Today’s reading
Philippians 3:10-11
“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I might attain the resurrection from the dead” (Phil. 3:10-11).
Prayer
For what shall I thank you, Dearest Friend? More than anything I want to thank you for what I have lost. But I am not sure that I can. Seventeen months ago, I stepped with willing ambivalence from a place that loved and hated me, where I knew success and favor, abuse and distrust, respect and status, accomplishment, adventure and joy. I left because the place no longer fit. Neither places nor souls remain static, and your Spirit within my spirit seemed to call for fresh expression.
But saying ‘thank you’ for the grief of losing something to which you have surrendered your heart is beyond human capacity. At least it’s beyond me. Only the miracle of your grace can move my lips to this most improbable gesture of gratitude. These two small words, ‘thank you,’ choke and die in my throat unless you, Patient Friend, teach my heart the surpassing value and joy of gifts that could never have been received without first losing.
My heart is still learning. But I have begun to know a gratitude that was not in me before, and for this I say, “thank you.” Thank you that ‘good byes’ opened the door into the great paschal mystery of your life, where losing becomes finding and dying is the gateway to graces I could not have known without releasing my grip a way of life I had loved. With patience and insistent love, you have taught my heart to embrace this mystery again, and in deeper ways.
I know this lesson isn’t fully learned. That will come only in eternity. But even now the power of your resurrection appears in the flesh and blood of my living and loving. With joy and great laughter, you have dragged my unwilling heart into your resurrection, freeing me to speak two words, “thank you.” I savor these words and the freedom of heart from which they come. They are a preliminary morsel of a yet greater feast. Amen.
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
Posts
All Comments
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 3:10-11
“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I might attain the resurrection from the dead” (Phil. 3:10-11).
Prayer
I sat with a soul I love, Incarnate Joy, and in his smile and sincere seeking I saw you. But how is that sitting with one of your own I suddenly discover that I am in the presence of holiness. One moment I notice nothing but pleasant conversation, the next I am silently thanking you that I am alive, that I am here, that I am privileged to listen to another soul in whose words I hear you speaking? How does this happen? It is as impenetrable to me as the mystery you are. How ever it happens, thank you. It is your gift of breath to my soul.
I enter another mode of being when I know myself in this inexplicable love that is your presence here among us. It is then I know the power of your resurrection, not in fullness but in its certainty and certainly in in the flesh and blood of the present moment. I know: the tomb that held your crucified body was a failed project.
You are loose in the world and sitting on my couch, bringing tears of gratitude to my eyes. I look this soul in the eyes and see you. And I know he hasn’t any idea that he walks around with the glint of eternal dawn in his eyes. He knows the joy of those blessed to bear your eternity in their mortality. But he hasn’t a clue what is clear to any who enjoy the privilege of listening not to his words but to the heart from which they flow, a living stream of resurrected life. He should be my teacher. Indeed, he is.
You, O Living Light of Eternal Glory, shape us both. You grant to each of us the particular incarnation of your resurrected life that pleases your loving purpose. You sit across from me, shining with a simplicity of heart and desire born of a love which invites any who see it to come home and rest in your presence. And to me, you give eyes to see the power of your resurrected beauty. May I see you again. You take my breath away. Amen.
Philippians 3:10-11
“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I might attain the resurrection from the dead” (Phil. 3:10-11).
Prayer
I sat with a soul I love, Incarnate Joy, and in his smile and sincere seeking I saw you. But how is that sitting with one of your own I suddenly discover that I am in the presence of holiness. One moment I notice nothing but pleasant conversation, the next I am silently thanking you that I am alive, that I am here, that I am privileged to listen to another soul in whose words I hear you speaking? How does this happen? It is as impenetrable to me as the mystery you are. How ever it happens, thank you. It is your gift of breath to my soul.
I enter another mode of being when I know myself in this inexplicable love that is your presence here among us. It is then I know the power of your resurrection, not in fullness but in its certainty and certainly in in the flesh and blood of the present moment. I know: the tomb that held your crucified body was a failed project.
