Today’s text
Matthew 2:7-11
Then Herod summoned the wise men to see him privately. He asked them the exact date on which the star had appeared and sent them on to Bethlehem with the words, 'Go and find out all about the child, and when you have found him, let me know, so that I too may go and do him homage.' Having listened to what the king had to say, they set out. And suddenly the star they had seen rising went forward and halted over the place where the child was. The sight of the star filled them with delight, and going into the house they saw the child with his mother Mary, and falling to their knees they did him homage. Then, opening their treasures, they offered him gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Awaken purest desire in my heart.
Desires clash, Jesus. The wise seek the place of new birth to do homage and give gifts. Herod seeks his advantage, turning what comes to protect possessions and serve self.
The wise come seeking to bless and to receive blessing. Herod seeks nothing, wanting only to protect what is his.
The wise see the world through eyes acute to the coming of the holy. The selfish see through lenses of fear. For them, the coming of God is not a time of open-armed welcome, but an occasion to close ranks to prevent the threat of change, and any change is threat.
And now a new day comes, soon a new year. And I am the same old person, more driven by fears than by anticipation of the holy and lovely, the graced and genuine, the presence of you who are ever present.
Come and convert my heart, Lord Jesus.
Take away the eyes of my anxiety that I may not fear when you come to me in ways that distress my soul or disturb the way I order my little world. It grieves me to think that I might miss you, whom I most need.
So show me the way of wisdom that I may find my way to the places where your life is birthed in and near me. Then, I will open my arms to welcome and worship you, giving such gifts as I have to share.
Come, Lord Jesus. Calm my fears and make my heart wise that I may see and welcome you in every place you come to me.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 2:1-6
After Jesus had been born at Bethlehem in Judaea during the reign of King Herod, suddenly some wise men came to Jerusalem from the east asking, 'Where is the infant king of the Jews? We saw his star as it rose and have come to do him homage.' When King Herod heard this he was perturbed, and so was the whole of Jerusalem. He called together all the chief priests and the scribes of the people, and enquired of them where the Christ was to be born. They told him, 'At Bethlehem in Judaea, for this is what the prophet wrote: And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, you are by no means the least among the leaders of Judah, for from you will come a leader who will shepherd my people Israel.'
Reflection
Great and small, all are swept into the drama of your fleshly becoming, Jesus.
What could the wise men possible want with you? The comfort of their studies kept them close to home and the instruments of their observations. Certainly, they had seen signs in the heavens before that required careful interpretation.
Why does this sign demand departure from their charts and books on a difficult journey? They came to give homage, but what did they expect to see and receive? What illumination did they seek? The wise and discerning are always looking for greater light and understanding.
Were they to find this in a peasant’s child, said to be some kind of king? But born in a barn? Is this the place of wisdom, in smallness and poverty, far from the seats of power where real rulers command and shape the lives of common souls?
But this is where you seem most at work, Holy One, far from the places where we look for significance--or seek it for ourselves. You are there, in the out of the way and the common, asking for our homage.
Kneeling amid the straw and the manure of the average has become the way of wisdom, the road of true understanding and peace.
So we re-enter our dailiness following the holy feast, tired and hoping to return to normal, so that we might get some sleep and right the ship of our lives. But the common places, the office, the workplace, the usual struggles, the difficult faces, look different than before.
Perhaps they are as depressing as ever--or more. Yet these places are the stable, the manger where you lie, awaiting the homage of our loving attention, so that you may teach us the wisdom of gentleness, the understanding that peace begins here, in the places we prefer to flee.
For earth itself has become the straw in which hides holiness and true illumination of soul. So we give ourselves again to the small duties of our days, doing them as to you, praying that such homage will illumine our hearts with the light of your love, laid always in the straw.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 2:1-6
After Jesus had been born at Bethlehem in Judaea during the reign of King Herod, suddenly some wise men came to Jerusalem from the east asking, 'Where is the infant king of the Jews? We saw his star as it rose and have come to do him homage.' When King Herod heard this he was perturbed, and so was the whole of Jerusalem. He called together all the chief priests and the scribes of the people, and enquired of them where the Christ was to be born. They told him, 'At Bethlehem in Judaea, for this is what the prophet wrote: And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, you are by no means the least among the leaders of Judah, for from you will come a leader who will shepherd my people Israel.'
Reflection
Great and small, all are swept into the drama of your fleshly becoming, Jesus.
What could the wise men possible want with you? The comfort of their studies kept them close to home and the instruments of their observations. Certainly, they had seen signs in the heavens before that required careful interpretation.
Why does this sign demand departure from their charts and books on a difficult journey? They came to give homage, but what did they expect to see and receive? What illumination did they seek? The wise and discerning are always looking for greater light and understanding.
Were they to find this in a peasant’s child, said to be some kind of king? But born in a barn? Is this the place of wisdom, in smallness and poverty, far from the seats of power where real rulers command and shape the lives of common souls?
But this is where you seem most at work, Holy One, far from the places where we look for significance--or seek it for ourselves. You are there, in the out of the way and the common, asking for our homage.
Kneeling amid the straw and the manure of the average has become the way of wisdom, the road of true understanding and peace.
So we re-enter our dailiness following the holy feast, tired and hoping to return to normal, so that we might get some sleep and right the ship of our lives. But the common places, the office, the workplace, the usual struggles, the difficult faces, look different than before.
Perhaps they are as depressing as ever--or more. Yet these places are the stable, the manger where you lie, awaiting the homage of our loving attention, so that you may teach us the wisdom of gentleness, the understanding that peace begins here, in the places we prefer to flee.
For earth itself has become the straw in which hides holiness and true illumination of soul. So we give ourselves again to the small duties of our days, doing them as to you, praying that such homage will illumine our hearts with the light of your love, laid always in the straw.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Monday, December 24, 2008
Today’s text
Luke 2:15-20
Now it happened that when the angels had gone from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, 'Let us go to Bethlehem and see this event which the Lord has made known to us.' So they hurried away and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger. When they saw the child they repeated what they had been told about him, and everyone who heard it was astonished at what the shepherds said to them. As for Mary, she treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart. And the shepherds went back glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as they had been told.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come to us who have no idea what it is that we find in you.
The shepherds went and found you. Did they adore you? Did they kneel and worship you? Did they stand, gaping, open-mouthed at the strange events happening along their normally quiet hillside?
We are not told. But certainly they had no depth of understanding of what was really happening. The dawn of a new time lay before them in the manger. Everything, even God, it seems, had changed.
No longer could the Holy Immensity be considered only as immeasurably grand, cosmic, transcending all comprehension. The inconceivable had occurred: God had become small, tiny as an ovum, dependent as an unborn child, helpless as a newborn.
The approach of God awakened no fear. Who fears an infant?
Yet in this child the incomparable immensity of the divine heart beat for all human kind, welcoming us to pick him up, rock him gently in our arms and hold him near, that the One who is Love might awaken the same in us.
It doesn’t say so in the Bible. But I like to think the Shepherds, at least one of them, picked you up and held you. That’s what I would have done. And every time I imagine this scene I see one of them holding you, rapt in joy by your infant face.
I know: They understood nothing about what was going on that they could really explain. They could only tell the story and give praise to God for the gifts of the evening, the extent of which far exceeded their thoughts.
But not their joy. They knew, and somehow believed, God had visited them. And we know that in this child you visit every hillside of this earth, with the peace of your great favor.
We don’t comprehend it much better than did those shepherds who first showed up at your infant bed. But that doesn’t matter. For we have found you, Lord Jesus, coming to us. And that is all we need, for this day, for this life, for forever.
May we, too, hold you to our hearts. Come, Lord Jesus, awaken in us the Love you are.
Then it is that Christmas shall come.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 2:15-20
Now it happened that when the angels had gone from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, 'Let us go to Bethlehem and see this event which the Lord has made known to us.' So they hurried away and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger. When they saw the child they repeated what they had been told about him, and everyone who heard it was astonished at what the shepherds said to them. As for Mary, she treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart. And the shepherds went back glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as they had been told.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come to us who have no idea what it is that we find in you.
The shepherds went and found you. Did they adore you? Did they kneel and worship you? Did they stand, gaping, open-mouthed at the strange events happening along their normally quiet hillside?
We are not told. But certainly they had no depth of understanding of what was really happening. The dawn of a new time lay before them in the manger. Everything, even God, it seems, had changed.
No longer could the Holy Immensity be considered only as immeasurably grand, cosmic, transcending all comprehension. The inconceivable had occurred: God had become small, tiny as an ovum, dependent as an unborn child, helpless as a newborn.
The approach of God awakened no fear. Who fears an infant?
Yet in this child the incomparable immensity of the divine heart beat for all human kind, welcoming us to pick him up, rock him gently in our arms and hold him near, that the One who is Love might awaken the same in us.
It doesn’t say so in the Bible. But I like to think the Shepherds, at least one of them, picked you up and held you. That’s what I would have done. And every time I imagine this scene I see one of them holding you, rapt in joy by your infant face.
I know: They understood nothing about what was going on that they could really explain. They could only tell the story and give praise to God for the gifts of the evening, the extent of which far exceeded their thoughts.
But not their joy. They knew, and somehow believed, God had visited them. And we know that in this child you visit every hillside of this earth, with the peace of your great favor.
We don’t comprehend it much better than did those shepherds who first showed up at your infant bed. But that doesn’t matter. For we have found you, Lord Jesus, coming to us. And that is all we need, for this day, for this life, for forever.
May we, too, hold you to our hearts. Come, Lord Jesus, awaken in us the Love you are.
Then it is that Christmas shall come.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Today’s text
Luke 2:1-7
An angel of the Lord stood over them and the glory of the Lord shone round them. They were terrified, but the angel said, 'Do not be afraid. Look, I bring you news of great joy, a joy to be shared by the whole people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. And here is a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.' And all at once with the angel there was a great throng of the hosts of heaven, praising God with the words: Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace for those he favors.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Banish all fear and give us heavenly joy.
These messengers of light reveled in the joy of their task. They tumbled over themselves announcing to a few shepherds, working the night shift, that there is nothing to fear. Nothing. Not then, Not now. Not ever. Not for us.
To you, is born, this day, a savior.
And this is very good news. For we are in pretty bad need of being saved, saved from all that crushes from us the breath of joy.
Joy is your intention, Holy One, nothing less: Dancing, singing, laughing, playing, falling over ourselves joy, the joy awakened by the awareness that all is not lost. All is never lost. For you are never far, and you never forsake all you have made, and made just for the fun of it--made that the joy of your divine heart might be shared.
Joy is your will: joy for all that is; joy for all creation; joy rising from the lips of all that breathes. You make us in joy and for the joy of the love that flows in a ceaseless stream from your eternal heart.
But the weight of our worries, our lacerating losses and the depth of our doubt crush the angels’ simple words: Peace for those you favor.
And you favor us, always have, always will. We dwell in the circle of your favor.
So come Lord Jesus. Favor our hearts with your presence abiding. Amid days too full and struggles unwanted, open our eyes to hear and our hearts to believe the angels’ joyful song of peace.
For you come to us this day, and every day, a savior. Come Lord Jesus. Save us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 2:1-7
An angel of the Lord stood over them and the glory of the Lord shone round them. They were terrified, but the angel said, 'Do not be afraid. Look, I bring you news of great joy, a joy to be shared by the whole people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. And here is a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.' And all at once with the angel there was a great throng of the hosts of heaven, praising God with the words: Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace for those he favors.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Banish all fear and give us heavenly joy.
These messengers of light reveled in the joy of their task. They tumbled over themselves announcing to a few shepherds, working the night shift, that there is nothing to fear. Nothing. Not then, Not now. Not ever. Not for us.
To you, is born, this day, a savior.
And this is very good news. For we are in pretty bad need of being saved, saved from all that crushes from us the breath of joy.
Joy is your intention, Holy One, nothing less: Dancing, singing, laughing, playing, falling over ourselves joy, the joy awakened by the awareness that all is not lost. All is never lost. For you are never far, and you never forsake all you have made, and made just for the fun of it--made that the joy of your divine heart might be shared.
Joy is your will: joy for all that is; joy for all creation; joy rising from the lips of all that breathes. You make us in joy and for the joy of the love that flows in a ceaseless stream from your eternal heart.
But the weight of our worries, our lacerating losses and the depth of our doubt crush the angels’ simple words: Peace for those you favor.
And you favor us, always have, always will. We dwell in the circle of your favor.
So come Lord Jesus. Favor our hearts with your presence abiding. Amid days too full and struggles unwanted, open our eyes to hear and our hearts to believe the angels’ joyful song of peace.
For you come to us this day, and every day, a savior. Come Lord Jesus. Save us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, December 22, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Today’s text
Luke 2:1-7
Now it happened that at this time Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be made of the whole inhabited world. This census -- the first -- took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria, and everyone went to be registered, each to his own town. So Joseph set out from the town of Nazareth in Galilee for Judaea, to David's town called Bethlehem, since he was of David's House and line, in order to be registered together with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child Now it happened that, while they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to a son, her first-born. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger because there was no room for them in the living-space.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus.
There is nothing special here, nothing that says something remarkable is happening: a woman, a man, the birth of one more poor child in a world that has always had too many of them.
The travelers don’t seem to be wanted in the town Joseph’s family calls home. Nor are there any of that family still around. If Joseph had people in Bethlehem, why didn’t he go to them when his little family needed a place to stay?
But maybe they didn’t want anything to do with him and his pregnant girl friend. That happens in families. Sad, but all too true.
There is no one at the door to welcome them for the holidays. They are alone and unwanted with nary a caring soul in sight, which is a close description of our deepest fears.
But in the midst of those fears you are born, dear Christ, the gift of God to the fearful aloneness of every human soul.
You come to us not because of our sin and ugliness, but from the desire of your heart to hold our emptiness to your breast until your love flows into the poverty and need of our little lives, banishing our aloneness and convincing our doubting hearts that you want us, that you love us, that you will fill us with that beauty that is east of the sun and west of the moon that shines now in your infant eyes.
You come into the lonely places with the light of forever in your eyes.
Come now to us, Lord Jesus. Illumine our aloneness with your presence.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 2:1-7
Now it happened that at this time Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be made of the whole inhabited world. This census -- the first -- took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria, and everyone went to be registered, each to his own town. So Joseph set out from the town of Nazareth in Galilee for Judaea, to David's town called Bethlehem, since he was of David's House and line, in order to be registered together with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child Now it happened that, while they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to a son, her first-born. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger because there was no room for them in the living-space.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus.
There is nothing special here, nothing that says something remarkable is happening: a woman, a man, the birth of one more poor child in a world that has always had too many of them.
The travelers don’t seem to be wanted in the town Joseph’s family calls home. Nor are there any of that family still around. If Joseph had people in Bethlehem, why didn’t he go to them when his little family needed a place to stay?
But maybe they didn’t want anything to do with him and his pregnant girl friend. That happens in families. Sad, but all too true.
There is no one at the door to welcome them for the holidays. They are alone and unwanted with nary a caring soul in sight, which is a close description of our deepest fears.
But in the midst of those fears you are born, dear Christ, the gift of God to the fearful aloneness of every human soul.
You come to us not because of our sin and ugliness, but from the desire of your heart to hold our emptiness to your breast until your love flows into the poverty and need of our little lives, banishing our aloneness and convincing our doubting hearts that you want us, that you love us, that you will fill us with that beauty that is east of the sun and west of the moon that shines now in your infant eyes.
You come into the lonely places with the light of forever in your eyes.
Come now to us, Lord Jesus. Illumine our aloneness with your presence.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, December 19, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Today’s text
Luke 1:28-35, 38
He went in and said to her, 'Rejoice, you who enjoy God's favor! The Lord is with you.' She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean, but the angel said to her, 'Mary, do not be afraid; you have won God's favor. Look! You are to conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David; he will rule over the House of Jacob for ever and his reign will have no end.' Mary said to the angel, 'But how can this come about, since I have no knowledge of man?' The angel answered, 'The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will cover you with its shadow. And so the child will be holy and will be called Son of God.’ …Mary said, 'You see before you the Lord's servant, let it happen to me as you have said.'
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus, be born in us today.
Mary finds your favor, and soon she bears you, the holy child, into an unholy world. This is your way among us.
Your great grace extends holy favor on we who struggle along, trying to find a way to live, truly live. And soon you would birth in us, to us and through us that which is holy, born of your will and substance, not of our making.
But for one thing: Like Mary, we must offer some consent, some surrender, some willingness to bear the child, the fresh creation born of your favor resting upon us.
Little wonder that Mary feared and questioned. She is like us after all: human, possessing little understanding of the mysteries of how you make human life new, restoring your blessed image to the glory you intend.
But it doesn’t matter if we understand. All you seek is our ‘yes.’ All you want is our surrender, ‘May it be with me, Lord, as you wish.’
