Saturday, December 10, 2016

 Isaiah 35:4

They shall see the glory of the Lord,
   the majesty of our God. 

There is within us a longing for home—not just the home and family we have known all our lives but for the our true home, our ultimate home where we are surrounded and enveloped by a Love so great that there is nothing to do or say or be. 

We long for a Love who welcomes everything we are as we are, a Love that heals us and makes us feel whole deep inside, a Love our hearts have always wanted and needed but never knew how to get. We long for the home where we know the Love for which we were intended from the moment we drew out first breath.

This longing for home beats at our hearts. We can drown it out with countless activities and pleasures, with occupations and recreations. But moments come when the longing to know the place you a truly belong awakens. The day grows quiet. You light a candle. You see a wedge of geese plying a cold December wind, each one in its place, and you long for the place where Love is … and nothing else matters.

We long to be and know ourselves inside the Love God is.

You will never quite understand Christmas until you have felt this for home. Our best novelists and writers speak of it in every generation, wondering if it can be known or if it is only an illusion.

In these days, we shop and plan, prepare and wrap our packages. Amid the dash toward Christmas, the voice of our longing might get lost.

But it is there. It only takes a moment—a song, a star in the sky, a memory, a love lost … or found—and it springs to life. And that’s a good thing. It awakens our hearts to our truest humanity.

For us who believe … and hope, these days are a journey to Bethlehem, to a manger where a child is born, the child we say is God with us.

God does not grab us by the collar and demand that we kneel, obey and love him. Love cannot be demanded. It is awakened in us when we see and feel the Everlasting Love of God for us.

In the Christ child, God comes in immense Love to share our life, our joys, hopes and pains. He comes to show us the Love who stands with us and seeks to fill us … every moment. This Love is our home. The child is your home, the home you never knew you always wanted … and desperately needed.

Hold him and know the Love who holds you … and all time. He is your home. Wherever and whenever you see and feel and know the Love he is … you are home in the Love that is meant for you, and that Love fills you.

Come to Bethlehem and see the glory of the Lord. Come see the Love who wears a child’s face. See the child of Bethlehem … lying there. See his mother holding him and his father utterly confused, not knowing what to do. See the shepherds wander in, no less confused.

Come with them and see the Love who welcomes you … home.

Pr. David L. Miller

                                                                                                                                           

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

 Isaiah 35:3-4

Strengthen the weak hands,
   and make firm the feeble knees. 
Say to those who are of a fearful heart,
   ‘Be strong, do not fear!
Here is your God.
   He will come with vengeance,
with terrible recompense.
   He will come and save you.’ 

You will come           

I see you, and seeing … you … breathes joy into my heart and strength into my being. Seeing, I know: There is nothing to fear. With resolve my legs carry me into whatever … whatever comes next.

It does not matter because I see you, and in seeing I feel the Love you are deep within this heart, at a place you and no one else can touch. And I am alive … with you, alive with the Love you are.

That is the way it is every time I see you. The Love I see awakens within, and I know: That which you are … I am, too. This Love is what made me and is what I truly am and what I am being created to be.

I see you, Blessed Christ, as you see the eager longing of those who come to you. You are moved to joy at the trust and determination that brings them to you in hope of healing.

And you touch them. You heal them. You forgive them. You open your arms to receive all who in human need come with hearts of hope to be blessed and made whole the way only Love can make us whole.

I see this in words of Scripture and in the faces of those who hold my hands when I pray for them. I see it in those who extend empty hands to receive broken bread, believing that somehow this is you coming to make them whole again.

And you come to us. You always do. Patience. It is only a matter of time before we see and feel you coming to us as the Love you are. And then, each time, I know and feel the joy you have as you touch … me … and all of us.

So come to us, Lord Jesus. Come with Love. Come with joy. Come make us whole. Our hearts grow weak without you.

Pr. David L. Miller

                                                                                                                                            

Monday, December 5, 2016

Isaiah 35:1 -2

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,
   the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly,
   and rejoice with joy and singing.
The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
   the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
They shall see the glory of the Lord,
   the majesty of our God. 

Glory

Glory cloaks the trees, filling

the heart on winter’s morning,

the first snow now fallen, arriving

gently on a Sunday morning as

I stopped to gaze through alcove

windows of the sanctuary before

setting the table for the Eucharistic

feast freely given to human souls,

freely as winters grace, silver

flakes floating, coating lifeless

limbs as a single finger leaf, red

as winter cardinals, clung to a slender

branch, holding fast to its life source,

breathing joy into me, the joy of seeing

winter’s glory and knowing within

this Love for … Everything,

this love, yes, a greater glory yet.

Within the walls people sing; they pray,

talk and remember the heartbreak and

hope of those standing near. And I see,

I see! You give eyes to see the glory

you are in a mother’s tale telling

how her child was saved and reaching

to another whose beloved, now ashes,

rests in the garden tomb, out the alcove

windows, a grief covered now with silver

flakes, a gracious snow reminding that Love,

silent as snowfall, covers and cloaks all,

even this heartache, with the glory of Love’s

wonder and winter’s exquisite art.

Glory, it’s all glory,

and we shall see it … together

and be glad.

Pr. David L. Miller