Today’s text
Luke 16:27-31
So he said, “Father, I beg you then to send Lazarus to my father’s house, since I have five brothers, to give them warning so that they do not come to this place of torment too.” Abraham said, “They have Moses and the prophets, let them listen to them.” The rich man replied, “Ah, no, father Abraham, but if someone comes to them from the dead, they will repent.” Then Abraham said to him, “If they will not listen either to Moses or to the prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone should rise from the dead”
Prayer
Not even from the dead? What does it take before our hearts will listen to the voice that speaks life and mercy? The answer is clear enough. We know it well in our personal histories, Jesus: pain. We listen when torments of body and soul attack our flesh, turning over our tidy plans, revealing again that little of life is at our command.
We reach for good things for ourselves and families. We build foundations for living upon what we are given by circumstances of birth, talent and our good work. We celebrate our occasions--birthdays and anniversaries, new babies, graduations and promotions, seldom thinking that the next day, the next hour, the taste of our salty tears may turn bitter.
Then we are ready to listen to a voice far beyond ours to learn life again, or for the first time. Jesus, I am forever learning life again … and again. How many times must I relearn what makes for life?
And what, Jesus, would the dead tell us if we had ears to hear? Would they remind that all flesh is grass? Would they say that the Holy One created time and space as an arena for mercy? Or maybe they’d tell us, “Listen to the pain of your heart, and you will know every heart. Your pain separates life from the illusions you try to live. It frees you to hear the One you most need.”
That’s the way the dead speak to me, Jesus, as do you, who are the living and the dead and the risen again.
So let me not move far from the pains of my failures and weaknesses, Jesus. Let me live in gratitude for each of them, for they are the wings that fly me to you.
Great Mercy, hear my prayer.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Friday, October 05, 2007
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 16:23-29
In Hades, where [the rich man] was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.” But Abraham said, “Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us. He said, “Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.” Abraham replied, “They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.”
Prayer
Where, Merciful One, do prophets cry out, calling us beyond prudence to passion for your holy reign? Your voice is present in all the Earth. You never leave us without voices that love you and your blessed future far more than personal victory, far beyond the fading joys fashioned by human hands.
Helps us to hear the voices of your prophets, the abused child or spouse, the hungry deprived of bread and simplest human decency, the souls who invite us beyond every violence of hand and speech into which so much of our conversation degenerates.
Even the cries of our own souls are your prophets, Inescapable One. They whisper deep truth in our unguarded moments, telling us … again … that all we consume cannot fill the empty ache that is your insistent voice. You call to us at that unreachable point of our souls where your holy desire and our deepest need for real bread speak with a single voice.
You never leave yourself without a voice, Holy One. Moses and a multitude of prophets speak what your love gives and requires. Close my busy lips that I may hear. I make too much noise. I fear losing you amid the clamor. Call to me in silence.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 16:23-29
In Hades, where [the rich man] was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.” But Abraham said, “Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us. He said, “Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.” Abraham replied, “They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.”
Prayer
Where, Merciful One, do prophets cry out, calling us beyond prudence to passion for your holy reign? Your voice is present in all the Earth. You never leave us without voices that love you and your blessed future far more than personal victory, far beyond the fading joys fashioned by human hands.
Helps us to hear the voices of your prophets, the abused child or spouse, the hungry deprived of bread and simplest human decency, the souls who invite us beyond every violence of hand and speech into which so much of our conversation degenerates.
Even the cries of our own souls are your prophets, Inescapable One. They whisper deep truth in our unguarded moments, telling us … again … that all we consume cannot fill the empty ache that is your insistent voice. You call to us at that unreachable point of our souls where your holy desire and our deepest need for real bread speak with a single voice.
You never leave yourself without a voice, Holy One. Moses and a multitude of prophets speak what your love gives and requires. Close my busy lips that I may hear. I make too much noise. I fear losing you amid the clamor. Call to me in silence.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 16:23-26
In Hades, where [the rich man] was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.” But Abraham said, “Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.”
Prayer
Is there never a passing over, Jesus? Did you not pass from Earth to Hell before entering the Sublime, descending first to crush death and eternal bondage, freeing our first parents that all the daughters and sons of Eve might dwell with you? The icon on the wall shows you tramping death under foot, trashing the front gate of Hell and revealing it for the rickety shanty that it is.
I want even the rich man to know salvation, to pass over from eternal separation to dwell with you, making humble repentance for failing to love Lazarus at the gate. Can it yet be? Or will the divisions that torture earth do so through eternity? Is it impossible even for you to cross the chasm?
My faith says, ‘no.’
There is no place where you are not. There is no darkness beyond your reach; nowhere you will not bring eternal freedom that all that is restless may rest in you. Lazarus and the rich man may yet find reconciliation in a love larger than human apathy and more exquisite than human pain. They, too, shall celebrate the unfathomable. You.
But the celebration need not wait. For today we may enter, again, that larger love you are and ever shall be, a love that opens eyes to know the places you invite us to join the dance of your loving in time and space. Today, Lord Jesus, let me join your dance with Lazarus at the gate.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 16:23-26
In Hades, where [the rich man] was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.” But Abraham said, “Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.”