In that simplicity lies our joy--and yours. You have privileged me to see and feel that joy, such as one man can. But by your grace, in exquisite moments, I know and see that joy that our consent to your desire awakens at your divine heart.
Is it sacrilege to speak of you with such familiarity? If so, forgive me. I know that I know nothing of you, not really. Who can? You imprison the stars in your embrace; you mysteriously dwell in and among all that is, seeking your holy purpose.
How can anyone pretend to plumb your heart? How can any claim to comprehend anything about you? Except, of course, you show your ways among and in us. And when receive this, you awaken in us a joy that is not only ours, but a share in your own.
You smile, Loving One, as Mary bows and consents to your messenger. And the Holy One is born to show your face amid an unholy world. I live in the warmth of your smile.
So let it be to me as you will. Your will is my one good.
Come, Lord Jesus. Be born in me
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 1:28-35, 38
He went in and said to her, 'Rejoice, you who enjoy God's favor! The Lord is with you.' She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean, but the angel said to her, 'Mary, do not be afraid; you have won God's favor. Look! You are to conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David; he will rule over the House of Jacob for ever and his reign will have no end.' Mary said to the angel, 'But how can this come about, since I have no knowledge of man?' The angel answered, 'The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will cover you with its shadow. And so the child will be holy and will be called Son of God.’ …Mary said, 'You see before you the Lord's servant, let it happen to me as you have said.'
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus, be born in us today.
Mary finds your favor, and soon she bears you, the holy child, into an unholy world. This is your way among us.
Your great grace extends holy favor on we who struggle along, trying to find a way to live, truly live. And soon you would birth in us, to us and through us that which is holy, born of your will and substance, not of our making.
But for one thing: Like Mary, we must offer some consent, some surrender, some willingness to bear the child, the fresh creation born of your favor resting upon us.
Little wonder that Mary feared and questioned. She is like us after all: human, possessing little understanding of the mysteries of how you make human life new, restoring your blessed image to the glory you intend.
But it doesn’t matter if we understand. All you seek is our ‘yes.’ All you want is our surrender, ‘May it be with me, Lord, as you wish.’
In that simplicity lies our joy--and yours. You have privileged me to see and feel that joy, such as one man can. But by your grace, in exquisite moments, I know and see that joy that our consent to your desire awakens at your divine heart.
Is it sacrilege to speak of you with such familiarity? If so, forgive me. I know that I know nothing of you, not really. Who can? You imprison the stars in your embrace; you mysteriously dwell in and among all that is, seeking your holy purpose.
How can anyone pretend to plumb your heart? How can any claim to comprehend anything about you? Except, of course, you show your ways among and in us. And when receive this, you awaken in us a joy that is not only ours, but a share in your own.
You smile, Loving One, as Mary bows and consents to your messenger. And the Holy One is born to show your face amid an unholy world. I live in the warmth of your smile.
So let it be to me as you will. Your will is my one good.
Come, Lord Jesus. Be born in me
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Today’s text
Luke 1:26-33
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the House of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. He went in and said to her, 'Rejoice, you who enjoy God's favor! The Lord is with you.' She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean, but the angel said to her, 'Mary, do not be afraid; you have won God's favor. Look! You are to conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David; he will rule over the House of Jacob for ever and his reign will have no end.'
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Have no end among us.
Everything we see and we touch has an end—as do we. We know it from our earliest days: All that rises falls. All that is fair fails. All that glimmers with today’s beauty by tomorrow may be gone.
The clock constantly ticks, and we cannot stop it. When we are young it never moves fast enough. Time drags on, never bearing us soon enough to our hope-filled tomorrows when, finally, we will get, have, be, arrive at what we want.
Too soon the clock speeds ahead, telling us we haven’t enough time to do, be, see, get, arrive at what we desire.
The idea of eternity is strange to us, for all we touch is temporary, like our own bodies and minds—and those most beloved to us. But eternity dwells in our heads, and we can’t get it out even if we wanted to.
We long for it. We want to hold it to our chest, hugging it near along with all we have and fear losing. For we want the grace and life that knows no end, that endures, that embraces and holds us and all we love, for we know the pain of losing.
Little wonder, then, that the angel’s promise ignites longing and tears. You, my Lord Christ, will rule ... without end.
Eternity is so unlike time when our anxieties and to-do lists rule our lives. Eternity is the time of your rule: forever is bathed in grace, my forever.
But forever is now, wherever you are, dearest Friend, wherever your loving nearness is known.
So come, Lord Jesus. Let us taste forever now. Have no end among us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 1:26-33
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the House of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. He went in and said to her, 'Rejoice, you who enjoy God's favor! The Lord is with you.' She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean, but the angel said to her, 'Mary, do not be afraid; you have won God's favor. Look! You are to conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David; he will rule over the House of Jacob for ever and his reign will have no end.'
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Have no end among us.
Everything we see and we touch has an end—as do we. We know it from our earliest days: All that rises falls. All that is fair fails. All that glimmers with today’s beauty by tomorrow may be gone.
The clock constantly ticks, and we cannot stop it. When we are young it never moves fast enough. Time drags on, never bearing us soon enough to our hope-filled tomorrows when, finally, we will get, have, be, arrive at what we want.
Too soon the clock speeds ahead, telling us we haven’t enough time to do, be, see, get, arrive at what we desire.
The idea of eternity is strange to us, for all we touch is temporary, like our own bodies and minds—and those most beloved to us. But eternity dwells in our heads, and we can’t get it out even if we wanted to.
We long for it. We want to hold it to our chest, hugging it near along with all we have and fear losing. For we want the grace and life that knows no end, that endures, that embraces and holds us and all we love, for we know the pain of losing.
Little wonder, then, that the angel’s promise ignites longing and tears. You, my Lord Christ, will rule ... without end.
Eternity is so unlike time when our anxieties and to-do lists rule our lives. Eternity is the time of your rule: forever is bathed in grace, my forever.
But forever is now, wherever you are, dearest Friend, wherever your loving nearness is known.
So come, Lord Jesus. Let us taste forever now. Have no end among us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Today’s text
Luke 1:26-29
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the House of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. He went in and said to her, 'Rejoice, you who enjoy God's favor! The Lord is with you.' She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Upset our lives with your holy purpose.
We know our routines, and though we complain that they are too full, too busy, too boring, too dreary, too distracting, too common, too killing to body and soul, their regularity comforts us. With predictable assurance, our routines tell us who we are and what we should do.
But then you--or your angel--appear, upsetting our order, telling us that everything is not as it appears, that something is up, something that will redefine our worlds--and us, stripping away the comfort of the regular.
Is this why Mary is afraid?
She has fallen into your hands, this child of your favor, a young woman for whom you have the holiest purpose of all.
She is to bear your life into the world in fleshly form. That is your favor to her: She will carry and give birth to you who break apart our ordered existence, revealing that mortal flesh should never be only human.
It is intended to reveal the Love that is before the stars and will remain after they have blinked out billions of years from now. Mortality is intended for infinity, the human is intended for the divine, the fallen and broken is meant to hold the wholeness of you who hold the whole of the staggering universe, so vast and incomprehensible.
‘The Lord is with you,’ the angel says to Mary, which means nothing can be the same. She can never live a quiet life in an out of the way place, safe from the deepest drama that happens on Earth.
That drama happens in her, in her womb: you seek to born in mortal flesh, lifting it to its true intention. But not only in her, my Lord.
For this is the drama taking place in me. I can barely write these words. It warms me to see it happening in Mary, but that is only half the truth.
What happens in Mary is happening in me--and in all in whom you seek to be born, that our sinful, weak, mortal, finite, faltering flesh might bear the Infinite and All Loving, the Immortal and Unending, that I might know the joy and fear of holding you within, even as your beloved Mary.
This is your holiest purpose and eternal intention.
So come Lord, Jesus. Be born in us. Be born in me. Fill us with your fullness that we may know who we are and the love for which you intend us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 1:26-29
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the House of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. He went in and said to her, 'Rejoice, you who enjoy God's favor! The Lord is with you.' She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Upset our lives with your holy purpose.
We know our routines, and though we complain that they are too full, too busy, too boring, too dreary, too distracting, too common, too killing to body and soul, their regularity comforts us. With predictable assurance, our routines tell us who we are and what we should do.
But then you--or your angel--appear, upsetting our order, telling us that everything is not as it appears, that something is up, something that will redefine our worlds--and us, stripping away the comfort of the regular.
Is this why Mary is afraid?
She has fallen into your hands, this child of your favor, a young woman for whom you have the holiest purpose of all.
She is to bear your life into the world in fleshly form. That is your favor to her: She will carry and give birth to you who break apart our ordered existence, revealing that mortal flesh should never be only human.
It is intended to reveal the Love that is before the stars and will remain after they have blinked out billions of years from now. Mortality is intended for infinity, the human is intended for the divine, the fallen and broken is meant to hold the wholeness of you who hold the whole of the staggering universe, so vast and incomprehensible.
‘The Lord is with you,’ the angel says to Mary, which means nothing can be the same. She can never live a quiet life in an out of the way place, safe from the deepest drama that happens on Earth.
That drama happens in her, in her womb: you seek to born in mortal flesh, lifting it to its true intention. But not only in her, my Lord.
For this is the drama taking place in me. I can barely write these words. It warms me to see it happening in Mary, but that is only half the truth.
What happens in Mary is happening in me--and in all in whom you seek to be born, that our sinful, weak, mortal, finite, faltering flesh might bear the Infinite and All Loving, the Immortal and Unending, that I might know the joy and fear of holding you within, even as your beloved Mary.
This is your holiest purpose and eternal intention.
So come Lord, Jesus. Be born in us. Be born in me. Fill us with your fullness that we may know who we are and the love for which you intend us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Wednesday, December 11, 2008
Today’s text
John 1:6-8
This was the witness of John, when the Jews sent to him priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, 'Who are you?' He declared, he did not deny but declared, 'I am not the Christ.' So they asked, 'Then are you Elijah?' He replied, 'I am not.' 'Are you the Prophet?' He answered, 'No.' So they said to him, 'Who are you? We must take back an answer to those who sent us. What have you to say about yourself?' So he said, 'I am, as Isaiah prophesied: A voice of one that cries in the desert: Prepare a way for the Lord. Make his paths straight!'
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come and don’t delay. I am not ready, but don’t let that stop you.
I need time to prepare to receive you. I need silence. I need much less activity than the breathless pace recent days has required.
I need to stare into a candle and listen to music whose very sound pleads for your presence. Then I will know my own longing and offer it to you as fitting prayer. Then I will be ready.
Preparing is not about purity but praying our need. Your love abides even when we live far from awareness of who we are and what we need. You were born into our world never again to be dislodged from your abiding.
I do not need to pray for you to come, for you are the God who comes in every moment of every place with a love that overwhelms and consoles, heals hearts and makes whole.
Yet, I pray for you to come. I suppose my prayer is really that I may enter the love that comes in every moment.
So keep coming, Lord Jesus. Come and greet me when I least expect it, when I am busy and on the run, when I am uncertain and don’t know what to say, when I am unprepared and feel insecure and inadequate, when I am angry and unforgiving, when there just isn’t enough time, when I am feeling my frailty and the demands are too much for me.
Come and don’t delay. I need you more than I can say.
Come Lord Jesus, even as you come to me in these poor words.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 1:6-8
This was the witness of John, when the Jews sent to him priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, 'Who are you?' He declared, he did not deny but declared, 'I am not the Christ.' So they asked, 'Then are you Elijah?' He replied, 'I am not.' 'Are you the Prophet?' He answered, 'No.' So they said to him, 'Who are you? We must take back an answer to those who sent us. What have you to say about yourself?' So he said, 'I am, as Isaiah prophesied: A voice of one that cries in the desert: Prepare a way for the Lord. Make his paths straight!'
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come and don’t delay. I am not ready, but don’t let that stop you.
I need time to prepare to receive you. I need silence. I need much less activity than the breathless pace recent days has required.
I need to stare into a candle and listen to music whose very sound pleads for your presence. Then I will know my own longing and offer it to you as fitting prayer. Then I will be ready.
Preparing is not about purity but praying our need. Your love abides even when we live far from awareness of who we are and what we need. You were born into our world never again to be dislodged from your abiding.
I do not need to pray for you to come, for you are the God who comes in every moment of every place with a love that overwhelms and consoles, heals hearts and makes whole.
Yet, I pray for you to come. I suppose my prayer is really that I may enter the love that comes in every moment.
So keep coming, Lord Jesus. Come and greet me when I least expect it, when I am busy and on the run, when I am uncertain and don’t know what to say, when I am unprepared and feel insecure and inadequate, when I am angry and unforgiving, when there just isn’t enough time, when I am feeling my frailty and the demands are too much for me.
Come and don’t delay. I need you more than I can say.
Come Lord Jesus, even as you come to me in these poor words.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Today’s text
John 1:6-8
A man came, sent by God. His name was John. He came as a witness, to bear witness to the light, so that everyone might believe through him. He was not the light, he was to bear witness to the light.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Let me see your light that my darkness may flee.
It is easy to lose sight of you in the heat of the day. Work needs to be done. Challenges arise. People can be difficult. Patience grows short.
Words and emotions flood the mind and flow from the mouth, speaking nothing of your peace.
Darkness is in me. I fight it well when I am well prepared. But most often my darkness catches me off-guard, springing to life in unexpected ways and with startling speed. I am little aware until the deeds of darkness are my regret--and the wound of another.
But when I see you, when I rest in your love, when the brilliant whiteness of your unceasing goodness envelops me, all darkness flees.
So here I am again, sitting before you, calling your name, asking to see the light that shines from your face down every dark alley of creation. It pries open the heart and chases every shadow from the hall, until the light of an eternal loving fills each corner.
Yes, then mercy replaces every dark thought, and my eyes embrace all that I see with kindness. And everywhere I look I see reflections of your brilliant shining.
Come, Lord Jesus. Let me be and see your light.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 1:6-8
A man came, sent by God. His name was John. He came as a witness, to bear witness to the light, so that everyone might believe through him. He was not the light, he was to bear witness to the light.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Let me see your light that my darkness may flee.
It is easy to lose sight of you in the heat of the day. Work needs to be done. Challenges arise. People can be difficult. Patience grows short.
Words and emotions flood the mind and flow from the mouth, speaking nothing of your peace.
Darkness is in me. I fight it well when I am well prepared. But most often my darkness catches me off-guard, springing to life in unexpected ways and with startling speed. I am little aware until the deeds of darkness are my regret--and the wound of another.
But when I see you, when I rest in your love, when the brilliant whiteness of your unceasing goodness envelops me, all darkness flees.
So here I am again, sitting before you, calling your name, asking to see the light that shines from your face down every dark alley of creation. It pries open the heart and chases every shadow from the hall, until the light of an eternal loving fills each corner.
Yes, then mercy replaces every dark thought, and my eyes embrace all that I see with kindness. And everywhere I look I see reflections of your brilliant shining.
Come, Lord Jesus. Let me be and see your light.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, December 08, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
Today’s text
John 1:6-8
A man came, sent by God. His name was John. He came as a witness, to bear witness to the light, so that everyone might believe through him. He was not the light, he was to bear witness to the light.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Shine your light in our darkness that we might believe you are light indeed.
Precious moments and people have lit out lives with the sweet joy of loving presence. But all that is human fades and flees. The people are grass, the prophet says. The grass withers, the flowers fade. We know it too well.
But you are the light of the world, not one among many. You are the One for whom every heart longs, yes, every heart, even those who dismiss you and turn away into a world that is nothing more than what they see at the moment.
But you have opened my eyes to see that there is more, a source and an end to every beauty my eyes witness, to every love my life has known, to every grace that shines even in darkest of places.
You, blessed Jesus, are the source and end of the beauty and life for which we long. So come to us now and wrest our hearts from cold winter’s grip. Warm us in the light of a love which withers not and fades never.
Come, Lord Jesus. Shine your light in our darkness.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 1:6-8
A man came, sent by God. His name was John. He came as a witness, to bear witness to the light, so that everyone might believe through him. He was not the light, he was to bear witness to the light.
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Shine your light in our darkness that we might believe you are light indeed.
Precious moments and people have lit out lives with the sweet joy of loving presence. But all that is human fades and flees. The people are grass, the prophet says. The grass withers, the flowers fade. We know it too well.
But you are the light of the world, not one among many. You are the One for whom every heart longs, yes, every heart, even those who dismiss you and turn away into a world that is nothing more than what they see at the moment.
But you have opened my eyes to see that there is more, a source and an end to every beauty my eyes witness, to every love my life has known, to every grace that shines even in darkest of places.
