Today’s reading
Philippians 3:17-20
“Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have seen in us. For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ” (Phil. 3:17-20).
Prayer
The seasons change. Snow blankets the ground. Northern gusts fashion shimmering art of exacting detail on every limb and fragile sprig that frames the street. Earth transforms, again, offering a fresh gallery of creative joy. Great oak boughs groan beneath the weight of glistening glory. Pairs of perfectly coated crab apple trees stand sentry at the back corners of the fence. Every delicate twig glistens as in a snow globe, perfect, no detail unattended by the painters hand. The birch splays its arms high and white above, a visual alleluia to whatever Creator imagined this.
And I wonder, Dearest Friend: Do you take creative joy in this wonder through which thousands trudge their way to daily duties? Despite the struggles it creates for us, your wondrous Earth moves me to gratitude without my choosing or willing it. It appears full grown in my soul. I merely drink in what little I can perceive about me.
Such gratitude is your your Spirit taking possession of my own, moving me to praise you for this stark and brutal beauty, and for the wonder that creation should exist at all. You move me into joy that there is something and not nothing. But my most profound gratitude is for a heart to see it and to love you for all your joyous creating, ever ongoing.
On a snowy morning, this heart of joy and love for you tells me that I am not alien to you. This heart is of your making. In my mortal flesh, you whisper assurance that you, Joyful Contriver, Master of the Snow, create in us minds for wonder and hearts to name you who are beyond all naming. And yet, we know you so well through your most exquisite creation, our brother Jesus, the beauty of your face, the face of our everlasting future, the future of all you so gladly contrive. Amen.
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Friday, December 01, 2006
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 3:16
“Only let us hold fast to what we have attained” (Phil. 3: 16).
Prayer
Who holds whom, Loving Mystery? I hold close the lightness of being I know on days like this. Today, the dense clouds of unknowing roll thin, and through murky obscurity I begin to see with eyes not of head but heart. Your presence is everywhere I look. I move through the banal spaces of my life and daily labors certain that I am enveloped in a divine milieu. The love you are holds everything fast and ever-so gently. We move through you as through an enveloping cloud that embraces all reality, misting all that is—and me—with undeniable gladness.
You are everywhere, surrounding us—in the refectory, on to the mail room, up the stairs, across the great hallway, through the chapel, in the faces, filling the spaces around and within us. The most mundane duties and common conversations glow with a gentle grace that leaves me more alive for simply having been there. I see: All that is swims in an ocean of Spirit that seeks to soak us to the core with the delight which take in all you love.
I cling to your nearness. I hold fast to what you teach my heart: that you want and delight in me, that you are all love, that you have sought us along all the winding paths we have wandered and always will, that you hunger for our nearness as we do for you, that you have shown us your beauty in the face of my brother Jesus.
Tomorrow may be different. Gladness may flee. Dense clouds of obscurity may hide your face so deeply that I wonder whether today is but illusion. But I will know. Even when my hands are too weak to hold you near, you will hold me fast and always will. Amen.
Philippians 3:16
“Only let us hold fast to what we have attained” (Phil. 3: 16).
Prayer
Who holds whom, Loving Mystery? I hold close the lightness of being I know on days like this. Today, the dense clouds of unknowing roll thin, and through murky obscurity I begin to see with eyes not of head but heart. Your presence is everywhere I look. I move through the banal spaces of my life and daily labors certain that I am enveloped in a divine milieu. The love you are holds everything fast and ever-so gently. We move through you as through an enveloping cloud that embraces all reality, misting all that is—and me—with undeniable gladness.
You are everywhere, surrounding us—in the refectory, on to the mail room, up the stairs, across the great hallway, through the chapel, in the faces, filling the spaces around and within us. The most mundane duties and common conversations glow with a gentle grace that leaves me more alive for simply having been there. I see: All that is swims in an ocean of Spirit that seeks to soak us to the core with the delight which take in all you love.
I cling to your nearness. I hold fast to what you teach my heart: that you want and delight in me, that you are all love, that you have sought us along all the winding paths we have wandered and always will, that you hunger for our nearness as we do for you, that you have shown us your beauty in the face of my brother Jesus.
Tomorrow may be different. Gladness may flee. Dense clouds of obscurity may hide your face so deeply that I wonder whether today is but illusion. But I will know. Even when my hands are too weak to hold you near, you will hold me fast and always will. Amen.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 3:14-16
“I press on towards the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us then who are mature be of the same mind; and if you think differently about anything this, too, God will reveal to you. Only let us hold fast to what we have attained” (Phil. 3:14-16).