You are loose in the world and sitting on my couch, bringing tears of gratitude to my eyes. I look this soul in the eyes and see you. And I know he hasn’t any idea that he walks around with the glint of eternal dawn in his eyes. He knows the joy of those blessed to bear your eternity in their mortality. But he hasn’t a clue what is clear to any who enjoy the privilege of listening not to his words but to the heart from which they flow, a living stream of resurrected life. He should be my teacher. Indeed, he is.
You, O Living Light of Eternal Glory, shape us both. You grant to each of us the particular incarnation of your resurrected life that pleases your loving purpose. You sit across from me, shining with a simplicity of heart and desire born of a love which invites any who see it to come home and rest in your presence. And to me, you give eyes to see the power of your resurrected beauty. May I see you again. You take my breath away. Amen.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 3:8b-11
“I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I might attain the resurrection from the dead” (Phil. 3:8b-11).
Prayer
I have no righteousness of my own, Faithful One. I have no pretensions. You strip them all away. I know: I sin. I fall. I am driven by anxieties born of unfaith, restless lusts and ancient anger you have not yet loved out of me. When I try to make some name for myself my feet of clay again crumble, and I collapse at your feet, seeking a life and joy I cannot provide myself. And you? You are constant and unfailing, my certain morning companion who greets me in thin gray light. “Welcome,” you say each day. “I am. I am here. I am what you need. I am your righteousness.”
But is that what I need? I suppose so. My sin is already before me, and it is still early. But there is no hiding from you. You know this idea, righteousness, has never been able to grasp this soul or move me into the world of your wonder. I find it impersonal. It seems to hold you at a distance. It leaves me cold.
But you do not leave me cold. You draw me into your embrace. You welcome me into a holy space where what is yours is mine. You fulfill your desire to give me the fullness of life and intimacy with that Loving Mystery you called ‘Father,” during the days of your earthly ministry.
You, risen Christ, give me your own relationship with this Holy Mystery. You invite me into that intimacy you shared with Holy Wonder when you crept from your bed in the wee hours to sit in heart silence, speaking to the One whose name is Unspeakable. You draw me in this holy space of knowing this Love Beyond All Telling.
But there I know no thought of sin or stain or righteousness for I am in you. I live and breathe in a clear and open space where all sin and disordered desire are gone, and all thoughts of righteousness are irrelevant. They evaporate, absorbed in the morning light of paradise dawn. For I am in you, knowing the life you are. If this is what your righteousness is, if this is how you set things right, count me in. Amen.
Philippians 3:8b-11
“I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I might attain the resurrection from the dead” (Phil. 3:8b-11).
Prayer
I have no righteousness of my own, Faithful One. I have no pretensions. You strip them all away. I know: I sin. I fall. I am driven by anxieties born of unfaith, restless lusts and ancient anger you have not yet loved out of me. When I try to make some name for myself my feet of clay again crumble, and I collapse at your feet, seeking a life and joy I cannot provide myself. And you? You are constant and unfailing, my certain morning companion who greets me in thin gray light. “Welcome,” you say each day. “I am. I am here. I am what you need. I am your righteousness.”
But is that what I need? I suppose so. My sin is already before me, and it is still early. But there is no hiding from you. You know this idea, righteousness, has never been able to grasp this soul or move me into the world of your wonder. I find it impersonal. It seems to hold you at a distance. It leaves me cold.
But you do not leave me cold. You draw me into your embrace. You welcome me into a holy space where what is yours is mine. You fulfill your desire to give me the fullness of life and intimacy with that Loving Mystery you called ‘Father,” during the days of your earthly ministry.
You, risen Christ, give me your own relationship with this Holy Mystery. You invite me into that intimacy you shared with Holy Wonder when you crept from your bed in the wee hours to sit in heart silence, speaking to the One whose name is Unspeakable. You draw me in this holy space of knowing this Love Beyond All Telling.