You, blessed Jesus, are the source and end of the beauty and life for which we long. So come to us now and wrest our hearts from cold winter’s grip. Warm us in the light of a love which withers not and fades never.
Come, Lord Jesus. Shine your light in our darkness.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Today’s text
Mark 1:4-8
John the Baptist was in the desert, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. All Judaea and all the people of Jerusalem made their way to him, and as they were baptized by him in the river Jordan they confessed their sins. John wore a garment of camel-skin, and he lived on locusts and wild honey. In the course of his preaching he said, 'After me is coming someone who is more powerful than me, and I am not fit to kneel down and undo the strap of his sandals. I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.'
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Pour your Spirit into my hesitant heart.
My soul fears its failures and knows its weaknesses. I equally fear the freedom you bring to all on whom you pour your Spirit.
Do I really want to live freely, giving myself fully to those you have given me to love, serving without reserve those you have placed in my care?
I know this soul of mine. For all my impulsiveness, my heart holds back from those with whom I do not feel the ease of acceptance, those with whom I disagree, those who may look on me with doubt or suspicion.
It is typically human, I know. But my old wounds require a wall of protection that is exactly what your Spirit would strip from me, exposing my heart to hearts I do not know and have not yet learned to trust.
You invite me to trust you more than measures I use to cushion myself from the pains of leading and loving, from the vulnerability of opening my heart beyond its comfort zone.
But entering such vulnerability and encountering my weakness is exactly what I must do if I am to be human, human the way that you are, human the way you intend for all who love you.
So come, Lord Jesus. Fill me with the Love that is your Spirit. Then, knowing the Love you are, I will know there is nothing to fear … but missing you.
Come, Lord Jesus. Pour your Spirit into my hesitant heart.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 1:4-8
John the Baptist was in the desert, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. All Judaea and all the people of Jerusalem made their way to him, and as they were baptized by him in the river Jordan they confessed their sins. John wore a garment of camel-skin, and he lived on locusts and wild honey. In the course of his preaching he said, 'After me is coming someone who is more powerful than me, and I am not fit to kneel down and undo the strap of his sandals. I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.'
Reflection
Come, Lord Jesus. Pour your Spirit into my hesitant heart.
My soul fears its failures and knows its weaknesses. I equally fear the freedom you bring to all on whom you pour your Spirit.
Do I really want to live freely, giving myself fully to those you have given me to love, serving without reserve those you have placed in my care?
I know this soul of mine. For all my impulsiveness, my heart holds back from those with whom I do not feel the ease of acceptance, those with whom I disagree, those who may look on me with doubt or suspicion.
It is typically human, I know. But my old wounds require a wall of protection that is exactly what your Spirit would strip from me, exposing my heart to hearts I do not know and have not yet learned to trust.
You invite me to trust you more than measures I use to cushion myself from the pains of leading and loving, from the vulnerability of opening my heart beyond its comfort zone.
But entering such vulnerability and encountering my weakness is exactly what I must do if I am to be human, human the way that you are, human the way you intend for all who love you.
So come, Lord Jesus. Fill me with the Love that is your Spirit. Then, knowing the Love you are, I will know there is nothing to fear … but missing you.
Come, Lord Jesus. Pour your Spirit into my hesitant heart.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Today’s text
Mark 1:1
The beginning of the gospel about Jesus Christ, the Son of God. It is written in the prophet Isaiah: Look, I am going to send my messenger in front of you to prepare your way before you. A voice of one that cries in the desert: Prepare a way for the Lord, make his paths straight.
Reflection
How shall I prepare, my Lord? Perhaps your name alone is sufficient this morning.
To the Hebrews of old you were the unnamable mystery. I like that more and more as I age. With the years, I understand that I understand less than I’d thought.
And that is okay. I really don’t want to worship a God that I understand, who obeys my expectations and fits my assumptions. Such a one falls far short of the mystery and majesty of your eternity and immeasurable magnitude, you who cast billions of galaxies into dark space for your play.
How dare we try to hang a name on you? Who do we think we are?
I stand gladly with those ancient Hebrews, falling silent each time your unspeakable name should appear in the lines of biblical text or prayer, knowing your real name is too holy, too precious, too incomprehensible to say.
They just called you ‘Lord,’ the One to whom I and all else belongs, the only One to whom worship and reverence properly belongs.
And now it is for you, Lord, that I must prepare, you who are pleased to come to the likes of me. No preparation is proper or adequate for you. So I will sit in the silence before you and savor the name I am permitted to speak: Your are Lord, My Lord.
In you is all happiness and holy purpose, all life and love, so I will clear spaces amid the clamor of living and the clatter of this season to calm my heart and listen to the voice of soul where you speak, to music that invokes your nearness, to the souls of your beloved who bear your presence to my soul.
Bless my preparations, dear Loving and Nameless One; bless and draw near that your love may fill my frame and teach my soul to speak your name, the silent one that only love knows.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 1:1
The beginning of the gospel about Jesus Christ, the Son of God. It is written in the prophet Isaiah: Look, I am going to send my messenger in front of you to prepare your way before you. A voice of one that cries in the desert: Prepare a way for the Lord, make his paths straight.
Reflection
How shall I prepare, my Lord? Perhaps your name alone is sufficient this morning.
To the Hebrews of old you were the unnamable mystery. I like that more and more as I age. With the years, I understand that I understand less than I’d thought.
And that is okay. I really don’t want to worship a God that I understand, who obeys my expectations and fits my assumptions. Such a one falls far short of the mystery and majesty of your eternity and immeasurable magnitude, you who cast billions of galaxies into dark space for your play.
How dare we try to hang a name on you? Who do we think we are?
I stand gladly with those ancient Hebrews, falling silent each time your unspeakable name should appear in the lines of biblical text or prayer, knowing your real name is too holy, too precious, too incomprehensible to say.
They just called you ‘Lord,’ the One to whom I and all else belongs, the only One to whom worship and reverence properly belongs.
And now it is for you, Lord, that I must prepare, you who are pleased to come to the likes of me. No preparation is proper or adequate for you. So I will sit in the silence before you and savor the name I am permitted to speak: Your are Lord, My Lord.
In you is all happiness and holy purpose, all life and love, so I will clear spaces amid the clamor of living and the clatter of this season to calm my heart and listen to the voice of soul where you speak, to music that invokes your nearness, to the souls of your beloved who bear your presence to my soul.
Bless my preparations, dear Loving and Nameless One; bless and draw near that your love may fill my frame and teach my soul to speak your name, the silent one that only love knows.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, December 01, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Today’s text
Mark 1:1
The beginning of the gospel about Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
Reflection
Beginning … a word of promise all its own. To begin again, to have one more chance to get it right, life that is, and love; to become what I am intended to be, what my heart knows it wants and needs to be, to enter into the fullness that I sense within.
This my soul craves, but I am still the same old me.
Even now, in prayer, my heart is not pure but divided, the mind racing ahead to work demanding to be done; hurrying ahead I press to write quickly that I might get to the important labors of the day, as if these quiet moments are not.
All the while I miss the truth of this moment. Today is the beginning of entering the fullness of heart and joy you intend for me, Holy Mystery. Each day is the beginning of the good news you are.
Each day, fresh and free, is filled with the possibility of entering that state of grace and joy you hunger to share.
So free me from anxious thoughts about unfinished tasks, old failures that haunt the soul and words I should not have spoken. Free me that this day may be my new beginning, a gateway into the freedom to be what I am, a freedom known only as I know you.
Let me throw off the weight of yesterday and hear the gospel of a love that makes each day a new beginning. I hunger for new beginnings.
Pr. David L. MIller
Mark 1:1
The beginning of the gospel about Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
Reflection
Beginning … a word of promise all its own. To begin again, to have one more chance to get it right, life that is, and love; to become what I am intended to be, what my heart knows it wants and needs to be, to enter into the fullness that I sense within.
This my soul craves, but I am still the same old me.
Even now, in prayer, my heart is not pure but divided, the mind racing ahead to work demanding to be done; hurrying ahead I press to write quickly that I might get to the important labors of the day, as if these quiet moments are not.
All the while I miss the truth of this moment. Today is the beginning of entering the fullness of heart and joy you intend for me, Holy Mystery. Each day is the beginning of the good news you are.
Each day, fresh and free, is filled with the possibility of entering that state of grace and joy you hunger to share.
So free me from anxious thoughts about unfinished tasks, old failures that haunt the soul and words I should not have spoken. Free me that this day may be my new beginning, a gateway into the freedom to be what I am, a freedom known only as I know you.
Let me throw off the weight of yesterday and hear the gospel of a love that makes each day a new beginning. I hunger for new beginnings.
Pr. David L. MIller
Friday, November 21, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 25:38-40
"When did we see you a stranger and make you welcome, lacking clothes and clothe you? When did we find you sick or in prison and go to see you?” And the King will answer, "In truth I tell you, in so far as you did this to one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it to me."
Reflection
The nobility of our call is to tenderly tend the life of God in the world where it is threatened on every hand.
The righteous in Jesus parable, who care for the sick, the imprisoned, the oppressed, don’t see or know the mystery of what they are doing. They do not care just for the troubled, but for the life of God that they bear, the life carried secretly by every child of earth and by all creation.
God does not merely identify with the lost of this earth. The lost--and all of us--are alive with the life that is God; the wondrous love that is in Christ resides at the depth of our being since we are made in God’s own image. That image is love, for God is love.
To care, to give the drink of water to the thirsty, the word of encouragement to those who struggle, the gentle blessing of a human hand to one who is sick or in sorrow, this is to nurture the life of love and hope in their hearts, the life of God.
This life is already there by virtue of their having been fashioned in God’s image but our care waters the tender plant so that it grows into greater abundance, the abundance of the life of Christ seeking unique expression in each created things.
Our care also expresses and nurtures the life of Christ in our mortal lives that we may be the fullness expression of loving hope that we might be.
In such care of the life of God, we find the nobility and joy that God intends. We become human beings.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 25:38-40
"When did we see you a stranger and make you welcome, lacking clothes and clothe you? When did we find you sick or in prison and go to see you?” And the King will answer, "In truth I tell you, in so far as you did this to one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it to me."
Reflection
The nobility of our call is to tenderly tend the life of God in the world where it is threatened on every hand.
The righteous in Jesus parable, who care for the sick, the imprisoned, the oppressed, don’t see or know the mystery of what they are doing. They do not care just for the troubled, but for the life of God that they bear, the life carried secretly by every child of earth and by all creation.
God does not merely identify with the lost of this earth. The lost--and all of us--are alive with the life that is God; the wondrous love that is in Christ resides at the depth of our being since we are made in God’s own image. That image is love, for God is love.
To care, to give the drink of water to the thirsty, the word of encouragement to those who struggle, the gentle blessing of a human hand to one who is sick or in sorrow, this is to nurture the life of love and hope in their hearts, the life of God.
This life is already there by virtue of their having been fashioned in God’s image but our care waters the tender plant so that it grows into greater abundance, the abundance of the life of Christ seeking unique expression in each created things.
Our care also expresses and nurtures the life of Christ in our mortal lives that we may be the fullness expression of loving hope that we might be.
In such care of the life of God, we find the nobility and joy that God intends. We become human beings.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
[Note: I have had little time to write or breathe in recent days. But I just completed the reflection below. Written for another purpose, I thought those few of you who read my scribblings might find it useful in your preparations as, too soon, Advent and Christmas come.]
Love your poverty
The grayness of longing settles on my soul this time of year. Perhaps the mid-November grayness naturally works melancholy in the hearts of those of us of northern European descent. The sun gradually disappears for longer portions of the day, and darkness descends on our hearts as much as on the earth. We long for the light to return and scatter the darkness.
Scholars long ago dispelled the idea that we really know what time of year Jesus was born. Biblical historians agree that it wasn’t in the dead of winter, during the shortest days of the year. But I am pleased we celebrate the holy feast at this time.
It is fitting. It comes at the time when I am most likely to feel my poverty, a poverty I have come to love.
The light fades, the face in the mirror, another year on, is bit more worn, and I am reminded that I have no real control over either one. Time moves on without asking whether I approve.
And I don’t approve of what time does to loved ones who fade and fail, to good souls who lose their jobs amid economic uncertainty, or to those who must look at the empty chair at the Christmas dinner table … and remember brighter days.
We all feel our poverty in one way or the other, no matter what our bank statement says. It’s a deep poverty written into the fabric of our lives. None of us willed ourselves into existence. We didn’t give ourselves the mysterious vitality of being, nor can we extend that vitality for a single moment.
Our life, our existence, our breath is ultimately a gift from a source we neither comprehend or control, no matter the ability of our science to describe how things work.
We are poor, all of us. We don’t possess the life within us. It comes and it goes. And we feel the truth when the winter light wanes or at the end of weary days when the limits of our strength are apparent to our aching shoulders, if not also to our minds.
When we are young, typically, we are blissfully unaware of the truth of our poverty. For a while, we are able outrun any awareness of it. We escape. Too bad.
Too bad, for our poverty is not a barrier to the fullness of life. It is a bridge.
It is our poverty that allows us to receive. It is our poverty that allows us to be human and kind. It is our poverty that brings us to the manger in which the Christ is laid.
Those who are full--of themselves or something else--cannot come. They cannot receive. Only those who want the fullness of life and love they know that they do not possess can kneel before him, peer over the manger’s edge and receive the love that does not waver, the life that does not wane in winter’s cold.
So love your poverty. Throw your arms around it, embrace and welcome it as the gift that it is. It will bring you to the One who will always welcome you in all your poverty.
He is the Holy God in the straw who wants you more than you can know.
He is the fullness you do not have. He is the light in every dark night.
Pr. David L. Miller
Love your poverty
The grayness of longing settles on my soul this time of year. Perhaps the mid-November grayness naturally works melancholy in the hearts of those of us of northern European descent. The sun gradually disappears for longer portions of the day, and darkness descends on our hearts as much as on the earth. We long for the light to return and scatter the darkness.
Scholars long ago dispelled the idea that we really know what time of year Jesus was born. Biblical historians agree that it wasn’t in the dead of winter, during the shortest days of the year. But I am pleased we celebrate the holy feast at this time.
It is fitting. It comes at the time when I am most likely to feel my poverty, a poverty I have come to love.
The light fades, the face in the mirror, another year on, is bit more worn, and I am reminded that I have no real control over either one. Time moves on without asking whether I approve.
And I don’t approve of what time does to loved ones who fade and fail, to good souls who lose their jobs amid economic uncertainty, or to those who must look at the empty chair at the Christmas dinner table … and remember brighter days.
We all feel our poverty in one way or the other, no matter what our bank statement says. It’s a deep poverty written into the fabric of our lives. None of us willed ourselves into existence. We didn’t give ourselves the mysterious vitality of being, nor can we extend that vitality for a single moment.
Our life, our existence, our breath is ultimately a gift from a source we neither comprehend or control, no matter the ability of our science to describe how things work.
We are poor, all of us. We don’t possess the life within us. It comes and it goes. And we feel the truth when the winter light wanes or at the end of weary days when the limits of our strength are apparent to our aching shoulders, if not also to our minds.
When we are young, typically, we are blissfully unaware of the truth of our poverty. For a while, we are able outrun any awareness of it. We escape. Too bad.
Too bad, for our poverty is not a barrier to the fullness of life. It is a bridge.
It is our poverty that allows us to receive. It is our poverty that allows us to be human and kind. It is our poverty that brings us to the manger in which the Christ is laid.
Those who are full--of themselves or something else--cannot come. They cannot receive. Only those who want the fullness of life and love they know that they do not possess can kneel before him, peer over the manger’s edge and receive the love that does not waver, the life that does not wane in winter’s cold.
So love your poverty. Throw your arms around it, embrace and welcome it as the gift that it is. It will bring you to the One who will always welcome you in all your poverty.
He is the Holy God in the straw who wants you more than you can know.
He is the fullness you do not have. He is the light in every dark night.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, November 12, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 25:23-30
"His master said to him, “Well done, good and trustworthy servant; you have shown you are trustworthy in small things; I will trust you with greater; come and join in your master’s happiness.” Last came forward the man who had the single talent. “Sir,” said he, “I had heard you were a hard man, reaping where you had not sown and gathering where you had not scattered; so I was afraid, and I went off and hid your talent in the ground. Here it is; it was yours, you have it back.” But his master answered him, “You wicked and lazy servant! So you knew that I reap where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered? Then, you should have deposited my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have got my money back with interest. So now, take the talent from him and give it to the man who has the ten talents. For to everyone who has will be given more, and he will have more than enough; but anyone who has not, will be deprived even of what he has. As for this good-for-nothing servant, throw him into the darkness outside, where there will be weeping and grinding of teeth.”
Reflection
The end is harsh. Are you so harsh as this, Jesus? Is the judgment of human souls as unyielding and unremitting as this?
