight of each other again. Frozen a moment in perplexity and disbelief, suddenly they realize their fondest hopes are fulfilled. Some ran into each others arms. Others stood weeping, holding their faces in their hands, wiping away the tears only to make sure that their joy was not illusion. Some faced each other, hands caressing and tracing the contour of their beloved’s cheek.
Scenes of homecoming, these were, even when most knew they would never again see the homes they were forced to flee. The moment was a sacrament, a sacred bearer of that final reunion when all these souls, faces aglow, still bearing the scars of war and deprivation, enter the eternal mercy in which you will hold all that is ... and me.
But even on sacramental days of reunion there were others, some who had also trusted in you, who turned again and again, sorting through the crowd, not finding the faces of their longing. Lonely hunters, they searched for souls--husbands and wives, daughters and sons--still missing, forever missing, who lay beneath the sod of some killing field.
“I trust in the Lord that in will come soon.” You give us the privilege of loving connection with others in the Love you are. Sometimes this love is joy beyond speaking, and our hopes are fulfilled in reunions and homecomings that bear the mark of your eternal promise. Sometimes this loves breaks our hearts. And fondest desires for the arms of our beloved must await a yet greater day. Grant us, O Eternal Home, a sure and certain hope for that final unity into which you will join all things. Grant that our hearts should know that there are none forever missing to you. Amen
Monday, October 30, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
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. All of them are seeking their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But Timothy’s worth you know, like a son with a father he has served with me in the work of the gospel. I hope therefore to send him as soon as I see how things go for me. For I trust in the Lord that I will also come soon” (Phil. 2:19-24).
Prayer
Blessed are you, O Inimitable Contriver. You weave the tendrils of the real into a single texture binding us tightly to each other and all that is. Every fiber of the creation connects with every other, making separate life an illusion.
Separated from those we love, we hunger to see, to touch, to hear news of the beloved. But tell me: Does it really help? Does it help Paul to hear of those he cannot touch because of the chains that imprison him? He hungers for words that will bear him up, fill him with hope and joy--with assurance that, just perhaps, all is well in spite of his circumstances.
Why should hearing news of those to whom we have given our heart make such a difference when our circumstances remain unaffected by their fortunes? Yet, it does. Our hearts soar when we know our beloved are blessed, thriving, even when our prospects continue to trouble. We are lifted and relieved of the limitations of current struggles.
We don’t choose this. This is how you fashion our flesh in your own inimitable image. We are made for sharing, not for some illusion of splendid isolation. And you fulfill your image in us, binding us heart-to-heart, flesh to sinew in the body of sharing you are, dear Christ.
You weave us together, never dropping a stitch, linking us with invisible tendrils of connection that the blessing of our beloved blesses us, the flourishing of another cheers us. Lifting us beyond gray prison walls of the isolated self, you enlarge our lives. You release us from the despair of detachment to ride currents of blessing and bear the burdens of human deprivation with those to whom you bind us. This is how we discover what it is is to be human, what it is to reveal the image of your divine wonder. Today, cheer me with news and move me to pray through the lives of all those others with whom you connect me in you. Amen.
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. All of them are seeking their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But Timothy’s worth you know, like a son with a father he has served with me in the work of the gospel. I hope therefore to send him as soon as I see how things go for me. For I trust in the Lord that I will also come soon” (Phil. 2:19-24).
Prayer
Blessed are you, O Inimitable Contriver. You weave the tendrils of the real into a single texture binding us tightly to each other and all that is. Every fiber of the creation connects with every other, making separate life an illusion.
Separated from those we love, we hunger to see, to touch, to hear news of the beloved. But tell me: Does it really help? Does it help Paul to hear of those he cannot touch because of the chains that imprison him? He hungers for words that will bear him up, fill him with hope and joy--with assurance that, just perhaps, all is well in spite of his circumstances.
Why should hearing news of those to whom we have given our heart make such a difference when our circumstances remain unaffected by their fortunes? Yet, it does. Our hearts soar when we know our beloved are blessed, thriving, even when our prospects continue to trouble. We are lifted and relieved of the limitations of current struggles.
We don’t choose this. This is how you fashion our flesh in your own inimitable image. We are made for sharing, not for some illusion of splendid isolation. And you fulfill your image in us, binding us heart-to-heart, flesh to sinew in the body of sharing you are, dear Christ.
You weave us together, never dropping a stitch, linking us with invisible tendrils of connection that the blessing of our beloved blesses us, the flourishing of another cheers us. Lifting us beyond gray prison walls of the isolated self, you enlarge our lives. You release us from the despair of detachment to ride currents of blessing and bear the burdens of human deprivation with those to whom you bind us. This is how we discover what it is is to be human, what it is to reveal the image of your divine wonder. Today, cheer me with news and move me to pray through the lives of all those others with whom you connect me in you. Amen.
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