Today’s text
Luke 15:8-10
[Jesus said:] “Or what women having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there is joy in presence of God over one sinner who repents.”
Prayer
I long to be this beauty, Holy Laughter. I have stood on the outside looking in for much too long.
It is not enough for me just to see your beauty, though it is holiest sacrament, capturing sacred moments with word and image. I thought it was, but I was wrong, again. Nothing new there.
Transcendent joy lights the face of the woman, her tiny coin clutched fast in hand. But I see such joy not just in her, Jesus. I savor it in all who surrender to Love Itself, seeking to enfold their beloved, utterly given to the soul’s most needful search. They glisten with the purity of your heart, your search, your love, your joy.
And through them you have found me, again, just like a thousand times before.
But it is no longer enough to see, describe and celebrate. It is time to enter the transparency of sacred joy that illumines the heart that I, too, may glow with the discovery of my heart’s delight. Unashamed, unabashed, utterly given, surrendered in joy to the Joy who finds me on my wandering way.
Thank you. Light my heart; dissolve my fears. Let me shine with the beauty of that joy that you take in me and in all the lost you somehow manage to find, despite our most determined efforts.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Friday, September 21, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 15:8-10
[Jesus said:] “Or what women having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there is joy in presence of God over one sinner who repents.”
Prayer
I saw her eyes, Jesus. Eternity appeared in an instant in the warmth of her ebony smile as she reached for her son, 13 or so, as peace was passed, person to person. Worshipers shuffled to greet familiar faces, unaware that the beauty of forever had just transformed a tiny sanctuary on 75th street into the gate of heaven.
These were mother’s eyes, delighting in a child her arms sought to enfold in the joy of your peace. I reached my hand to her, but I was blessedly invisible until those arms had completed their sacred mission, making flesh that love that refuses to turn right or left from the face of the beloved.
And then I didn’t want to take her hand. I wanted nothing that would break the rapture of beholding the beauty of such blessed sacrament. I wanted only to look at her—and know again that I dwell in a world haunted by Holy Presence.
It is enough for me, Jesus. Seeing her, I need nothing more. For I see you in the delight of her eyes and the reach of her arms, a beauty that refuses to fade though all else may pass.
I do not know why beauty moves me so; I only know that you are in it. And for today, that’s enough.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 15:8-10
[Jesus said:] “Or what women having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there is joy in presence of God over one sinner who repents.”
Prayer
I saw her eyes, Jesus. Eternity appeared in an instant in the warmth of her ebony smile as she reached for her son, 13 or so, as peace was passed, person to person. Worshipers shuffled to greet familiar faces, unaware that the beauty of forever had just transformed a tiny sanctuary on 75th street into the gate of heaven.
These were mother’s eyes, delighting in a child her arms sought to enfold in the joy of your peace. I reached my hand to her, but I was blessedly invisible until those arms had completed their sacred mission, making flesh that love that refuses to turn right or left from the face of the beloved.
And then I didn’t want to take her hand. I wanted nothing that would break the rapture of beholding the beauty of such blessed sacrament. I wanted only to look at her—and know again that I dwell in a world haunted by Holy Presence.
It is enough for me, Jesus. Seeing her, I need nothing more. For I see you in the delight of her eyes and the reach of her arms, a beauty that refuses to fade though all else may pass.
I do not know why beauty moves me so; I only know that you are in it. And for today, that’s enough.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 15:1-5
“Now all the tax- collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to [Jesus] And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So he told them this parable: “Which of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the other ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it. When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices.”
Prayer
You words transport me a world away, Jesus. I remember the day in Kaya, Sudan. It is a long time now, but in my heart it happened on my last breath, an indelible image in that inmost hall of heart where I cherish all that keeps me human.
Refugees marched out of the bush in a long, serpentine column, covering the warm tan dust of the road side to side. An emaciated man wielding a cross led the column into town as they sang. And how they sang. He punctuated every beat, jabbing his cross of broken sticks as high as he might into the deep blue heavens in defiant ecstasy of death itself.
Around the bend they came, survivors of genocide and brutalities unspeakable, having lost, abandoned and buried too many on the way. They came looking for the lost--seeking children, parents, neighbors, family and friends--knowing their hearts would likely break again.