It contradicts my every image of your mercy. And, yes, I know that is what your parables are wont to do. But it is you who again and again have revealed to this soul your abiding hunger to bring all into your happiness.
You have revealed the immensity of your joy as you stand at the door and welcome all to share in the goodness that has neither beginning nor end, no source but your own divine heart.
How can such mercy and this harshness co-exist? The poor man merely did what fear dictated he must do to protect himself from the master’s hardness. There have been times when I did much the same, guarding myself from the hard judgment of one I feared. This happens in millions of homes and work places every day.
The poor servant ended up not in your happiness but in the outer darkness where the light of your mercy is not known. And this is what I most fear.
It seems that if fear dictates our action, we wind up in the place we flee. We lose what we sought to protect. We land in the darkness instead of the light of your face.
So what shall I do?
“Live,” you say in clearest whisper. “Live. Give yourself to me. Forget your reserve. Hold nothing back.
“There is nothing to fear, except losing me. Throw you heart into the fullness of love’s labor, and you will enter my happiness.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 25:23-30
"His master said to him, “Well done, good and trustworthy servant; you have shown you are trustworthy in small things; I will trust you with greater; come and join in your master’s happiness.” Last came forward the man who had the single talent. “Sir,” said he, “I had heard you were a hard man, reaping where you had not sown and gathering where you had not scattered; so I was afraid, and I went off and hid your talent in the ground. Here it is; it was yours, you have it back.” But his master answered him, “You wicked and lazy servant! So you knew that I reap where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered? Then, you should have deposited my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have got my money back with interest. So now, take the talent from him and give it to the man who has the ten talents. For to everyone who has will be given more, and he will have more than enough; but anyone who has not, will be deprived even of what he has. As for this good-for-nothing servant, throw him into the darkness outside, where there will be weeping and grinding of teeth.”
Reflection
The end is harsh. Are you so harsh as this, Jesus? Is the judgment of human souls as unyielding and unremitting as this?
It contradicts my every image of your mercy. And, yes, I know that is what your parables are wont to do. But it is you who again and again have revealed to this soul your abiding hunger to bring all into your happiness.
You have revealed the immensity of your joy as you stand at the door and welcome all to share in the goodness that has neither beginning nor end, no source but your own divine heart.
How can such mercy and this harshness co-exist? The poor man merely did what fear dictated he must do to protect himself from the master’s hardness. There have been times when I did much the same, guarding myself from the hard judgment of one I feared. This happens in millions of homes and work places every day.
The poor servant ended up not in your happiness but in the outer darkness where the light of your mercy is not known. And this is what I most fear.
It seems that if fear dictates our action, we wind up in the place we flee. We lose what we sought to protect. We land in the darkness instead of the light of your face.
So what shall I do?
“Live,” you say in clearest whisper. “Live. Give yourself to me. Forget your reserve. Hold nothing back.
“There is nothing to fear, except losing me. Throw you heart into the fullness of love’s labor, and you will enter my happiness.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 25:19-23
"Now a long time afterwards, the master of those servants came back and went through his accounts with them. The man who had received the five talents came forward bringing five more. "Sir," he said, "you entrusted me with five talents; here are five more that I have made." His master said to him, "Well done, good and trustworthy servant; you have shown you are trustworthy in small things; I will trust you with greater; come and join in your master's happiness." Next the man with the two talents came forward. "Sir," he said, "you entrusted me with two talents; here are two more that I have made." His master said to him, "Well done, good and trustworthy servant; you have shown you are trustworthy in small things; I will trust you with greater; come and join in your master's happiness."
Reflection
I wonder, Lord, what would have happened had they used their talents to make more but failed, losing what they had. Would the master have rewarded or banished them?
I know, this is a parable, and it’s intended to shake up how we see things. It is what it is, and it does no good to speculate about what would have happened had someone in the story acted differently. After all, this is a story you have imagined. It is not about actual people.
Except us, of course. It’s about us. So I can’t help but wonder.
It seems you want us to see and live beyond our fears. If so, then failure is an option you will prize. Yes, prize. You prize crashing failure over the failure to crash in the cause of your holy kingdom. Failure means a human soul had sufficient faith and courage to risk for the sake of your righteousness. They cared so much that playing safe was not an option.
And they trusted that you would welcome them even when best efforts crashed around their feet. There is faith and nobility in this, and the profound hope that abundant life is about your love, not about winning and losing, succeeding or failing. These things don’t matter much, despite our anxieties about losing out and the illusions the culture daily dumps on us.
What matters is living and venturing for you, allowing your love to lead me far beyond my fears to give myself and substance in service of that which does not fail or tarnish as the eons pass by.
You invite me to trust and risk, to have faith and take courage, using the days not to ensure my safety but to serve a love beyond all telling. You invite me to know that all will be well, and in all manner of circumstances.
And in my time, you will invite me into that happiness that has neither beginning nor end.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 25:19-23
"Now a long time afterwards, the master of those servants came back and went through his accounts with them. The man who had received the five talents came forward bringing five more. "Sir," he said, "you entrusted me with five talents; here are five more that I have made." His master said to him, "Well done, good and trustworthy servant; you have shown you are trustworthy in small things; I will trust you with greater; come and join in your master's happiness." Next the man with the two talents came forward. "Sir," he said, "you entrusted me with two talents; here are two more that I have made." His master said to him, "Well done, good and trustworthy servant; you have shown you are trustworthy in small things; I will trust you with greater; come and join in your master's happiness."
Reflection
I wonder, Lord, what would have happened had they used their talents to make more but failed, losing what they had. Would the master have rewarded or banished them?
I know, this is a parable, and it’s intended to shake up how we see things. It is what it is, and it does no good to speculate about what would have happened had someone in the story acted differently. After all, this is a story you have imagined. It is not about actual people.
Except us, of course. It’s about us. So I can’t help but wonder.
It seems you want us to see and live beyond our fears. If so, then failure is an option you will prize. Yes, prize. You prize crashing failure over the failure to crash in the cause of your holy kingdom. Failure means a human soul had sufficient faith and courage to risk for the sake of your righteousness. They cared so much that playing safe was not an option.
And they trusted that you would welcome them even when best efforts crashed around their feet. There is faith and nobility in this, and the profound hope that abundant life is about your love, not about winning and losing, succeeding or failing. These things don’t matter much, despite our anxieties about losing out and the illusions the culture daily dumps on us.
What matters is living and venturing for you, allowing your love to lead me far beyond my fears to give myself and substance in service of that which does not fail or tarnish as the eons pass by.
You invite me to trust and risk, to have faith and take courage, using the days not to ensure my safety but to serve a love beyond all telling. You invite me to know that all will be well, and in all manner of circumstances.
And in my time, you will invite me into that happiness that has neither beginning nor end.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, November 10, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 25:14-18
'It is like a man about to go abroad who summoned his servants and entrusted his property to them. To one he gave five talents, to another two, to a third one, each in proportion to his ability. Then he set out on his journey. The man who had received the five talents promptly went and traded with them and made five more. The man who had received two made two more in the same way. But the man who had received one went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master's money.
Reflection
I wonder, Lord, why did this fellow give anything to the person who had less ability? Why not send him to work for one of the others who have more ability? Everyone would have been happier, and the outcome would have improved for all involved in the transaction.
I know this a parable and intended to shake up my understanding, but there is injustice here at the start. It’s an injustice of expectation. Did he really expect the person of lesser ability to suddenly change and improve? The situation seems set up for failure, which of course comes in due time.
But I am struck by the actions of the three. Two took a risk, and one did not. Two trusted that something good might come; the other lived in fear. And fear, I know, is the great enemy of the spiritual life, so much so that the best and wisest leaders of human souls often stand before their charges and speak two words: ‘Fear not.’
Pope John Paul II did it again and again. In war times, leaders like FDR repeated such words during times of darkest night. The Dali Lama says the same to his oppressed people. And you, Jesus, speak to us in clearest terms, “Do not be afraid. The One who cares for the sparrow is ever near and sees you, too. And I am with you always.”
One man in the parable was afraid, and fear controlled his action. One was governed by fear and the others by … what? Hope? Courage? Trust? The simple ability to live with risk? What is it that you ask of us?
In the silence of conscience, your answer is clear: “Be not afraid. Use what great or small gift you have in my service. Leave the rest to me.
“And don’t live in fear. You need not. Whatever your outcomes in this life, your life remains in me. All is well.
"Cast your fear to the wind … and act.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Today’s text
Matthew 25:14-18
'It is like a man about to go abroad who summoned his servants and entrusted his property to them. To one he gave five talents, to another two, to a third one, each in proportion to his ability. Then he set out on his journey. The man who had received the five talents promptly went and traded with them and made five more. The man who had received two made two more in the same way. But the man who had received one went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master's money.
Reflection
I wonder, Lord, why did this fellow give anything to the person who had less ability? Why not send him to work for one of the others who have more ability? Everyone would have been happier, and the outcome would have improved for all involved in the transaction.
I know this a parable and intended to shake up my understanding, but there is injustice here at the start. It’s an injustice of expectation. Did he really expect the person of lesser ability to suddenly change and improve? The situation seems set up for failure, which of course comes in due time.
But I am struck by the actions of the three. Two took a risk, and one did not. Two trusted that something good might come; the other lived in fear. And fear, I know, is the great enemy of the spiritual life, so much so that the best and wisest leaders of human souls often stand before their charges and speak two words: ‘Fear not.’
Pope John Paul II did it again and again. In war times, leaders like FDR repeated such words during times of darkest night. The Dali Lama says the same to his oppressed people. And you, Jesus, speak to us in clearest terms, “Do not be afraid. The One who cares for the sparrow is ever near and sees you, too. And I am with you always.”
One man in the parable was afraid, and fear controlled his action. One was governed by fear and the others by … what? Hope? Courage? Trust? The simple ability to live with risk? What is it that you ask of us?
In the silence of conscience, your answer is clear: “Be not afraid. Use what great or small gift you have in my service. Leave the rest to me.
“And don’t live in fear. You need not. Whatever your outcomes in this life, your life remains in me. All is well.
"Cast your fear to the wind … and act.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 21:6-13
But at midnight there was a cry, "Look! The bridegroom! Go out and meet him." Then all those wedding attendants woke up and trimmed their lamps, and the foolish ones said to the sensible ones, "Give us some of your oil: our lamps are going out." But they replied, "There may not be enough for us and for you; you had better go to those who sell it and buy some for yourselves." They had gone off to buy it when the bridegroom arrived. Those who were ready went in with him to the wedding hall and the door was closed. The other attendants arrived later. "Lord, Lord," they said, "open the door for us." But he replied, "In truth I tell you, I do not know you. So stay awake, because you do not know either the day or the hour."
Reflection
My Lord, are you really so ungracious that you would close the door to those who seek you? I am sobered by the finality of your refusal, and the chilling words: ‘I do not know you.’
But you do. You know me, and you have known me even when I have chosen not to know you. You know me when my heart wanders in far countries of forgetfulness, lost in anxieties over my life, unable to find my way back to the center of my soul where you abide, waiting for my return.
You know me even when I have fallen asleep in mad pursuits of eager ego, as I to make myself what I am not, as if I could convince others of my significance when I knew the truth that I am a nothing, a sham, except when I abide in your love.
You know me then, too, and so I come, knocking again on the door, begging you to open. And you do. Even now I enter that place where I know you in honest prayer.
So what am I to do with the harsh finality of your parable? Perhaps I might take it as warning that there is a falling asleep from which one may not wake, a terrible loss of your presence.
I have felt that loss, Jesus. We all have. Such loss can be permanent, you seem to say. So stay awake.
A warning, yet an invitation. You always invite, don’t you? And this one is to the holy nearness of that love who cannot be contained, to your unending celebration.
If your warning sounds harsh, even your harshness is born of love, your love for those who might be lost, breaking your own divine heart. Your words are born in love for me and for all you cherish that we may feast with you.
For you do, indeed, come, and will do so to bring to completion all you have started.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 21:6-13
But at midnight there was a cry, "Look! The bridegroom! Go out and meet him." Then all those wedding attendants woke up and trimmed their lamps, and the foolish ones said to the sensible ones, "Give us some of your oil: our lamps are going out." But they replied, "There may not be enough for us and for you; you had better go to those who sell it and buy some for yourselves." They had gone off to buy it when the bridegroom arrived. Those who were ready went in with him to the wedding hall and the door was closed. The other attendants arrived later. "Lord, Lord," they said, "open the door for us." But he replied, "In truth I tell you, I do not know you. So stay awake, because you do not know either the day or the hour."
Reflection
My Lord, are you really so ungracious that you would close the door to those who seek you? I am sobered by the finality of your refusal, and the chilling words: ‘I do not know you.’
But you do. You know me, and you have known me even when I have chosen not to know you. You know me when my heart wanders in far countries of forgetfulness, lost in anxieties over my life, unable to find my way back to the center of my soul where you abide, waiting for my return.
You know me even when I have fallen asleep in mad pursuits of eager ego, as I to make myself what I am not, as if I could convince others of my significance when I knew the truth that I am a nothing, a sham, except when I abide in your love.
You know me then, too, and so I come, knocking again on the door, begging you to open. And you do. Even now I enter that place where I know you in honest prayer.
So what am I to do with the harsh finality of your parable? Perhaps I might take it as warning that there is a falling asleep from which one may not wake, a terrible loss of your presence.
I have felt that loss, Jesus. We all have. Such loss can be permanent, you seem to say. So stay awake.
A warning, yet an invitation. You always invite, don’t you? And this one is to the holy nearness of that love who cannot be contained, to your unending celebration.
If your warning sounds harsh, even your harshness is born of love, your love for those who might be lost, breaking your own divine heart. Your words are born in love for me and for all you cherish that we may feast with you.
For you do, indeed, come, and will do so to bring to completion all you have started.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, November 03, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 21:1-5
'Then the kingdom of Heaven will be like this: Ten wedding attendants took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish and five were sensible: the foolish ones, though they took their lamps, took no oil with them, whereas the sensible ones took flasks of oil as well as their lamps. The bridegroom was late, and they all grew drowsy and fell asleep.
Reflection
Do we ever really know what we will need over the course of a long journey? No. Well, then, how about for a week? Or maybe a day?
Truth is, Jesus, I seldom know what I will need to have done by the end of the week, to say nothing of a month or a year. The usual duties I know about, but unforeseen challenges will arise and contingencies will occur over which I have no control.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. The surprises force me to respond, to think on my feet, to meet and deal with more people than I otherwise would have. Not always easy or pleasant, but this enriches me more often than not. I am more alive for it, and almost always more loving.
So what am I to do with this little tale of yours about wise and foolish attendants, some who go prepared for a long wait and others not? And all fall asleep during the long wait.
The punch line is apparent before one gets half way through the story: be prepared, stay awake. Things may not develop as you imagined, so bring more than you think you need.
And what do we need? There’s the rub. We are never quite sure. So how do we stay prepared, awake, ready for your arrival? For that is the point: you come, Jesus. Will we be awake to receive you and enter the party of your presence?
Early believers in you struggled to stay awake when your final appearance was delayed longer than they had imagined. Here we sit 20 centuries later still waiting for your arrival--or not.
I pay little, make that no attention to prophecies that your final coming draws near. Those who make such predictions, whipping up excitement about the ‘last times,’ all sound crazed or silly to me. How can they know? And maybe this biblical language about the end is all symbol and metaphor taken far too literally.
Thousands of self-proclaimed prophets have arisen with messages about the end of time during the past 20 centuries. None of them knew a thing.
And they all missed the point as far as I am concerned. The party of your presence is now. Despite the suffering and struggle of this and every age, we live in the time of your constant coming. And we’d all see and know it if our souls were half awake to the miracle of the daily.
If we were, we’d attend to your nearness in the mystery of souls nearest our own, in the love and joy that is apparent in the most mundane moments, in the struggle to be and remain a human being instead of a mere consumer of goods and people for our ends. We might then see the mystery of your uncreated love in smiles well known to us.
But this requires staying awake to what is right in front of us, which I think, Jesus your your point.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 21:1-5
'Then the kingdom of Heaven will be like this: Ten wedding attendants took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish and five were sensible: the foolish ones, though they took their lamps, took no oil with them, whereas the sensible ones took flasks of oil as well as their lamps. The bridegroom was late, and they all grew drowsy and fell asleep.
Reflection
Do we ever really know what we will need over the course of a long journey? No. Well, then, how about for a week? Or maybe a day?
Truth is, Jesus, I seldom know what I will need to have done by the end of the week, to say nothing of a month or a year. The usual duties I know about, but unforeseen challenges will arise and contingencies will occur over which I have no control.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. The surprises force me to respond, to think on my feet, to meet and deal with more people than I otherwise would have. Not always easy or pleasant, but this enriches me more often than not. I am more alive for it, and almost always more loving.