Prayer
Give me that gracious turn of mind that is your own, most Courteous Christ. In you all things came to be. All that I see and am was fashioned in you, through you and for you. You hold all things together. You are that gravity of grace that draws together all the whirling elements of this and every universe. Yet, you do not force your love on any. You seek not to dominate my heart but to woo and win it by washing my soul in your beloved delight until I am convinced that all that I have and am is a gift of the good pleasure you take in loving one such as me.
You call me to dwell in the heart of humility. This is easy on days like this, not because my soul is downcast or disgraced but because I taste the fullness of you who are, the living bread of the Eternal Fullness whom I cannot see. Seeing and knowing you, my heart is convinced beyond any possible doubt that my knowledge of you is blessedly partial and incomplete and ever shall be. Most of all, I know your good pleasure. I am enveloped by your abiding and unfailing desire to give yourself to me that I may more fully enter the belovedness in which you have held me for all eternity.
I savor the smallness I know as you encompass me with the fullness of your loving desire, a rather lavish gift for just one life don’t you think? Still, you wrap my smallness in your encompassing wonder, lifting me into the gratitude and praise which is the highest joy a human heart may know.
Thank you, Most Courteous Christ. Give to us all, to our community of faith and learning, that humility of mind and heart that holds the precious gifts we have attained from you, but remains ever aware that you are so much more. Amen.
Philippians 3:14-16
“I press on towards the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us then who are mature be of the same mind; and if you think differently about anything this, too, God will reveal to you. Only let us hold fast to what we have attained” (Phil. 3:14-16).
Prayer
Give me that gracious turn of mind that is your own, most Courteous Christ. In you all things came to be. All that I see and am was fashioned in you, through you and for you. You hold all things together. You are that gravity of grace that draws together all the whirling elements of this and every universe. Yet, you do not force your love on any. You seek not to dominate my heart but to woo and win it by washing my soul in your beloved delight until I am convinced that all that I have and am is a gift of the good pleasure you take in loving one such as me.
You call me to dwell in the heart of humility. This is easy on days like this, not because my soul is downcast or disgraced but because I taste the fullness of you who are, the living bread of the Eternal Fullness whom I cannot see. Seeing and knowing you, my heart is convinced beyond any possible doubt that my knowledge of you is blessedly partial and incomplete and ever shall be. Most of all, I know your good pleasure. I am enveloped by your abiding and unfailing desire to give yourself to me that I may more fully enter the belovedness in which you have held me for all eternity.
I savor the smallness I know as you encompass me with the fullness of your loving desire, a rather lavish gift for just one life don’t you think? Still, you wrap my smallness in your encompassing wonder, lifting me into the gratitude and praise which is the highest joy a human heart may know.
Thank you, Most Courteous Christ. Give to us all, to our community of faith and learning, that humility of mind and heart that holds the precious gifts we have attained from you, but remains ever aware that you are so much more. Amen.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 3:12-14
“Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on towards the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 3:12-14).
Prayer
I do not want to forget ... anything. I want to cradle every moment in the unlikely journey that has brought me to this time. I want to remember every face I have ever met, every street I have ever walked, every voice I have ever heard, every town and place I have known. I want to remember them all. Every one of them is place of holy habitation where you waited for me to show up that you might love me and shape me into that image of your mercy that pleases you.
I do not want to forget what lies behind because, despite days of cynicism and moments of despair, I see that I have walked a path of blessing on which all roads led to you. No matter which way I walked and even when I tried to walk away, I arrived at your door. Every step and misstep has been part of journey into you, blessed Christ, who long ago made me your own. Each face and town, each street and sound in some mysterious way are the dark path on which I have walked into the mystery of your dying and rising.
To forget is to lose the places I have known you. It is to sacrifice the grace of gratitude for the ways you have loved me and poured this sparkling hope into my mortal flesh. How can I forget? But I do. Each day more of the journey recedes deeper in mind. It saddens me. For I lose one more place of blessing for which I would praise you, if only I could name it.
But my moments are never lost to you, Timeless Mercy. You hold them all, even as you hold me lest any part of this journey sink into the murky depths of meaninglessness. And I will press on, knowing that you who have made me your own await me on the way. You will shimmer in eyes I have not yet met. You will speak in the grace of voices yet unheard. You will coax me along unfamiliar paths that may reach my home, which was, is and always will be you. Amen.
Philippians 3:12-14
“Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on towards the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 3:12-14).
Prayer
I do not want to forget ... anything. I want to cradle every moment in the unlikely journey that has brought me to this time. I want to remember every face I have ever met, every street I have ever walked, every voice I have ever heard, every town and place I have known. I want to remember them all. Every one of them is place of holy habitation where you waited for me to show up that you might love me and shape me into that image of your mercy that pleases you.