But for some came the joy of daybreak. They cupped beloved cheeks in their hands, tracing fingers across the smiles and brows of souls for whom they’d all but surrendered hope. A din of weeping rose to the seat of your mercy, Jesus, the sweetest praise heard anywhere on earth that day. And I watched, swept up in the melodies of heaven, giving thanks that I might witness a joy that has no name.
And none will do, dear Friend, for this is the joy of your divine heart, captured in single moment, enduring for eternity, where all that is lost is found at last.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 15:1-5
“Now all the tax- collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to [Jesus] And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So he told them this parable: “Which of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the other ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it. When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices.”
Prayer
You words transport me a world away, Jesus. I remember the day in Kaya, Sudan. It is a long time now, but in my heart it happened on my last breath, an indelible image in that inmost hall of heart where I cherish all that keeps me human.
Refugees marched out of the bush in a long, serpentine column, covering the warm tan dust of the road side to side. An emaciated man wielding a cross led the column into town as they sang. And how they sang. He punctuated every beat, jabbing his cross of broken sticks as high as he might into the deep blue heavens in defiant ecstasy of death itself.
Around the bend they came, survivors of genocide and brutalities unspeakable, having lost, abandoned and buried too many on the way. They came looking for the lost--seeking children, parents, neighbors, family and friends--knowing their hearts would likely break again.
But for some came the joy of daybreak. They cupped beloved cheeks in their hands, tracing fingers across the smiles and brows of souls for whom they’d all but surrendered hope. A din of weeping rose to the seat of your mercy, Jesus, the sweetest praise heard anywhere on earth that day. And I watched, swept up in the melodies of heaven, giving thanks that I might witness a joy that has no name.
And none will do, dear Friend, for this is the joy of your divine heart, captured in single moment, enduring for eternity, where all that is lost is found at last.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, September 17, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 15:1-5
“Now all the tax- collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to [Jesus] And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So he told them this parable: “Which of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the other ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it. When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices.”
Prayer
Cool autumn days descend. I return home in summer’s fading light and see him. A grey stone figure keeps watch by the fireplace where he has waited all summer long, watching for my return. His stands on the coarse red brick near the hearth: a small shepherd, his eyes turned down, bearing a lamb across his shoulders, heading home, I suppose, with the lost that has been found. And his face, Jesus, is yours.
With fall in my senses bearing a threat of early frost, the whiteness of my head signals that winter will come soon, too soon, to me too. And I light a votive candle at the shepherd’s feet. My heart swells with sweetest desire, an exquisite simple yeaning for you, Jesus.
I want the shepherd. I want the one who bears the world’s weight in loving embrace and carries it all the way home. For I want to come home, all of me wants to come home. A lost piece of my heart hungers to be carried to a place of final arrival where there is no need to look for another, for hoping has become healing.
There’s a word for this, Jesus: human. We yearn to rest in that love that draws us on until, at last, we arrive home, possessing whole the sweet substance of our yeaning. And it shall be. For our yearning is the resonance of your own.
At the heart of the universe, stands a shepherd whose desire carries us to that eternal belonging where all glows with belovedness and the shepherd’s joy is full. So we light our candles and hope.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 15:1-5
“Now all the tax- collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to [Jesus] And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So he told them this parable: “Which of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the other ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it. When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices.”
Prayer
Cool autumn days descend. I return home in summer’s fading light and see him. A grey stone figure keeps watch by the fireplace where he has waited all summer long, watching for my return. His stands on the coarse red brick near the hearth: a small shepherd, his eyes turned down, bearing a lamb across his shoulders, heading home, I suppose, with the lost that has been found. And his face, Jesus, is yours.
With fall in my senses bearing a threat of early frost, the whiteness of my head signals that winter will come soon, too soon, to me too. And I light a votive candle at the shepherd’s feet. My heart swells with sweetest desire, an exquisite simple yeaning for you, Jesus.
I want the shepherd. I want the one who bears the world’s weight in loving embrace and carries it all the way home. For I want to come home, all of me wants to come home. A lost piece of my heart hungers to be carried to a place of final arrival where there is no need to look for another, for hoping has become healing.
There’s a word for this, Jesus: human. We yearn to rest in that love that draws us on until, at last, we arrive home, possessing whole the sweet substance of our yeaning. And it shall be. For our yearning is the resonance of your own.
At the heart of the universe, stands a shepherd whose desire carries us to that eternal belonging where all glows with belovedness and the shepherd’s joy is full. So we light our candles and hope.
Pr. David L. Miller
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