So what am I to do with this little tale of yours about wise and foolish attendants, some who go prepared for a long wait and others not? And all fall asleep during the long wait.
The punch line is apparent before one gets half way through the story: be prepared, stay awake. Things may not develop as you imagined, so bring more than you think you need.
And what do we need? There’s the rub. We are never quite sure. So how do we stay prepared, awake, ready for your arrival? For that is the point: you come, Jesus. Will we be awake to receive you and enter the party of your presence?
Early believers in you struggled to stay awake when your final appearance was delayed longer than they had imagined. Here we sit 20 centuries later still waiting for your arrival--or not.
I pay little, make that no attention to prophecies that your final coming draws near. Those who make such predictions, whipping up excitement about the ‘last times,’ all sound crazed or silly to me. How can they know? And maybe this biblical language about the end is all symbol and metaphor taken far too literally.
Thousands of self-proclaimed prophets have arisen with messages about the end of time during the past 20 centuries. None of them knew a thing.
And they all missed the point as far as I am concerned. The party of your presence is now. Despite the suffering and struggle of this and every age, we live in the time of your constant coming. And we’d all see and know it if our souls were half awake to the miracle of the daily.
If we were, we’d attend to your nearness in the mystery of souls nearest our own, in the love and joy that is apparent in the most mundane moments, in the struggle to be and remain a human being instead of a mere consumer of goods and people for our ends. We might then see the mystery of your uncreated love in smiles well known to us.
But this requires staying awake to what is right in front of us, which I think, Jesus your your point.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 5:6
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for uprightness: they shall have their fill.
Reflection
I have stopped running this morning, Jesus. I have not been running from you. Just running. Just busy. My mind and hands have been full of work that is done for you, planning and organizing, teaching and sharing, counseling and supporting.
Most of it makes me smile; you, too, I hope. But this morning I have no place to which I need run, and tears are quickly in my eyes.
My soul finds an open space to breathe. My heart opens, and a hunger fills the inmost parts of my body. But even while feeling this, my hunger is satisfied, at least in part, by the presence of love and longing.
It’s a strange awareness. I have known it many times before but am never quite able to understand it. At the same moment, I feel both hunger and satisfaction, both wanting and fullness, desire and the presence of what is desired.
I hunger, yet am filled. I am filled, but I want more.
Is this what it is to know you, Loving Mystery? To hunger for you who are always more than I can hold or know, even while holding within the mystery of a love that reaches out from the bottom of my soul to the uttermost regions of the reality that I know I can never possess?
Words break down here. At least mine do. I am pleased I can describe even this much, this little.
Let my amazement and confusion be my morning praise of you who dwell within and ever beyond me.
For you are the longing and the fullness. You are both. And this life of mine is caught up in you, so that hunger and fullness, longing and love will mark my days. And on my very best days I will know it and thank you for it.
Thank you for this day, this open space in which you can reveal to me the mystery of my life and of your love. I know I will never be satisfied, but fill me as best I can be filled with the wonder of your life.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 5:6
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for uprightness: they shall have their fill.
Reflection
I have stopped running this morning, Jesus. I have not been running from you. Just running. Just busy. My mind and hands have been full of work that is done for you, planning and organizing, teaching and sharing, counseling and supporting.
Most of it makes me smile; you, too, I hope. But this morning I have no place to which I need run, and tears are quickly in my eyes.
My soul finds an open space to breathe. My heart opens, and a hunger fills the inmost parts of my body. But even while feeling this, my hunger is satisfied, at least in part, by the presence of love and longing.
It’s a strange awareness. I have known it many times before but am never quite able to understand it. At the same moment, I feel both hunger and satisfaction, both wanting and fullness, desire and the presence of what is desired.
I hunger, yet am filled. I am filled, but I want more.
Is this what it is to know you, Loving Mystery? To hunger for you who are always more than I can hold or know, even while holding within the mystery of a love that reaches out from the bottom of my soul to the uttermost regions of the reality that I know I can never possess?
Words break down here. At least mine do. I am pleased I can describe even this much, this little.
Let my amazement and confusion be my morning praise of you who dwell within and ever beyond me.
For you are the longing and the fullness. You are both. And this life of mine is caught up in you, so that hunger and fullness, longing and love will mark my days. And on my very best days I will know it and thank you for it.
Thank you for this day, this open space in which you can reveal to me the mystery of my life and of your love. I know I will never be satisfied, but fill me as best I can be filled with the wonder of your life.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, October 27, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 5:1-5
Seeing the crowds, [Jesus] went onto the mountain. And when he was seated his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak. This is what he taught them: How blessed are the poor in spirit: the kingdom of Heaven is theirs. Blessed are the gentle: they shall have the earth as inheritance. Blessed are those who mourn: they shall be comforted.
Reflection
Blessed are we, indeed, my Lord, when we live with lowly spirits, not filled with arrogance or presumption.
Blessed are we, for then our eyes shall see all that is and all we are as holy gift from the One who freely fills our lungs with the breath of life.
Then our hearts will dwell in joy in continual awareness of the gift of life.
Then our lips will give thanks for each small joy of the day.
Then our souls bask in the constant loving nearness of the One who makes the sun to shine on just and unjust alike.
Then our fingers will not count what we have and compare it to that of others, as if life consists in having, not loving.
Then our hands shall use all that we have as tools to tend your world with care--and to be given over to others when we are done.
Then our minds shall be convinced that life and joy rests in knowing you, the great giver and lover of all you have made, of all life, of our lives.
Then our anxious egos shall fly from the urge to defend themselves from assaults to our dignity, as if our tiny selves were isolated fortresses in a hostile land.
Then we shall make our home in the environment of your grace, where your kindness is known and ever near.
Blessed are we, my great and gracious Friend, when we live with lowly spirits, for then our hearts are ready to receive every gift of love.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 5:1-5
Seeing the crowds, [Jesus] went onto the mountain. And when he was seated his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak. This is what he taught them: How blessed are the poor in spirit: the kingdom of Heaven is theirs. Blessed are the gentle: they shall have the earth as inheritance. Blessed are those who mourn: they shall be comforted.
Reflection
Blessed are we, indeed, my Lord, when we live with lowly spirits, not filled with arrogance or presumption.
Blessed are we, for then our eyes shall see all that is and all we are as holy gift from the One who freely fills our lungs with the breath of life.
Then our hearts will dwell in joy in continual awareness of the gift of life.
Then our lips will give thanks for each small joy of the day.
Then our souls bask in the constant loving nearness of the One who makes the sun to shine on just and unjust alike.
Then our fingers will not count what we have and compare it to that of others, as if life consists in having, not loving.
Then our hands shall use all that we have as tools to tend your world with care--and to be given over to others when we are done.
Then our minds shall be convinced that life and joy rests in knowing you, the great giver and lover of all you have made, of all life, of our lives.
Then our anxious egos shall fly from the urge to defend themselves from assaults to our dignity, as if our tiny selves were isolated fortresses in a hostile land.
Then we shall make our home in the environment of your grace, where your kindness is known and ever near.
Blessed are we, my great and gracious Friend, when we live with lowly spirits, for then our hearts are ready to receive every gift of love.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Today’s text
John 8:31-36
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said: If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth, and the truth will set you free. They answered, 'We are descended from Abraham and we have never been the slaves of anyone; what do you mean, "You will be set free.’ Jesus replied: In all truth I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave. Now a slave has no permanent standing in the household, but a son belongs to it for ever. So if the Son sets you free, you will indeed be free.
Reflection
Freedom is about space, isn’t it Jesus? We want space in which to move without restriction, space in which to think and feel and gain our bearings, space where we might find and be who we are.
The pressure of time and demands to do what needs doing fill every space some days. There is no time to stop, to look, to listen--and hence, to choose one’s way from depth of heart, instead of from the heat of the moment.
The urgency of the moment leaves no room for anything else, no room to breathe, so we live on the surface of life, not from our depths.
This is not freedom. It is the bondage of necessity. It reduces us to what we do, so that we are no longer human beings.
I long for freedom from the urgent. But is this the bondage and freedom of which you speak, my Friend?
You would free me from bondage to sin. And sin? Sin is living without awareness of love, the love that you are.
Some days, sin is living so fast that I lose touch with the center of my being where I know you, where I know you are love, where I know I am loved, where I feel the texture of the beauty I bear within as it hungers for expression.
Living too fast is a kind of sin, Jesus. It is sin because I live out of touch with the center of my soul where I most know you.
It is in knowing you, making my home in you, that freedom comes. Sometimes it comes all at once. Other times I struggle to return to the center of my soul, and I must wait for your appearance, for the bursting forth of the fountain of love you are in this soul.
But my language betrays me. For you are already there, waiting within, inviting me to return home to center of my soul. You are there, waiting to open a wide space in my soul that I may breathe the fresh air of freedom from all that oppresses the soul.
So I here I am again, dear Friend. Let your love surround and fill me. Then I’ll be free.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 8:31-36
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said: If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth, and the truth will set you free. They answered, 'We are descended from Abraham and we have never been the slaves of anyone; what do you mean, "You will be set free.’ Jesus replied: In all truth I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave. Now a slave has no permanent standing in the household, but a son belongs to it for ever. So if the Son sets you free, you will indeed be free.
Reflection
Freedom is about space, isn’t it Jesus? We want space in which to move without restriction, space in which to think and feel and gain our bearings, space where we might find and be who we are.
The pressure of time and demands to do what needs doing fill every space some days. There is no time to stop, to look, to listen--and hence, to choose one’s way from depth of heart, instead of from the heat of the moment.
The urgency of the moment leaves no room for anything else, no room to breathe, so we live on the surface of life, not from our depths.
This is not freedom. It is the bondage of necessity. It reduces us to what we do, so that we are no longer human beings.
I long for freedom from the urgent. But is this the bondage and freedom of which you speak, my Friend?
You would free me from bondage to sin. And sin? Sin is living without awareness of love, the love that you are.
Some days, sin is living so fast that I lose touch with the center of my being where I know you, where I know you are love, where I know I am loved, where I feel the texture of the beauty I bear within as it hungers for expression.
Living too fast is a kind of sin, Jesus. It is sin because I live out of touch with the center of my soul where I most know you.
It is in knowing you, making my home in you, that freedom comes. Sometimes it comes all at once. Other times I struggle to return to the center of my soul, and I must wait for your appearance, for the bursting forth of the fountain of love you are in this soul.
But my language betrays me. For you are already there, waiting within, inviting me to return home to center of my soul. You are there, waiting to open a wide space in my soul that I may breathe the fresh air of freedom from all that oppresses the soul.
So I here I am again, dear Friend. Let your love surround and fill me. Then I’ll be free.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Today’s text
John 8:31-32
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said: If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth, and the truth will set you free.
Reflection
And what truth will we know, Jesus? The truth that makes free.
That’s not how we think of truth. Truth is fearful for us. We cringe when someone says they are going to tell us the truth.
Too often, voices of truth tell us what we don’t want to know: things didn’t turn out well; the house needs expensive repair; there’s not enough money; the surgery wasn’t successful; we are sicker than we thought; someone has died.
The truth always holds threat for us. That’s the way it is for beings that are mortal and frail--and who know it.
We do not possess perfect control over what will happen to us today, let alone over other powers that affect us. We don’t control what can and does happen to our beloved, and often we can’t do a thing to help them when we most want to do so.
Even the hidden processes of our own bodies are beyond our reach. And one day they will betray us and stop our breath before we have figured out exactly how to be human.
And that’s another truth. We don’t really know. Oh, we try. We make best efforts, sometimes. But the task of becoming a human being takes a lifetime of concerted focus. And our focus wavers, and sometimes is just so easy to be less than a truly human being.
And that’s the truth.
So how can it be, my dearest Friend, that your truth sets free when so many other truths merely attest my bondage?
You don’t answer, telling me how. Your answer is where. Make your home in me, you say. Make your home in a love that knows your every bondage. Make your home here. Fear will cease; freedom will come.
Freedom comes as our souls are convinced that we rest in a love that never wavers or wanes, a love that never falters or fails, a love that will be there--knowable--on the very best and worst days of our life.
And far beyond.
So let me know this truth, dear Friend. When I know it I become almost human.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 8:31-32
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said: If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth, and the truth will set you free.
Reflection
And what truth will we know, Jesus? The truth that makes free.
That’s not how we think of truth. Truth is fearful for us. We cringe when someone says they are going to tell us the truth.
Too often, voices of truth tell us what we don’t want to know: things didn’t turn out well; the house needs expensive repair; there’s not enough money; the surgery wasn’t successful; we are sicker than we thought; someone has died.
The truth always holds threat for us. That’s the way it is for beings that are mortal and frail--and who know it.
We do not possess perfect control over what will happen to us today, let alone over other powers that affect us. We don’t control what can and does happen to our beloved, and often we can’t do a thing to help them when we most want to do so.
Even the hidden processes of our own bodies are beyond our reach. And one day they will betray us and stop our breath before we have figured out exactly how to be human.
And that’s another truth. We don’t really know. Oh, we try. We make best efforts, sometimes. But the task of becoming a human being takes a lifetime of concerted focus. And our focus wavers, and sometimes is just so easy to be less than a truly human being.
And that’s the truth.
So how can it be, my dearest Friend, that your truth sets free when so many other truths merely attest my bondage?
You don’t answer, telling me how. Your answer is where. Make your home in me, you say. Make your home in a love that knows your every bondage. Make your home here. Fear will cease; freedom will come.
Freedom comes as our souls are convinced that we rest in a love that never wavers or wanes, a love that never falters or fails, a love that will be there--knowable--on the very best and worst days of our life.
And far beyond.
So let me know this truth, dear Friend. When I know it I become almost human.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, October 20, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Today’s text
John 8:31-32
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said: 'If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth, and the truth will set you free.'
Reflection
The heart makes its home, somewhere. This has always been true, Jesus. There is always a place where our hearts try to make their beds.
The list of possible places is far too long to recount, dear Friend. I haven’t the energy to discover and list all the places in which my heart has sought its home.
For years, no, decades, my heart sought its home in the impressions I made on others, trying out one façade or another. Why should I think that I could make myself more real by impressing others with insights or art, acts of courage or adventure, by appearing more caring or committed than I really am?
I don’t know, but I did. It’s crazy.
For reasons lost in childhood, hidden in my genes or in the tragedy of human fallenness, I imagined my reality was dependent upon the opinions of others--as if one’s real life resides in the impressions one can create in their minds.
It’s an illusion of course, and it enslaves millions. We recognize it when something points it out to us, but most of the time we are powerless to free ourselves from its grasp.
We go on trying to make ourselves what we are not, convincing others we are more real, intelligent, accomplished or important than we are--and fighting off slights to our self-respect and inflated egos. But all the time we know our secrets--and become less real with every word and action calculated for its affect on others.
There are innumerable ways we fashion homes in which to dwell--power, influence, wealth, status, intelligence, accomplishment or experience. We use them all to feather our psychic nests, as if we could settle in and feel at rest, at peace, at home, at last.
But ultimately, we cannot. They all fail us in one way or another, sooner or later. And the illusions we project drain us of energy until our life force is spent.
But you offer another way, dear Friend. Rest and home reside in you. You invite us to make our homes in your word, your truth, your reality, there to find the freedom of soul you alone give, the freedom that rests in your love alone.
The thought of it warms my heart. And my mind and body releases the tight grip I keep on myself and my public identity.
So this is freedom.
If so, let me make my home in your word, in your truth--in you. For beyond the ways and places I have sought to make a home for my heart, you are the place where I am truly welcome and finally free.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 8:31-32
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said: 'If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth, and the truth will set you free.'
Reflection
The heart makes its home, somewhere. This has always been true, Jesus. There is always a place where our hearts try to make their beds.
The list of possible places is far too long to recount, dear Friend. I haven’t the energy to discover and list all the places in which my heart has sought its home.
For years, no, decades, my heart sought its home in the impressions I made on others, trying out one façade or another. Why should I think that I could make myself more real by impressing others with insights or art, acts of courage or adventure, by appearing more caring or committed than I really am?
I don’t know, but I did. It’s crazy.
For reasons lost in childhood, hidden in my genes or in the tragedy of human fallenness, I imagined my reality was dependent upon the opinions of others--as if one’s real life resides in the impressions one can create in their minds.
It’s an illusion of course, and it enslaves millions. We recognize it when something points it out to us, but most of the time we are powerless to free ourselves from its grasp.
We go on trying to make ourselves what we are not, convincing others we are more real, intelligent, accomplished or important than we are--and fighting off slights to our self-respect and inflated egos. But all the time we know our secrets--and become less real with every word and action calculated for its affect on others.
There are innumerable ways we fashion homes in which to dwell--power, influence, wealth, status, intelligence, accomplishment or experience. We use them all to feather our psychic nests, as if we could settle in and feel at rest, at peace, at home, at last.