I do not want to forget what lies behind because, despite days of cynicism and moments of despair, I see that I have walked a path of blessing on which all roads led to you. No matter which way I walked and even when I tried to walk away, I arrived at your door. Every step and misstep has been part of journey into you, blessed Christ, who long ago made me your own. Each face and town, each street and sound in some mysterious way are the dark path on which I have walked into the mystery of your dying and rising.
To forget is to lose the places I have known you. It is to sacrifice the grace of gratitude for the ways you have loved me and poured this sparkling hope into my mortal flesh. How can I forget? But I do. Each day more of the journey recedes deeper in mind. It saddens me. For I lose one more place of blessing for which I would praise you, if only I could name it.
But my moments are never lost to you, Timeless Mercy. You hold them all, even as you hold me lest any part of this journey sink into the murky depths of meaninglessness. And I will press on, knowing that you who have made me your own await me on the way. You will shimmer in eyes I have not yet met. You will speak in the grace of voices yet unheard. You will coax me along unfamiliar paths that may reach my home, which was, is and always will be you. Amen.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Monday, November 27, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 3:12-14
“Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have already made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 3:12-14).
Prayer
My life, Dear One, is a rhythm of resting and pressing on. But there is little of the spiritual athlete in me today, perhaps ever. I prefer to rest in the mystery of your love for me, tasting the sweetness of the sacraments you prepare for me: Dixie’s smile, my children’s voices on the phone, the mischief of my grandsons, moody November sunsets, reading gentle souls whose words again remind me that I am not alone. All these and more are sacraments of a holy grace that fills this needy heart of mine. Only in recent years have I allowed myself to rest, to sink into the ocean of your mercy, trusting you will always bear me in your beloved nearness.
But Monday comes. The semester marches inexorably to a close. Insistent voices cry out in consciousness, “Press on. There is work to do, phone calls to make, appointments to keep, people to consult, bills to pay, articles and a sermon to write.” The voices shake my soul from languid currents of re-creation. They consume my consciousness with an insistent staccato that allows no gracious empty spaces in soul or schedule.
I prefer to rest a while longer, but neither the day nor you, it seems, will allow it. And you offer a promise: More. There is more of you to know, to savor, to enter. You are Boundless Life, and the wonder you are is beyond height or depth, length or breadth. You are always more than I think or can imagine, always more than I know or ever can know, more life, more love, more hope, more than any can ever know. No arms are long enough to gather you in. No mind can cast its net wide enough to capture the immeasurable fullness of your life and holy labor in this and every cosmos.
Whatever I have known of you, however small or great, there is more of you to make my own, more that you are infinitely pleased to give… and to give me. Thank you. Thank you for refusing to let me rest with what is, with what I have known of you. Pull me on even against my willing that I may press deeper into the mystery of you, who are all love and life. Amen.
Philippians 3:12-14
“Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have already made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 3:12-14).
Prayer
My life, Dear One, is a rhythm of resting and pressing on. But there is little of the spiritual athlete in me today, perhaps ever. I prefer to rest in the mystery of your love for me, tasting the sweetness of the sacraments you prepare for me: Dixie’s smile, my children’s voices on the phone, the mischief of my grandsons, moody November sunsets, reading gentle souls whose words again remind me that I am not alone. All these and more are sacraments of a holy grace that fills this needy heart of mine. Only in recent years have I allowed myself to rest, to sink into the ocean of your mercy, trusting you will always bear me in your beloved nearness.
But Monday comes. The semester marches inexorably to a close. Insistent voices cry out in consciousness, “Press on. There is work to do, phone calls to make, appointments to keep, people to consult, bills to pay, articles and a sermon to write.” The voices shake my soul from languid currents of re-creation. They consume my consciousness with an insistent staccato that allows no gracious empty spaces in soul or schedule.
I prefer to rest a while longer, but neither the day nor you, it seems, will allow it. And you offer a promise: More. There is more of you to know, to savor, to enter. You are Boundless Life, and the wonder you are is beyond height or depth, length or breadth. You are always more than I think or can imagine, always more than I know or ever can know, more life, more love, more hope, more than any can ever know. No arms are long enough to gather you in. No mind can cast its net wide enough to capture the immeasurable fullness of your life and holy labor in this and every cosmos.
Whatever I have known of you, however small or great, there is more of you to make my own, more that you are infinitely pleased to give… and to give me. Thank you. Thank you for refusing to let me rest with what is, with what I have known of you. Pull me on even against my willing that I may press deeper into the mystery of you, who are all love and life. Amen.
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