Today’s text
Matthew 14:22-27
And at once he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side while he sent the crowds away. After sending the crowds away he went up into the hills by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, while the boat, by now some furlongs from land, was hard pressed by rough waves, for there was a head-wind. In the fourth watch of the night he came towards them, walking on the sea, and when the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified. 'It is a ghost,' they said, and cried out in fear. But at once Jesus called out to them, saying, 'Courage! It's me! Don't be afraid.'
Prayer
You must have said it, Jesus. The words are so real, immediate and convincing, “It’s me! Don’t be afraid.”
I hear the echo of other voices, familiar and near. “Don’t be afraid, Benjamin. It’s Grandma. Nothing is going to hurt you. I’ve got you now.”
Simple words these, the kind one speaks to a frightened child who wakes to find himself in an unfamiliar bed. We speak them quickly but softly to dissipate fear. Distress must not endure for more than a moment, not for our beloved.
And these are words spoken to a beloved whose safety and joy are the delight of our heart.
So tell me, Jesus, is becoming a grandfather merely a giant ruse you use to teach me love--and to show me how you love me?
If so, it works pretty well. Thank you.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Monday, August 5, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 14:22-27
And at once he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side while he sent the crowds away. After sending the crowds away he went up into the hills by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, while the boat, by now some furlongs from land, was hard pressed by rough waves, for there was a head-wind. In the fourth watch of the night he came towards them, walking on the sea, and when the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified. 'It is a ghost,' they said, and cried out in fear. But at once Jesus called out to them, saying, 'Courage! It's me! Don't be afraid.'
Prayer
The contrast catches me, Jesus. You abide in solitude; your friends are caught in the wind, rowing hard, making little headway. You rest; they work. You are at peace; they are slaves to fruitless labor. One might say you are a slacker compared with them, disappearing when there’s work to be done.
Still, I’d rather be with you. I weary of straining against the wind, even when I think I am doing so for you.
Much of the fight and struggle was worn out of me years ago. Now, I want to rest in the places where you are near to me, even as you sought the face of the Loving Mystery in private. You fled the noise of human assembly that you might hear that gentle inner stirring that told you who you are and what you are to do.
I long for that silence with you. It is the source of such courage and hope as I have. And it strikes me that your command, “courage,” comes out of the silence. It is spoken from a quiet heart that knows the Silent Presence in whom all things are. Listening in the silence, you know what we need to know: threat is illusion; fear is fantasy, for we are enveloped in an all-confounding Love whom we cannot name.
That’s what you knew in the silence. I hunger to know it as well as you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 14:22-27
And at once he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side while he sent the crowds away. After sending the crowds away he went up into the hills by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, while the boat, by now some furlongs from land, was hard pressed by rough waves, for there was a head-wind. In the fourth watch of the night he came towards them, walking on the sea, and when the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified. 'It is a ghost,' they said, and cried out in fear. But at once Jesus called out to them, saying, 'Courage! It's me! Don't be afraid.'
Prayer
The contrast catches me, Jesus. You abide in solitude; your friends are caught in the wind, rowing hard, making little headway. You rest; they work. You are at peace; they are slaves to fruitless labor. One might say you are a slacker compared with them, disappearing when there’s work to be done.
Still, I’d rather be with you. I weary of straining against the wind, even when I think I am doing so for you.
Much of the fight and struggle was worn out of me years ago. Now, I want to rest in the places where you are near to me, even as you sought the face of the Loving Mystery in private. You fled the noise of human assembly that you might hear that gentle inner stirring that told you who you are and what you are to do.
I long for that silence with you. It is the source of such courage and hope as I have. And it strikes me that your command, “courage,” comes out of the silence. It is spoken from a quiet heart that knows the Silent Presence in whom all things are. Listening in the silence, you know what we need to know: threat is illusion; fear is fantasy, for we are enveloped in an all-confounding Love whom we cannot name.
That’s what you knew in the silence. I hunger to know it as well as you.
Pr. David L. Miller
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