But ultimately, we cannot. They all fail us in one way or another, sooner or later. And the illusions we project drain us of energy until our life force is spent.
But you offer another way, dear Friend. Rest and home reside in you. You invite us to make our homes in your word, your truth, your reality, there to find the freedom of soul you alone give, the freedom that rests in your love alone.
The thought of it warms my heart. And my mind and body releases the tight grip I keep on myself and my public identity.
So this is freedom.
If so, let me make my home in your word, in your truth--in you. For beyond the ways and places I have sought to make a home for my heart, you are the place where I am truly welcome and finally free.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 22:15-22
Then the Pharisees went away to work out between them how to trap him in what he said. And they sent their disciples to him, together with some Herodians, to say, 'Master, we know that you are an honest man and teach the way of God in all honesty, and that you are not afraid of anyone, because human rank means nothing to you. Give us your opinion, then. Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?' But Jesus was aware of their malice and replied, 'You hypocrites! Why are you putting me to the test? Show me the money you pay the tax with.' They handed him a denarius, and he said, 'Whose portrait is this? Whose title?' They replied, 'Caesar's.' Then he said to them, 'Very well, pay Caesar what belongs to Caesar -- and God what belongs to God.'
Reflection
Your question is so obvious this morning, dearest Friend--and so personal. To whom do I belong? To whom or what is my heart given?
Am I given to you?
I should be, for I am yours. I have loved you since before I much knew you. And you have loved me since before my creation. You were present then, making me in the image of your wisdom and purpose, your joy and desire. And my joy is found only in giving myself to the purpose and desire you formed in this soul that is me.
Yet, I have been holding myself back. My heart is not ready to be fully given to your purpose, your way. It resists surrendering to love as you love, to risk as you risk, fully engaging the souls around me.
I think it is fear that holds me back, although I feel no dread and little anxiety in these days. But I know that loving makes one vulnerable, and in these days I crave safety. (But I always have). So, I wall off parts of my heart, sharing them rarely and only with just a few, or one.
It is easier to stand back and look at things from a distance, disconnected from what is really happening.
It’s a reflex. Human, certainly. And it reflects recent years of feeling abused and misunderstood.
But my awareness of the state of my soul also reveals discontent. I do not have the joy I crave. I want more, that more that I can have only by loving and giving, surrendering my heart even where it resists.
Give to God what belongs to God, you say. I haven’t been. But I know that I need to. My soul’s satisfaction is found in no other way but this surrender.
So today, dearest Friend, let me give my whole heart to the souls and tasks you have placed in my care.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 22:15-22
Then the Pharisees went away to work out between them how to trap him in what he said. And they sent their disciples to him, together with some Herodians, to say, 'Master, we know that you are an honest man and teach the way of God in all honesty, and that you are not afraid of anyone, because human rank means nothing to you. Give us your opinion, then. Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?' But Jesus was aware of their malice and replied, 'You hypocrites! Why are you putting me to the test? Show me the money you pay the tax with.' They handed him a denarius, and he said, 'Whose portrait is this? Whose title?' They replied, 'Caesar's.' Then he said to them, 'Very well, pay Caesar what belongs to Caesar -- and God what belongs to God.'
Reflection
Your question is so obvious this morning, dearest Friend--and so personal. To whom do I belong? To whom or what is my heart given?
Am I given to you?
I should be, for I am yours. I have loved you since before I much knew you. And you have loved me since before my creation. You were present then, making me in the image of your wisdom and purpose, your joy and desire. And my joy is found only in giving myself to the purpose and desire you formed in this soul that is me.
Yet, I have been holding myself back. My heart is not ready to be fully given to your purpose, your way. It resists surrendering to love as you love, to risk as you risk, fully engaging the souls around me.
I think it is fear that holds me back, although I feel no dread and little anxiety in these days. But I know that loving makes one vulnerable, and in these days I crave safety. (But I always have). So, I wall off parts of my heart, sharing them rarely and only with just a few, or one.
It is easier to stand back and look at things from a distance, disconnected from what is really happening.
It’s a reflex. Human, certainly. And it reflects recent years of feeling abused and misunderstood.
But my awareness of the state of my soul also reveals discontent. I do not have the joy I crave. I want more, that more that I can have only by loving and giving, surrendering my heart even where it resists.
Give to God what belongs to God, you say. I haven’t been. But I know that I need to. My soul’s satisfaction is found in no other way but this surrender.
So today, dearest Friend, let me give my whole heart to the souls and tasks you have placed in my care.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 22:15-22
Then the Pharisees went away to work out between them how to trap him in what he said. And they sent their disciples to him, together with some Herodians, to say, 'Master, we know that you are an honest man and teach the way of God in all honesty, and that you are not afraid of anyone, because human rank means nothing to you. Give us your opinion, then. Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?' But Jesus was aware of their malice and replied, 'You hypocrites! Why are you putting me to the test? Show me the money you pay the tax with.' They handed him a denarius, and he said, 'Whose portrait is this? Whose title?' They replied, 'Caesar's.' Then he said to them, 'Very well, pay Caesar what belongs to Caesar -- and God what belongs to God.'
Reflection
What belongs to you, my Lord? Or should I say who belongs to you? The Earth is yours and its fullness, and today I wonder about all faces that seldom appear on the front page The hungry, the forgotten, the refugee, the homeless.
I think of those I met in refugee camps and death watches in starving places. I see the children whose haunted faces reflected the horrors of which this world is so terribly capable. Their young eyes knew almost nothing other than hunger and war.
Forbid their faces from fading from my mind, for they belong to you, too. And what is that to me?
Give to God what belongs to God? I cannot give them to you. They are already yours, their names and faces are not hidden from you. You cannot forget them, even when I do.
They are yours, and you would tend them like a loving mother, like a father holding them safe in your shadow. And I belong to you, too.
So your command is clear: Give to God what is God’s. My life is yours, the breath in my lungs, the strength of hand and mind--all of it, yours.
Give them to me, you say. Give them to my holy purpose. And that? Life, full and abundant, generous and overflowing, just like your heart, Holy One.
May I give myself to you with the same generosity that you give yourself to me and all you love. Then, maybe then, my heart will truly be given to you, knowing the freedom for which I long, no longer the frustration of being bound within myself.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 22:15-22
Then the Pharisees went away to work out between them how to trap him in what he said. And they sent their disciples to him, together with some Herodians, to say, 'Master, we know that you are an honest man and teach the way of God in all honesty, and that you are not afraid of anyone, because human rank means nothing to you. Give us your opinion, then. Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?' But Jesus was aware of their malice and replied, 'You hypocrites! Why are you putting me to the test? Show me the money you pay the tax with.' They handed him a denarius, and he said, 'Whose portrait is this? Whose title?' They replied, 'Caesar's.' Then he said to them, 'Very well, pay Caesar what belongs to Caesar -- and God what belongs to God.'
Reflection
What belongs to you, my Lord? Or should I say who belongs to you? The Earth is yours and its fullness, and today I wonder about all faces that seldom appear on the front page The hungry, the forgotten, the refugee, the homeless.
I think of those I met in refugee camps and death watches in starving places. I see the children whose haunted faces reflected the horrors of which this world is so terribly capable. Their young eyes knew almost nothing other than hunger and war.
Forbid their faces from fading from my mind, for they belong to you, too. And what is that to me?
Give to God what belongs to God? I cannot give them to you. They are already yours, their names and faces are not hidden from you. You cannot forget them, even when I do.
They are yours, and you would tend them like a loving mother, like a father holding them safe in your shadow. And I belong to you, too.
So your command is clear: Give to God what is God’s. My life is yours, the breath in my lungs, the strength of hand and mind--all of it, yours.
Give them to me, you say. Give them to my holy purpose. And that? Life, full and abundant, generous and overflowing, just like your heart, Holy One.
May I give myself to you with the same generosity that you give yourself to me and all you love. Then, maybe then, my heart will truly be given to you, knowing the freedom for which I long, no longer the frustration of being bound within myself.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
October 14, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 22:15-22
Then the Pharisees went away to work out between them how to trap him in what he said. And they sent their disciples to him, together with some Herodians, to say, 'Master, we know that you are an honest man and teach the way of God in all honesty, and that you are not afraid of anyone, because human rank means nothing to you. Give us your opinion, then. Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?' But Jesus was aware of their malice and replied, 'You hypocrites! Why are you putting me to the test? Show me the money you pay the tax with.' They handed him a denarius, and he said, 'Whose portrait is this? Whose title?' They replied, 'Caesar's.' Then he said to them, 'Very well, pay Caesar what belongs to Caesar -- and God what belongs to God.'
Reflection
They thought they had you, Jesus. And I must admit it is a clever question. The Herodians supported paying the taxes to maintain favor with Roman occupiers. The Pharisees favored resisting Rome, choosing to serve God alone, not the state.
No matter how you answered you would alienate one side or the other. And you might even get yourself arrested for stirring resistance to the powers that be.
What no one expected was that your response would echo through the rest of history. I know, you were simply side-stepping your opponents’ well-laid ambush: “Give to Caesar what belong to him, and to God what belongs to God.”
But your words beg an eternal question: Just what does belong to God?
The question haunts every soul who is aware of the simple fact that they did not create themselves. What is really mine, and what belongs to the Mystery who made me and all that is?
The answer is not hard. The world and all it holds is yours, my Lord, shared with us for our joy and the service of your holy purpose. And our joy is, indeed, part of your purpose.
But the first awareness is that I am yours, all I am and have is yours, and all is to be used to honor you.
Your clever words to your opponents offer no clues about how to do that. You simply ask us to live and choose our way in light of this simple awareness: You are the Infinite Source of all that is, and all life in every moment is to savored and handled to honor you.
Know this, you say, and find your way. And know also that every soul you meet and touch today belongs also to me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 22:15-22
Then the Pharisees went away to work out between them how to trap him in what he said. And they sent their disciples to him, together with some Herodians, to say, 'Master, we know that you are an honest man and teach the way of God in all honesty, and that you are not afraid of anyone, because human rank means nothing to you. Give us your opinion, then. Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?' But Jesus was aware of their malice and replied, 'You hypocrites! Why are you putting me to the test? Show me the money you pay the tax with.' They handed him a denarius, and he said, 'Whose portrait is this? Whose title?' They replied, 'Caesar's.' Then he said to them, 'Very well, pay Caesar what belongs to Caesar -- and God what belongs to God.'
Reflection
They thought they had you, Jesus. And I must admit it is a clever question. The Herodians supported paying the taxes to maintain favor with Roman occupiers. The Pharisees favored resisting Rome, choosing to serve God alone, not the state.
No matter how you answered you would alienate one side or the other. And you might even get yourself arrested for stirring resistance to the powers that be.
What no one expected was that your response would echo through the rest of history. I know, you were simply side-stepping your opponents’ well-laid ambush: “Give to Caesar what belong to him, and to God what belongs to God.”
But your words beg an eternal question: Just what does belong to God?
The question haunts every soul who is aware of the simple fact that they did not create themselves. What is really mine, and what belongs to the Mystery who made me and all that is?
The answer is not hard. The world and all it holds is yours, my Lord, shared with us for our joy and the service of your holy purpose. And our joy is, indeed, part of your purpose.
But the first awareness is that I am yours, all I am and have is yours, and all is to be used to honor you.
Your clever words to your opponents offer no clues about how to do that. You simply ask us to live and choose our way in light of this simple awareness: You are the Infinite Source of all that is, and all life in every moment is to savored and handled to honor you.
Know this, you say, and find your way. And know also that every soul you meet and touch today belongs also to me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Today’s text
Philippians 4:6-7
Never worry about anything; but tell God all your desires of every kind in prayer and petition shot through with gratitude, and the peace of God which is beyond our understanding will guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus.
Reflection
So tell me, Jesus, does your peace depend also on me? Must I do my part; bring all I am in prayer to you, knowing your heart is my home?
Is it then that peace will guard my heart?
As you know, this is a heart that needs much guarding. I am regularly impressed by how easily my sense of peace and stability is disrupted. Objections and misunderstandings come, small bumps in the byways of human discourse. But even small bumps can bring anger or defensiveness welling from my depths.
It’s an old pattern, and one not limited, I know, to me. But peace flees in such moments, and it precisely then that I most need the equanimity, the calm, the peace that rests in you.
Resting in you is the only way to this peace, and living this peace is the way that peace is prolonged.
So I come again to rest in you. Those words are such an abstraction. What, really, do they mean? Is it as simple as coming to a quiet place, like this, and naming the distresses of my heart, aware that you welcome each one with a love I cannot comprehend?
Is this resting knowing there is nothing to do, except to be here pouring out this soul--and listening to the silence for your gentle movements in my depths?
Is it even less, just being here with you?
It seems so, and the peace I know here is what I need to carry with me as I leave for the day. So help me touch this quiet space within me, and retreat to just this place when unruly passions well and foam that I may know and be your peace.
Your peace does not depend on outward circumstance, but inward recollection.
Pr. David L. Miller
Philippians 4:6-7
Never worry about anything; but tell God all your desires of every kind in prayer and petition shot through with gratitude, and the peace of God which is beyond our understanding will guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus.
Reflection
So tell me, Jesus, does your peace depend also on me? Must I do my part; bring all I am in prayer to you, knowing your heart is my home?
Is it then that peace will guard my heart?
As you know, this is a heart that needs much guarding. I am regularly impressed by how easily my sense of peace and stability is disrupted. Objections and misunderstandings come, small bumps in the byways of human discourse. But even small bumps can bring anger or defensiveness welling from my depths.
It’s an old pattern, and one not limited, I know, to me. But peace flees in such moments, and it precisely then that I most need the equanimity, the calm, the peace that rests in you.
Resting in you is the only way to this peace, and living this peace is the way that peace is prolonged.
So I come again to rest in you. Those words are such an abstraction. What, really, do they mean? Is it as simple as coming to a quiet place, like this, and naming the distresses of my heart, aware that you welcome each one with a love I cannot comprehend?
Is this resting knowing there is nothing to do, except to be here pouring out this soul--and listening to the silence for your gentle movements in my depths?
Is it even less, just being here with you?
It seems so, and the peace I know here is what I need to carry with me as I leave for the day. So help me touch this quiet space within me, and retreat to just this place when unruly passions well and foam that I may know and be your peace.
Your peace does not depend on outward circumstance, but inward recollection.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Today’s text
Philippians 4:4
Never worry about anything; but tell God all your desires of every kind in prayer and petition shot through with gratitude, and the peace of God which is beyond our understanding will guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus.
Reflection
All of life, all that I am, is to be offered in relationship to you, who are Love. And you receive me, all of me, leaving nothing out, nothing untouched, nothing unforgiven, nothing unredeemed, nothing that is not transformed into the joy of knowing you.
So I bring all I have been and am. Though I am largely a mystery to myself, you know all that I am and know it in the love you are, receiving what I bring with open arms, eager to enfold a child of your own making, a heart born from the generosity of your own.
So I come, bearing the load of my life, my heart eager to be lightened of its futile cares.
But I already am lighter. Gratitude flows from the unseen fountain of being within me at the sound of your voice, ‘Release your worries; tell me all your desires.’ At this, the heart hears the long-sought sound of home.
And the soul rises. For gratitude is much lighter than the cares of the heart. It is weightless and makes me so. I walk with feather step amid the wounded of earth, my transformed being a living prayer that your love might lift their souls into the flight of freedom and joy.
.
Then only shall we comprehend your peace, though it passes any understanding we possess. Still, we will know.
Pr. David L. Miller
Philippians 4:4
Never worry about anything; but tell God all your desires of every kind in prayer and petition shot through with gratitude, and the peace of God which is beyond our understanding will guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus.
Reflection
All of life, all that I am, is to be offered in relationship to you, who are Love. And you receive me, all of me, leaving nothing out, nothing untouched, nothing unforgiven, nothing unredeemed, nothing that is not transformed into the joy of knowing you.
So I bring all I have been and am. Though I am largely a mystery to myself, you know all that I am and know it in the love you are, receiving what I bring with open arms, eager to enfold a child of your own making, a heart born from the generosity of your own.
So I come, bearing the load of my life, my heart eager to be lightened of its futile cares.
But I already am lighter. Gratitude flows from the unseen fountain of being within me at the sound of your voice, ‘Release your worries; tell me all your desires.’ At this, the heart hears the long-sought sound of home.
And the soul rises. For gratitude is much lighter than the cares of the heart. It is weightless and makes me so. I walk with feather step amid the wounded of earth, my transformed being a living prayer that your love might lift their souls into the flight of freedom and joy.
.
Then only shall we comprehend your peace, though it passes any understanding we possess. Still, we will know.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Today’s text
Philippians 4:4
Always be joyful, then, in the Lord; I repeat, be joyful.
