Thursday, October 22, 2015
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’
Have mercy on us. Open our eyes that we may see ourselves, our society, our nation and neighborhood. But this is a fearful thing. Do we really want to see our privilege and wealth, how entitled we are, a fact of which most are oblivious?
Have we lost sight of holiness and beauty? Can we feel the wonder of true human communion and know it as communion in the Love you are, a communion you happily create among us when we stop letting our lives run us and truly look at each other?
Can we again know and feel that these lives we are given are for something beyond ourselves? Can we still know the joy of being blessed, broken and given away in love for purposes far more holy than our own comfort?
Can we be truly human again, images of the Christ?
Days come when I lose hope for our society, for the neighborhood in which I live, for lives so caught up in the rush of western culture that they fail to see they no longer make choices but are driven, automatons of a society that knows nothing higher than self-seeking.
I know … it’s not so bad. Glimmers of hope and beauty often appear in the acts and eyes of those who are not entirely absorbed in the soup of our societal obsessions with more and more, faster and faster, me and more me.
Some are not blind but see beauty and wonder … and the pain of a world not so privileged as we. Some have suffered greatly, opening their broken hearts to see and bring solace and seek justice.
Some are filled with joy that escapes me when the world is heavy on my heart and anything I do seems fruitless. Their joy bears fruit, bearing the rest of us up on discouraging days. So does this time, this prayer of exploring the darkness of heart that sometimes comes.
Morning clouds clear even as I write. For I hear you whisper, “Take heart. I will open your eyes to see and know … me.”
This is all I need. Truly.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, October 19, 2015
So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
Morning wakes my eyes again.
Wake now this heart to feel,
To know the grace of morning,
Fresh hours of hope, eyes of heart
Open again to see, truly, the sparkle
In your eye when again I see you …
and know the Love that is always.
Blind … then he sees, first, you
And what is there? Not sorrow
Certainly. A smile more divine
Than any before? A furrowed
Brow of concentration? Maybe.
But I will opt for the smile
I carry within wherever I go.
I know … it brought you joy
To sight his eyes again, so take
Now your joy from me, opening
The eyes of this morning heart
Sluggish yet from sleep. Open
My eyes to see again the face I
Carry deep within.
You, shining, sparkling eyes
That speak only Love, quieting
Every longing, awash with tears
Of knowing what is known
Nowhere but in the Love
Who shines in the face I carry
That carries me.
Thank you … again
For Love that is Life, for
Opening morning eyes to see
Your face, your joy in sighting
Me that I might see what I must
See to know and live, truly …
With peace amid the noise.
Pr. David L. Miller