But there I know no thought of sin or stain or righteousness for I am in you. I live and breathe in a clear and open space where all sin and disordered desire are gone, and all thoughts of righteousness are irrelevant. They evaporate, absorbed in the morning light of paradise dawn. For I am in you, knowing the life you are. If this is what your righteousness is, if this is how you set things right, count me in. Amen.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 3:10-11
“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I might attain the resurrection from the dead” (Phil. 3:10-11).
Prayer
I hear the cry of the everlasting hills, and I know: I am not alone. I have many sisters and brothers. The Earth is my brother. The ancient desire of every stony outcrop on this rock hurtling through space is to know you. The trees in the yard are my sisters. They strain to the heavens, stretching for the Infinite Source of life, singing your praise in dazzling delight before falling asleep to wait again the resurrection spring.
Your servant, Paul, too, is my brother. The everlasting cry of all life, which he voices, long ago took residence in my soul. It possesses me with insatiable hunger that only you can satisfy. I want to know you, the life you are. I want to enter the fullness of resurrection so that death’s power--the fear that distorts and disfigures my life, that so tenaciously clings to my heart--may evaporate like the morning mist. I long to breathe the sweet, fresh dawn of everlasting day.
I hunger for that day when every brother and sister of earth, who have been so badly denied the mercy that is your desire for every soul and every hamlet, breathes the gentle air of eternity, newly free from the ravenous prowl of death and despair that daily haunts them body and soul.
But entry into your fullness, Risen One, knows only one road: to share your struggle to love the world beyond its hatreds and violence, beyond the deadly logic of self-protective power and retribution, beyond calculating self-interest and chilly apathy. You invite us into your holy labor of loving the world to life, where the only ethic is to love as you love, giving life, your life, for friend and foe alike, where our prayer belongs as much to those who hate us as to our most dearly beloved.
This is the struggle of Life for life, the struggle of you who are Life with all that destroys and disfigures the beauty of what you continue to create. This is where I seek to be found, despite my fears, sharing your suffering, so that with this world so beloved to you, I, too, may enter into the desire of the everlasting hills. Amen.
Philippians 3:10-11
“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I might attain the resurrection from the dead” (Phil. 3:10-11).
Prayer
I hear the cry of the everlasting hills, and I know: I am not alone. I have many sisters and brothers. The Earth is my brother. The ancient desire of every stony outcrop on this rock hurtling through space is to know you. The trees in the yard are my sisters. They strain to the heavens, stretching for the Infinite Source of life, singing your praise in dazzling delight before falling asleep to wait again the resurrection spring.
Your servant, Paul, too, is my brother. The everlasting cry of all life, which he voices, long ago took residence in my soul. It possesses me with insatiable hunger that only you can satisfy. I want to know you, the life you are. I want to enter the fullness of resurrection so that death’s power--the fear that distorts and disfigures my life, that so tenaciously clings to my heart--may evaporate like the morning mist. I long to breathe the sweet, fresh dawn of everlasting day.
I hunger for that day when every brother and sister of earth, who have been so badly denied the mercy that is your desire for every soul and every hamlet, breathes the gentle air of eternity, newly free from the ravenous prowl of death and despair that daily haunts them body and soul.
But entry into your fullness, Risen One, knows only one road: to share your struggle to love the world beyond its hatreds and violence, beyond the deadly logic of self-protective power and retribution, beyond calculating self-interest and chilly apathy. You invite us into your holy labor of loving the world to life, where the only ethic is to love as you love, giving life, your life, for friend and foe alike, where our prayer belongs as much to those who hate us as to our most dearly beloved.
This is the struggle of Life for life, the struggle of you who are Life with all that destroys and disfigures the beauty of what you continue to create. This is where I seek to be found, despite my fears, sharing your suffering, so that with this world so beloved to you, I, too, may enter into the desire of the everlasting hills. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)