Reflection
Help me rise, dearest Friend. Draw every thought to you. Take one each captive that my soul may transcend the moods that weigh my heart.
I long for distant voices I have missed for many weeks. My heart wants to fly, but cannot elevate above the carpet, weighted, as it is, with worry and impotent imaginings of what might be happening to my beloved.
Necessary details of living--letters to write, calls to make, the little logistics of meetings, programs and classes--gobble the hours, consuming the days. The heart trudges through all the while longing to return to the essential.
And that, dear Heart, is you.
You dwell in this laden heart of mine. And joy comes only as I stop to listen, heart to Heart, to the eternal Heart of your nearness, abiding within.
Joy flows from this secret place. It is irrational, really. It makes no sense. The days do not grow shorter … or easier, when I fly to this gracious space. I am no more accomplished or competent and have won no successes anyone might see.
But joy comes as I turn my eyes in to listen again to you, the Heart of my heart. Little wonder, I suppose, for there I know myself in you, truly inside your immensity, the soul enveloped in its true home.
And there is joy. But of course, that’s where joy dwells.
So I can be joyful … in the Lord.
Pr. David L. Miller
Philippians 4:4
Always be joyful, then, in the Lord; I repeat, be joyful.
Reflection
Help me rise, dearest Friend. Draw every thought to you. Take one each captive that my soul may transcend the moods that weigh my heart.
I long for distant voices I have missed for many weeks. My heart wants to fly, but cannot elevate above the carpet, weighted, as it is, with worry and impotent imaginings of what might be happening to my beloved.
Necessary details of living--letters to write, calls to make, the little logistics of meetings, programs and classes--gobble the hours, consuming the days. The heart trudges through all the while longing to return to the essential.
And that, dear Heart, is you.
You dwell in this laden heart of mine. And joy comes only as I stop to listen, heart to Heart, to the eternal Heart of your nearness, abiding within.
Joy flows from this secret place. It is irrational, really. It makes no sense. The days do not grow shorter … or easier, when I fly to this gracious space. I am no more accomplished or competent and have won no successes anyone might see.
But joy comes as I turn my eyes in to listen again to you, the Heart of my heart. Little wonder, I suppose, for there I know myself in you, truly inside your immensity, the soul enveloped in its true home.
And there is joy. But of course, that’s where joy dwells.
So I can be joyful … in the Lord.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Today’s text
Philippians 3:7-11
But what were once my assets I now through Christ Jesus count as losses. Yes, I will go further: because of the supreme advantage of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, I count everything else as loss. For him I have accepted the loss of all other things, and look on them all as filth if only I can gain Christ and be given a place in him, with the uprightness I have gained not from the Law, but through faith in Christ, an uprightness from God, based on faith, that I may come to know him and the power of his resurrection, and partake of his sufferings by being molded to the pattern of his death, striving towards the goal of resurrection from the dead.
Reflection
Your world is distraction, my Lord, and your church, your people. It is in the silence of this room that I most know you. In the silence I meet you, O Great and Holy Silence, abiding, waiting, here, always.
It is in this silence that my soul slows and my eyes open. Here I learn to walk slowly, and the pressure to react to a million bombarding stimuli falls away. My soul quiets, and the mind calms.
Then only am I fit for the day, able to be with others, abiding with them in peace, no longer driven by internal frustrations or the demands of others. Then only am I prepared to be human, for I have been with you in the silence where I know your abiding.
Failing this, I lose you--and me, and I am unfit for human contact.
So I come here, counting everything as loss, as garbage, next to what I know here. For I know you here, and that other anxious self dies as I hear you, Great Silence, in the quiet of an abiding love.
May the noise and fury of the days not distract me from you or cause me to lose what you give me here. For you give me your own self. The life of you who are Life grows, emerging from the soil of my soul that I may be the self you are in me.
Rising again and again, until all of me is raised from the dead, and death itself is gone.
Pr. David L. Miller
Philippians 3:7-11
But what were once my assets I now through Christ Jesus count as losses. Yes, I will go further: because of the supreme advantage of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, I count everything else as loss. For him I have accepted the loss of all other things, and look on them all as filth if only I can gain Christ and be given a place in him, with the uprightness I have gained not from the Law, but through faith in Christ, an uprightness from God, based on faith, that I may come to know him and the power of his resurrection, and partake of his sufferings by being molded to the pattern of his death, striving towards the goal of resurrection from the dead.
Reflection
Your world is distraction, my Lord, and your church, your people. It is in the silence of this room that I most know you. In the silence I meet you, O Great and Holy Silence, abiding, waiting, here, always.
It is in this silence that my soul slows and my eyes open. Here I learn to walk slowly, and the pressure to react to a million bombarding stimuli falls away. My soul quiets, and the mind calms.
Then only am I fit for the day, able to be with others, abiding with them in peace, no longer driven by internal frustrations or the demands of others. Then only am I prepared to be human, for I have been with you in the silence where I know your abiding.
Failing this, I lose you--and me, and I am unfit for human contact.
So I come here, counting everything as loss, as garbage, next to what I know here. For I know you here, and that other anxious self dies as I hear you, Great Silence, in the quiet of an abiding love.
May the noise and fury of the days not distract me from you or cause me to lose what you give me here. For you give me your own self. The life of you who are Life grows, emerging from the soil of my soul that I may be the self you are in me.
Rising again and again, until all of me is raised from the dead, and death itself is gone.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Today’s text
Philippians 3:7-11
But what were once my assets I now through Christ Jesus count as losses. Yes, I will go further: because of the supreme advantage of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, I count everything else as loss. For him I have accepted the loss of all other things, and look on them all as filth if only I can gain Christ and be given a place in him, with the uprightness I have gained not from the Law, but through faith in Christ, an uprightness from God, based on faith, that I may come to know him and the power of his resurrection, and partake of his sufferings by being molded to the pattern of his death, striving towards the goal of resurrection from the dead.
Reflection
I cannot deny the power of your resurrection. In some miniscule way, I know it. I say this with resistance flowing through my veins. But say it I must, for your power is more present than my resistance and more persistent.
So I speak: I know the power of your rising, holy Jesus, the power that lifted you alive from the death of the tomb, the power of Being Itself, the power that lives in all that lives, the power that never rests until life overwhelms the emptiness and completes all that is.
I come to this place of prayer, and you lift me again from coldness to joy, from sloth to purpose, from dissipation to vitality, from bondage to freedom, from death to life.
Your power pulses in my blood, and in its rush I know the power of your rising … rising also in me.
How may I stay connected to you, the Infinite Source of resurrection, that life may come to my every death? So many days drag me down into the tomb of fear and mere existence, and I want more. I want the power of your rising bubbling and filling, overflowing and freeing this soul that I may be the joy you intend.
Compared with this blessed freedom, little else matters. So what is your answer, Jesus?
“Come. Come to me,” you say. “Each day. Whatever your condition. Come. Surrender all claims to meaning or significance. Give up the self you think you are. It is illusion. You are only that which you become in the nearness of the love that I am. From eternity you are loved and known, and love attends your every step and indwells your soul, however buried it may be. This love is my present nearness.
“Flee to those places where you know love. Love the small details of your days, attending each with care. You will enter deeply the love that abides, the life that attends your every step.
“And you will know the power of my rising, for that power is love and nothing but love--the one power that alone is stronger than the death you fear.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Philippians 3:7-11
But what were once my assets I now through Christ Jesus count as losses. Yes, I will go further: because of the supreme advantage of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, I count everything else as loss. For him I have accepted the loss of all other things, and look on them all as filth if only I can gain Christ and be given a place in him, with the uprightness I have gained not from the Law, but through faith in Christ, an uprightness from God, based on faith, that I may come to know him and the power of his resurrection, and partake of his sufferings by being molded to the pattern of his death, striving towards the goal of resurrection from the dead.
Reflection
I cannot deny the power of your resurrection. In some miniscule way, I know it. I say this with resistance flowing through my veins. But say it I must, for your power is more present than my resistance and more persistent.
So I speak: I know the power of your rising, holy Jesus, the power that lifted you alive from the death of the tomb, the power of Being Itself, the power that lives in all that lives, the power that never rests until life overwhelms the emptiness and completes all that is.
I come to this place of prayer, and you lift me again from coldness to joy, from sloth to purpose, from dissipation to vitality, from bondage to freedom, from death to life.
Your power pulses in my blood, and in its rush I know the power of your rising … rising also in me.
How may I stay connected to you, the Infinite Source of resurrection, that life may come to my every death? So many days drag me down into the tomb of fear and mere existence, and I want more. I want the power of your rising bubbling and filling, overflowing and freeing this soul that I may be the joy you intend.
Compared with this blessed freedom, little else matters. So what is your answer, Jesus?
“Come. Come to me,” you say. “Each day. Whatever your condition. Come. Surrender all claims to meaning or significance. Give up the self you think you are. It is illusion. You are only that which you become in the nearness of the love that I am. From eternity you are loved and known, and love attends your every step and indwells your soul, however buried it may be. This love is my present nearness.
“Flee to those places where you know love. Love the small details of your days, attending each with care. You will enter deeply the love that abides, the life that attends your every step.
“And you will know the power of my rising, for that power is love and nothing but love--the one power that alone is stronger than the death you fear.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Today’s text
Philippians 3:4b-8a
If anyone does claim to rely on them, my claim is better. Circumcised on the eighth day of my life, I was born of the race of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrew parents. In the matter of the Law, I was a Pharisee; as for religious fervor, I was a persecutor of the Church; as for the uprightness embodied in the Law, I was faultless. But what were once my assets I now through Christ Jesus count as losses. Yes, I will go further: because of the supreme advantage of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, I count everything else as loss.
Reflection
The words awaken memory, Jesus. You told tales: the pearl of great price, the treasure hidden in a field for which one gives everything to purchase. Such is the value of what you are and bring.
This comes first as intuition and then experience. We hear your words, imagine your face or feel the mysterious something stirred in us by the presence of the love you are. You awaken in us awareness of the Love who is the Father, the One you sought in the quiet hours of your days.
And we know: life is not bread alone. There is bread that feeds forgotten parts of our soul we barely knew were there. There is a Love that plays at the deep heart of things, even in us, beckoning us to come home. It sings for us to come and know, come and rest, come and join the song of Love in time and space. Come and know the Love who dwells hidden within, waiting to be awakened by the Love and who labors in all we touch and see.
Come and feel alive, again or perhaps for the first time. Come and know the joy for which you are intended, for which I made you. So says the Lord, the One I cannot see or imagine, but yet whom I hear beckoning me in every love I have ever known.
Come pray out whatever is in you. Bring it all. It does not matter what. Come and discover the blessed awareness that washes fresh the soul when we find that all else pales before the knowledge of this Christ, this love, this wonder.
Then and only then are we free. In knowing him, the soul is released from bondage to disordered desire and cravings that disturb and burden.
And we know: this Christ, this Love, is the pearl of great price. And it lies hidden within us, never far from us, waiting to be awakened by the slightest invitation of willing souls.
Pr. David L. Miller
Philippians 3:4b-8a
If anyone does claim to rely on them, my claim is better. Circumcised on the eighth day of my life, I was born of the race of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrew parents. In the matter of the Law, I was a Pharisee; as for religious fervor, I was a persecutor of the Church; as for the uprightness embodied in the Law, I was faultless. But what were once my assets I now through Christ Jesus count as losses. Yes, I will go further: because of the supreme advantage of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, I count everything else as loss.
Reflection
The words awaken memory, Jesus. You told tales: the pearl of great price, the treasure hidden in a field for which one gives everything to purchase. Such is the value of what you are and bring.
This comes first as intuition and then experience. We hear your words, imagine your face or feel the mysterious something stirred in us by the presence of the love you are. You awaken in us awareness of the Love who is the Father, the One you sought in the quiet hours of your days.
And we know: life is not bread alone. There is bread that feeds forgotten parts of our soul we barely knew were there. There is a Love that plays at the deep heart of things, even in us, beckoning us to come home. It sings for us to come and know, come and rest, come and join the song of Love in time and space. Come and know the Love who dwells hidden within, waiting to be awakened by the Love and who labors in all we touch and see.
Come and feel alive, again or perhaps for the first time. Come and know the joy for which you are intended, for which I made you. So says the Lord, the One I cannot see or imagine, but yet whom I hear beckoning me in every love I have ever known.
Come pray out whatever is in you. Bring it all. It does not matter what. Come and discover the blessed awareness that washes fresh the soul when we find that all else pales before the knowledge of this Christ, this love, this wonder.
Then and only then are we free. In knowing him, the soul is released from bondage to disordered desire and cravings that disturb and burden.
And we know: this Christ, this Love, is the pearl of great price. And it lies hidden within us, never far from us, waiting to be awakened by the slightest invitation of willing souls.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Today’s text
Philippians 2:1-4
So if in Christ there is anything that will move you, any incentive in love, any fellowship in the Spirit, any warmth or sympathy -- I appeal to you, make my joy complete by being of a single mind, one in love, one in heart and one in mind. Nothing is to be done out of jealousy or vanity; instead, out of humility of mind everyone should give preference to others, everyone pursuing not selfish interests but those of others.
Reflection
This is a word out of time, Jesus--out of every time. There has been no time when these words didn’t apply.
Paul looks at the congregation in Philippi and urges them to unity of mind and heart. Seek to be one in love through humility, setting aside selfish interests to care for the interests of others, the interest of the entire body of believers.
I have less an idea about what might have divided the ancient Greek community at Philippi than what divides us.
We approach life as consumers, Jesus. We believe and act as if it the world should serve us, our needs, our wants, our comforts. We go to a store or café so long as it serves us as we please. When it does not, we go elsewhere. There are plenty of other options.
There is no incentive to stay, to seek understanding or reconciliation. It is easier to leave. What matters is getting what you want.
This attitude shapes our entire consciousness. It is an attitude of privilege, arrogance and irresponsibility.
Our culture, our way of life forms us. It does its own kind of spiritual formation into the spirit of consumerism in which what matters is me, my wants and getting them fulfilled in when and where I please.
Nothing could be further from your Spirit, Jesus. Nothing could be further from the spirit of worship and community.
In Christian community, you move us beyond consideration of our own needs Jesus. When we worship it is your glory not our comfort that take central place. If it is not, then who are we worshiping? And if we cannot look beyond ourselves to others, how is communal life and joy possible?
Move us beyond the evil spirit of our age and culture, Jesus. Teach us contentment. Show us the needs of other souls, and reveal your desire to join us in your body, with a single heart and will--to love and serve you and each other in your name.
In you, we are not consumers, but receivers of your generosity that your goodness may flow through us.
Our ways breed criticism and conflict, competition and anger. Your way brings unity and joy. So teach us your way.
Pr. David L. Miller
Philippians 2:1-4
So if in Christ there is anything that will move you, any incentive in love, any fellowship in the Spirit, any warmth or sympathy -- I appeal to you, make my joy complete by being of a single mind, one in love, one in heart and one in mind. Nothing is to be done out of jealousy or vanity; instead, out of humility of mind everyone should give preference to others, everyone pursuing not selfish interests but those of others.
Reflection
This is a word out of time, Jesus--out of every time. There has been no time when these words didn’t apply.
Paul looks at the congregation in Philippi and urges them to unity of mind and heart. Seek to be one in love through humility, setting aside selfish interests to care for the interests of others, the interest of the entire body of believers.
I have less an idea about what might have divided the ancient Greek community at Philippi than what divides us.
We approach life as consumers, Jesus. We believe and act as if it the world should serve us, our needs, our wants, our comforts. We go to a store or café so long as it serves us as we please. When it does not, we go elsewhere. There are plenty of other options.
There is no incentive to stay, to seek understanding or reconciliation. It is easier to leave. What matters is getting what you want.
This attitude shapes our entire consciousness. It is an attitude of privilege, arrogance and irresponsibility.
Our culture, our way of life forms us. It does its own kind of spiritual formation into the spirit of consumerism in which what matters is me, my wants and getting them fulfilled in when and where I please.
Nothing could be further from your Spirit, Jesus. Nothing could be further from the spirit of worship and community.
In Christian community, you move us beyond consideration of our own needs Jesus. When we worship it is your glory not our comfort that take central place. If it is not, then who are we worshiping? And if we cannot look beyond ourselves to others, how is communal life and joy possible?
Move us beyond the evil spirit of our age and culture, Jesus. Teach us contentment. Show us the needs of other souls, and reveal your desire to join us in your body, with a single heart and will--to love and serve you and each other in your name.
In you, we are not consumers, but receivers of your generosity that your goodness may flow through us.
