Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Wednesday, November 21, 2007, Thanksgiving

Today's text

John 6:32-35

Jesus answered them: “In all truth, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, it is my Father who gives you the bread from heaven, the true bread which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” “Sir,” they said, “give us this bread always.” Jesus answered them: “I am the bread of life. No on who comes to me will ever hunger; no one who believes in me will ever thirst.”

Prayer

It went away, Jesus. I can’t tell you exactly when or where. But it is gone, that gnawing anxiety at the pit of my stomach. I sought to extinguish it with food and drink, risk and work, learning and accomplishment, none of which provided adequate antidote, only momentary relief.

While I don’t know when it left me, I can tell you the how and why, Jesus. And may my telling be your praise. For you are the cure, the bread, that fills the fretful hunger. What I could not remove, you graciously heal, replacing my emptiness with a loving longing to know you, to lose myself in you and never return.

I have come to know you. I have spent just enough time gazing on your face, seeing your smile, your fierce love, your living labor, that I know the beauty that flows from your oneness with the Loving Mystery you call Father.

We, too, try to name that One. Mother, some say; others say Brother or Sister, Lover or Friend, Morning Star or Silent Cry, Flowing Fountain or Living Flame. In moments of shattering blessedness, we simply fall silent, enrapt in the immensity of that love which has no name. I think our praise is fullest then, and most true.

On this and every day of thanksgiving, we remember faces present and gone, blessings long past and others that endure. We wipe away sweet tears of gratitude for our lives and for the improbable reality of life itself. I mean, why is there anything at all? And why are there grandchildren whose hugs have such a curious, sacramental power to heal, and to render most else insignificant?

I don’t know. I know very little. But I do know you, Jesus, and blessedly, I still can remember the anxious emptiness that is now gone, relieved by a bread that is food my soul need never live without. And for that, thank you. Thank you for my life.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Today's text

Luke 21:8-13

But Jesus said, “Take care not to be deceived, because many will come using my name and saying, ‘I am the one’ and ‘The time is near at hand.’ Refuse to join them. And when you hear of wars and revolutions, do not be terrified, for this is something that must happen first, but the end will not come at once.” The he said to them, “Nation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes and plagues and famines in various places; there will be terrifying events and great signs from heaven. But before this happen, you will be seized and persecuted; you will be handed over to the synagogues and to imprisonment, and brought before kings and governors for the sake of my name—and that will be your opportunity to bear witness.”

Prayer

You do not count time as we do, Jesus. The time you describe is not one we welcome; it’s an evil time as we judge it. And each of us has known many such times we’d happily do without, times we would pass by had we the chance—and not repeat because once was enough.

We divide our days into good and evil time, painful and pleasurable moments, times to savor and times to run through as fast we can, times of joy and sorrow, of success and failure, of struggle and ease, of hope and despair, of beauty and ugliness. Our lists extend the length of a lifetime, dividing our days into two separable parts, one to be avoided and the other cherished.

And we miss half our life, Jesus. What is left is a kind of half-life in which we have cast aside much of what we are for the sake of comfort, missing, I fear, the deep truth of our days, which is you.

For you make no division. Bright summer days and the hours of tumult and terror are but one time for you, the time to reveal the faithful God who bears all our times in loving hands.

We never know what the times will bring, Jesus. Everything can turn in a single breath. Whatever our days bring, may we receive each moment as an opportunity to witness to you who hold us in every time.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, November 19, 2007

Monday, November 19, 2007

Today's text

Luke 21:8-11

But Jesus said, “Take care not to be deceived, because many will come using my name and saying, ‘I am the one’ and ‘The time is near at hand.’ Refuse to join them. And when you hear of wars and revolutions, do not be terrified, for this is something that must happen first, but the end will not come at once.” The he said to them, “Nation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes and plagues and famines in various places; there will be terrifying events and great signs from heaven.”

Prayer

Have you read the paper today, Jesus? Thousands of Bangladeshis died in a cyclone, and many more will die from too little food, tainted water, infection and disease. And that is one page, one story, one nation. Need I go on?

Your warnings of tumult, war and terror describe virtually any and every period of human history. The events to which you point destroy millions … every year. And still time wends its wearisome way without any end in sight.

Suffering continues unabated as feverish preachers sound the alarm saying that earth can’t endure much longer. But it does, and broken human souls must carry on, sorting through the mess we make of things. For the only end we see is the end of days for our beloved, and, too soon, for ourselves.

For some this stirs zeal for the end of things. Others descend to gray despair. And I? I hope. I bear a flame, however small, ignited by your words, Jesus. And it never goes out. Never.

“Do not be terrified,” you say. “Do not fear. Do not be distressed by the tumult around and within you. For I am. I live. And I will speak the final word on the welter of the world.”

So I hope. For I know: that word cannot be less gracious than your divine heart.

Pr. David L. Miller