Prayer
Is there never a passing over, Jesus? Did you not pass from Earth to Hell before entering the Sublime, descending first to crush death and eternal bondage, freeing our first parents that all the daughters and sons of Eve might dwell with you? The icon on the wall shows you tramping death under foot, trashing the front gate of Hell and revealing it for the rickety shanty that it is.
I want even the rich man to know salvation, to pass over from eternal separation to dwell with you, making humble repentance for failing to love Lazarus at the gate. Can it yet be? Or will the divisions that torture earth do so through eternity? Is it impossible even for you to cross the chasm?
My faith says, ‘no.’
There is no place where you are not. There is no darkness beyond your reach; nowhere you will not bring eternal freedom that all that is restless may rest in you. Lazarus and the rich man may yet find reconciliation in a love larger than human apathy and more exquisite than human pain. They, too, shall celebrate the unfathomable. You.
But the celebration need not wait. For today we may enter, again, that larger love you are and ever shall be, a love that opens eyes to know the places you invite us to join the dance of your loving in time and space. Today, Lord Jesus, let me join your dance with Lazarus at the gate.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 16:19-25
There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died, and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.”
Prayer
When do we see, Jesus? What opens our eyes? And to what?
Our blinkered eyes see with crystal clarity when we are consumed by distress, Jesus. Pain and desire sharpen our vision. Quickly, we focus on what we need--or want--to assuage our discomfort. We view surrounding faces through lenses that perceive only what they can do to quell the pulsing insistence of anguish or greed. We see what they can for us.
But do we see the other, the throbbing bundle of needs and fears, hopes and humanity they are? Can we imagine that we may be your answer the unspoken cries of their heart? Can we value them not for what they do for us but for the circle of compassion into which we may enter with them, giving and receiving, sharing the profundity of human neediness and making flesh the miracle of mercy?
How do I see, Jesus? Do the souls of women and men exist only to cool the flames of my body and soul? Or do I see my need and theirs as a holy invitation through which you draw me into common heart, where we might share a common mercy and yearning for the peace of God, your peace, Jesus?
Help me to see beyond my needs to your hope, Jesus. In the needs of others, help us to hear your invitation to a world of mercy.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 16:19-25
There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died, and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.”
Prayer
When do we see, Jesus? What opens our eyes? And to what?
Our blinkered eyes see with crystal clarity when we are consumed by distress, Jesus. Pain and desire sharpen our vision. Quickly, we focus on what we need--or want--to assuage our discomfort. We view surrounding faces through lenses that perceive only what they can do to quell the pulsing insistence of anguish or greed. We see what they can for us.
But do we see the other, the throbbing bundle of needs and fears, hopes and humanity they are? Can we imagine that we may be your answer the unspoken cries of their heart? Can we value them not for what they do for us but for the circle of compassion into which we may enter with them, giving and receiving, sharing the profundity of human neediness and making flesh the miracle of mercy?
How do I see, Jesus? Do the souls of women and men exist only to cool the flames of my body and soul? Or do I see my need and theirs as a holy invitation through which you draw me into common heart, where we might share a common mercy and yearning for the peace of God, your peace, Jesus?
Help me to see beyond my needs to your hope, Jesus. In the needs of others, help us to hear your invitation to a world of mercy.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, October 01, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 16:19-22
There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died, and was buried.
Prayer
They both died, Jesus. Filthy rich or dirt poor—the same end claims both.
How shall we live when everywhere we turn we look into the eyes of the dying? Regardless of our circumstances, we carry the seeds of Adam’s disease so deep in our flesh no medicine of ours can hunt it down and kill the death that kills us.
From the earliest days of our breathing, we know the time is short. We know the clock ticks without pause or care, inexorably counting out our moments. So we must get on with it; much is missed if we dally. The day must be lived to the fullest lest we face our end bearing a mountain of regret.
So what shall we do, Jesus? Make sure we get ours? Or might we remind ourselves that every person we meet today will come to the same end as we? Will such sobriety remind us that anything less than mercy is profanity? That anything other than compassion disfigures time and poisons the day?
Help me remember, Jesus. I forget so quickly when passions of anger and fear drive me. Help me remember that all are flesh, like me. And my may heart dwell in compassion … for the dying. Just like your heart, Jesus.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 16:19-22
There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died, and was buried.
Prayer
They both died, Jesus. Filthy rich or dirt poor—the same end claims both.
How shall we live when everywhere we turn we look into the eyes of the dying? Regardless of our circumstances, we carry the seeds of Adam’s disease so deep in our flesh no medicine of ours can hunt it down and kill the death that kills us.
From the earliest days of our breathing, we know the time is short. We know the clock ticks without pause or care, inexorably counting out our moments. So we must get on with it; much is missed if we dally. The day must be lived to the fullest lest we face our end bearing a mountain of regret.
So what shall we do, Jesus? Make sure we get ours? Or might we remind ourselves that every person we meet today will come to the same end as we? Will such sobriety remind us that anything less than mercy is profanity? That anything other than compassion disfigures time and poisons the day?
Help me remember, Jesus. I forget so quickly when passions of anger and fear drive me. Help me remember that all are flesh, like me. And my may heart dwell in compassion … for the dying. Just like your heart, Jesus.
Pr. David L. Miller
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