Our ways breed criticism and conflict, competition and anger. Your way brings unity and joy. So teach us your way.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, September 22, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Today’s text
Philippians 2:1-4
So if in Christ there is anything that will move you, any incentive in love, any fellowship in the Spirit, any warmth or sympathy -- I appeal to you, make my joy complete by being of a single mind, one in love, one in heart and one in mind. Nothing is to be done out of jealousy or vanity; instead, out of humility of mind everyone should give preference to others, everyone pursuing not selfish interests but those of others.
Reflection
Just what is there in you that moves me, Jesus? What might move me to true community of mind and heart?
It’s silly, I know, and bad art, too. But there is that old painting that hung above the piano in the basement of St. Paul’s Lutheran, when I was a boy in Sunday school. You sit atop a hill, chin lifted a bit, gazing into the distance.
You are at peace, and I always imagined your soul rested in harmony with the One you always called, ‘Father.’ You were one with that One, and whatever is in that One flowed ceaselessly through you--whatever love or mystery, whatever peace or purpose, whatever mercy or mission.
You would steal away just to sit and be with that One that you might know who you are. And in those moments, the stream of divinity within you broadened and deepened so that there was no separation between you and the Father. You were one.
And I looked on from my Sunday school chair, divided from other the classes by the green curtains and by my thoughts, which transported me far away to a place more wonderful and alive than the drab, gray basement.
The painting reminds me of all the times you stole away from your friends to sit in silence and prayer with the Loving Mystery, the Father.
It still moves me. Many of your other acts also move me, Jesus. But today I am taken with that kitschy old painting, which probably went into the junk heap long ago. There was nothing about it much worth saving, except its impression on a young boy’s heart.
And that endures, moving me all these decades later, and inviting me into the silence where I am with you, communing with the Great Silence who is love--and who flows, however, haltingly, though this troubled soul, too.
I seek your silence today, Jesus, that my soul may rest and remember who I am. Grant me sweet oneness with the One I, too, bear.
Pr. David L. Miller
Philippians 2:1-4
So if in Christ there is anything that will move you, any incentive in love, any fellowship in the Spirit, any warmth or sympathy -- I appeal to you, make my joy complete by being of a single mind, one in love, one in heart and one in mind. Nothing is to be done out of jealousy or vanity; instead, out of humility of mind everyone should give preference to others, everyone pursuing not selfish interests but those of others.
Reflection
Just what is there in you that moves me, Jesus? What might move me to true community of mind and heart?
It’s silly, I know, and bad art, too. But there is that old painting that hung above the piano in the basement of St. Paul’s Lutheran, when I was a boy in Sunday school. You sit atop a hill, chin lifted a bit, gazing into the distance.
You are at peace, and I always imagined your soul rested in harmony with the One you always called, ‘Father.’ You were one with that One, and whatever is in that One flowed ceaselessly through you--whatever love or mystery, whatever peace or purpose, whatever mercy or mission.
You would steal away just to sit and be with that One that you might know who you are. And in those moments, the stream of divinity within you broadened and deepened so that there was no separation between you and the Father. You were one.
And I looked on from my Sunday school chair, divided from other the classes by the green curtains and by my thoughts, which transported me far away to a place more wonderful and alive than the drab, gray basement.
The painting reminds me of all the times you stole away from your friends to sit in silence and prayer with the Loving Mystery, the Father.
It still moves me. Many of your other acts also move me, Jesus. But today I am taken with that kitschy old painting, which probably went into the junk heap long ago. There was nothing about it much worth saving, except its impression on a young boy’s heart.
And that endures, moving me all these decades later, and inviting me into the silence where I am with you, communing with the Great Silence who is love--and who flows, however, haltingly, though this troubled soul, too.
I seek your silence today, Jesus, that my soul may rest and remember who I am. Grant me sweet oneness with the One I, too, bear.
Pr. David L. Miller
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 20:1-15
'Now the kingdom of Heaven is like a landowner going out at daybreak to hire workers for his vineyard. He made an agreement with the workers for one denarius a day and sent them to his vineyard. Going out at about the third hour he saw others standing idle in the market place and said to them, "You go to my vineyard too and I will give you a fair wage." So they went. At about the sixth hour and again at about the ninth hour, he went out and did the same. Then at about the eleventh hour he went out and found more men standing around, and he said to them, "Why have you been standing here idle all day?" "Because no one has hired us," they answered. He said to them, "You go into my vineyard too." In the evening, the owner of the vineyard said to his bailiff, "Call the workers and pay them their wages, starting with the last arrivals and ending with the first." So those who were hired at about the eleventh hour came forward and received one denarius each. When the first came, they expected to get more, but they too received one denarius each. They took it, but grumbled at the landowner saying, "The men who came last have done only one hour, and you have treated them the same as us, though we have done a heavy day's work in all the heat." He answered one of them and said, "My friend, I am not being unjust to you; did we not agree on one denarius? Take your earnings and go. I choose to pay the lastcomer as much as I pay you. Have I no right to do what I like with my own? Why should you be envious because I am generous?"
Reflection
I am grateful for a privilege often given to pastors. I get to sit and listen to other human hearts: to their pain and frustration, to their confusion and mistakes, to their unexpected joys and triumphs, to confessions of their fears and failures, their sins and great blessings.
It’s a privilege because in the listening I am moved to a generosity that is usually beyond me. In listening, I am aware of others’ humanity.
They are vulnerable and needy. They are confused and often a great mystery to themselves. They make bad decisions and suffer for them. They are strong and suddenly weak. They are in control of themselves on moment and weeping the next. They know exactly what they want and are clueless about what is happening to them.
They are human and flawed and just like me. No different. And sitting with them I am moved by the beauty of their spirit and their struggle to live.
Listening, I become I aware that I love this person before me, even though a few minutes before I knew nothing about them, sometimes not even their name.
I begin to see them with a gentleness and compassion that wants only the best for them, only life in its fullness, only beauty and joy, clarity and conviction about how beloved they are of God, and about what they are to do and be.
It’s a common experience for me, and common for almost anyone who has ever listened deeply into another human soul and discovered the beauty of its humanity.
Listening, we see with eyes of compassion. And for a few moments, we see as God sees. We feel as God feels. We are lifted above the evil eye of our fears and judgments of others. And in a moment of purest freedom, we become the generosity of God.
Our souls grow large, embracing, magnanimous. We see as God sees.
How does God see? It’s like this:
A landowner calls his workers in at the end of the day. They are day laborers, barely making enough each day to get by. Those who worked only an hour or so get paid. Those who worked half a day are paid the same. And those who sweat through the heat of the long day get the same amount.
The story is irritating, infuriating, unfair. It is just as upsetting as the co-worker who glides into his desk at 10:45 and glibly looks for coffee, unaware and uncaring that colleagues have had to do his work. At the end of the week, he takes credit for the success of the project. And everyone else in the office gives him the evil eye.
God sees like the land owner. He sees people who need to work, to feed their families, to know the dignity of meaningful labor. But God’s vision is far removed from human concerns for justice and fair play. The Holy One appears arbitrary, even arrogant: “It’s my money, and I can do with it as I please.”
There is no concern for fairness here. Our lives appear to be in the hands of an arbitrary power that cares nothing about how we see things, exercising divine power in ways uncontrolled by our standards.
God does not see as I see. God does not judge as we judge. God sees only through the eyes of infinite generosity.
Jesus irritating parable is about how differently God sees the world. God is not a bean counter. We all count bean in one way or another, keeping track, keeping score, seeing who is up or down, right or wrong, winning or losing.
God sees only one way: through the eyes of ultimate goodness, through the heart of unmerited and immeasurable generosity.
Those who insist on counting beans give the evil, envious, accusatory eye to the unfairness of all these see and encounter.
And they never discover how they are seen. They cannot know exactly how much they are loved. They cannot know the One who is Love and nothing but Love. They cannot know a generosity beyond imagination.
But we can see as God sees. Well, we can begin. And enter joy.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 20:1-15
'Now the kingdom of Heaven is like a landowner going out at daybreak to hire workers for his vineyard. He made an agreement with the workers for one denarius a day and sent them to his vineyard. Going out at about the third hour he saw others standing idle in the market place and said to them, "You go to my vineyard too and I will give you a fair wage." So they went. At about the sixth hour and again at about the ninth hour, he went out and did the same. Then at about the eleventh hour he went out and found more men standing around, and he said to them, "Why have you been standing here idle all day?" "Because no one has hired us," they answered. He said to them, "You go into my vineyard too." In the evening, the owner of the vineyard said to his bailiff, "Call the workers and pay them their wages, starting with the last arrivals and ending with the first." So those who were hired at about the eleventh hour came forward and received one denarius each. When the first came, they expected to get more, but they too received one denarius each. They took it, but grumbled at the landowner saying, "The men who came last have done only one hour, and you have treated them the same as us, though we have done a heavy day's work in all the heat." He answered one of them and said, "My friend, I am not being unjust to you; did we not agree on one denarius? Take your earnings and go. I choose to pay the lastcomer as much as I pay you. Have I no right to do what I like with my own? Why should you be envious because I am generous?"
Reflection
I am grateful for a privilege often given to pastors. I get to sit and listen to other human hearts: to their pain and frustration, to their confusion and mistakes, to their unexpected joys and triumphs, to confessions of their fears and failures, their sins and great blessings.
It’s a privilege because in the listening I am moved to a generosity that is usually beyond me. In listening, I am aware of others’ humanity.
They are vulnerable and needy. They are confused and often a great mystery to themselves. They make bad decisions and suffer for them. They are strong and suddenly weak. They are in control of themselves on moment and weeping the next. They know exactly what they want and are clueless about what is happening to them.
They are human and flawed and just like me. No different. And sitting with them I am moved by the beauty of their spirit and their struggle to live.
Listening, I become I aware that I love this person before me, even though a few minutes before I knew nothing about them, sometimes not even their name.
I begin to see them with a gentleness and compassion that wants only the best for them, only life in its fullness, only beauty and joy, clarity and conviction about how beloved they are of God, and about what they are to do and be.
It’s a common experience for me, and common for almost anyone who has ever listened deeply into another human soul and discovered the beauty of its humanity.
Listening, we see with eyes of compassion. And for a few moments, we see as God sees. We feel as God feels. We are lifted above the evil eye of our fears and judgments of others. And in a moment of purest freedom, we become the generosity of God.
Our souls grow large, embracing, magnanimous. We see as God sees.
How does God see? It’s like this:
A landowner calls his workers in at the end of the day. They are day laborers, barely making enough each day to get by. Those who worked only an hour or so get paid. Those who worked half a day are paid the same. And those who sweat through the heat of the long day get the same amount.
The story is irritating, infuriating, unfair. It is just as upsetting as the co-worker who glides into his desk at 10:45 and glibly looks for coffee, unaware and uncaring that colleagues have had to do his work. At the end of the week, he takes credit for the success of the project. And everyone else in the office gives him the evil eye.
God sees like the land owner. He sees people who need to work, to feed their families, to know the dignity of meaningful labor. But God’s vision is far removed from human concerns for justice and fair play. The Holy One appears arbitrary, even arrogant: “It’s my money, and I can do with it as I please.”
There is no concern for fairness here. Our lives appear to be in the hands of an arbitrary power that cares nothing about how we see things, exercising divine power in ways uncontrolled by our standards.
God does not see as I see. God does not judge as we judge. God sees only through the eyes of infinite generosity.
Jesus irritating parable is about how differently God sees the world. God is not a bean counter. We all count bean in one way or another, keeping track, keeping score, seeing who is up or down, right or wrong, winning or losing.
God sees only one way: through the eyes of ultimate goodness, through the heart of unmerited and immeasurable generosity.
Those who insist on counting beans give the evil, envious, accusatory eye to the unfairness of all these see and encounter.
And they never discover how they are seen. They cannot know exactly how much they are loved. They cannot know the One who is Love and nothing but Love. They cannot know a generosity beyond imagination.
But we can see as God sees. Well, we can begin. And enter joy.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 20:1-15
'Now the kingdom of Heaven is like a landowner going out at daybreak to hire workers for his vineyard. He made an agreement with the workers for one denarius a day and sent them to his vineyard. Going out at about the third hour he saw others standing idle in the market place and said to them, "You go to my vineyard too and I will give you a fair wage." So they went. At about the sixth hour and again at about the ninth hour, he went out and did the same. Then at about the eleventh hour he went out and found more men standing around, and he said to them, "Why have you been standing here idle all day?" "Because no one has hired us," they answered. He said to them, "You go into my vineyard too." In the evening, the owner of the vineyard said to his bailiff, "Call the workers and pay them their wages, starting with the last arrivals and ending with the first." So those who were hired at about the eleventh hour came forward and received one denarius each. When the first came, they expected to get more, but they too received one denarius each. They took it, but grumbled at the landowner saying, "The men who came last have done only one hour, and you have treated them the same as us, though we have done a heavy day's work in all the heat." He answered one of them and said, "My friend, I am not being unjust to you; did we not agree on one denarius? Take your earnings and go. I choose to pay the lastcomer as much as I pay you. Have I no right to do what I like with my own? Why should you be envious because I am generous?"
Reflection
There is no way to make your story kind or just, Jesus. If God is like the owner of the vineyard, then God is far removed from human concerns for justice and fair play. The Holy One appears arbitrary, even arrogant: “It’s mine, and I can do with it as I please.”
There is no hint of concern for normal standards of fairness, only for the contractual agreement: “You agreed to one denarius. Take your money and go.”
So what are we to do with this? Are our lives in the hands of an arbitrary power that cares nothing for how we see or feel about things?
Looking at you, Jesus, that seems about right. The Loving Mystery doesn’t much care about how we see or feel about things, exercising the divine power in ways uncontrolled by our standards.
Looking at you, Jesus, I see that may be the best news I ever hear.
You come and give to the good and evil alike. You pour yourself out for the life of the undeserving. You touch and heal with no concern for who you are touching, untouched by how the good and discerning judge you and the unrighteous for whom you seemed to shower such care.
You have no concern whatsoever for my ideas about fairness. Your divine mercy marches always to the beat of a drummer I cannot hear, or just barely in rare moments when my heart opens to the possibility that it is unspeakable grace not human judgment that will finally rule the world.
And me.
So explode my judgment with your generosity and teach me to live without counting what I or others have, what is fair or right. Teach me to live with but one question: What would your generosity do?
The rest of the world might think I have lost my mind, but you’ll smile.
So let me make you smile.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 20:1-15
'Now the kingdom of Heaven is like a landowner going out at daybreak to hire workers for his vineyard. He made an agreement with the workers for one denarius a day and sent them to his vineyard. Going out at about the third hour he saw others standing idle in the market place and said to them, "You go to my vineyard too and I will give you a fair wage." So they went. At about the sixth hour and again at about the ninth hour, he went out and did the same. Then at about the eleventh hour he went out and found more men standing around, and he said to them, "Why have you been standing here idle all day?" "Because no one has hired us," they answered. He said to them, "You go into my vineyard too." In the evening, the owner of the vineyard said to his bailiff, "Call the workers and pay them their wages, starting with the last arrivals and ending with the first." So those who were hired at about the eleventh hour came forward and received one denarius each. When the first came, they expected to get more, but they too received one denarius each. They took it, but grumbled at the landowner saying, "The men who came last have done only one hour, and you have treated them the same as us, though we have done a heavy day's work in all the heat." He answered one of them and said, "My friend, I am not being unjust to you; did we not agree on one denarius? Take your earnings and go. I choose to pay the lastcomer as much as I pay you. Have I no right to do what I like with my own? Why should you be envious because I am generous?"
Reflection
There is no way to make your story kind or just, Jesus. If God is like the owner of the vineyard, then God is far removed from human concerns for justice and fair play. The Holy One appears arbitrary, even arrogant: “It’s mine, and I can do with it as I please.”
There is no hint of concern for normal standards of fairness, only for the contractual agreement: “You agreed to one denarius. Take your money and go.”
So what are we to do with this? Are our lives in the hands of an arbitrary power that cares nothing for how we see or feel about things?
Looking at you, Jesus, that seems about right. The Loving Mystery doesn’t much care about how we see or feel about things, exercising the divine power in ways uncontrolled by our standards.
Looking at you, Jesus, I see that may be the best news I ever hear.
You come and give to the good and evil alike. You pour yourself out for the life of the undeserving. You touch and heal with no concern for who you are touching, untouched by how the good and discerning judge you and the unrighteous for whom you seemed to shower such care.
You have no concern whatsoever for my ideas about fairness. Your divine mercy marches always to the beat of a drummer I cannot hear, or just barely in rare moments when my heart opens to the possibility that it is unspeakable grace not human judgment that will finally rule the world.
And me.
So explode my judgment with your generosity and teach me to live without counting what I or others have, what is fair or right. Teach me to live with but one question: What would your generosity do?
The rest of the world might think I have lost my mind, but you’ll smile.
So let me make you smile.
Pr. David L. Miller
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