Tuesday, May 19, 2020

Ever here


John 16:5-7

But now I am going to him who sent me; yet none of you asks me, “Where are you going?” But because I have said these things to you, sorrow has filled your hearts. Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Advocate [Paraclete] will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you.

Ever here

No one who has ever known you, Jesus, can imagine it is advantageous that you go away. For having known you, having felt your presence, we know this is our highest good and our most profound desire.

But it is for this that you go away. You, Jesus, warm sun of God’s own face, leave this physical sphere that the mystery you bear may be everywhere and everywhere with us, stilling the sad fear of separation.

You go that we may know this mysterious Presence you call Spirit, Advocate, Paraclete. And this name tells us what we most need to hear in these days.

Paraclete … one who answers the call. So answer our call in these days, separated, as we are, from many bearers of divine presence and love.

Answer the silent cry of our souls for which we lack words adequate to express the depth of our desire to feel your presence, the warmth within, the blessed knowing that you are not near but ever here.

Every ‘good bye’ I have ever felt—some that still bring tears for hearts and faces long ago—reveals the pain of those with whom you walked as they imagined losing you, having known you in the flesh, as we do not.

Or, do we?

Those whom I miss this day, are they not you, their flesh an incarnation of some facet of the immensity of Love you are?

In missing them, I miss you; so come. Answer the cry of our hearts that we may find your dwelling place deep within, that place where the warm sun of your divine heart quiets our own and awakens that smile … that knows: All is well, for Love is here. Always.

Pr. David L. Miller


Friday, May 08, 2020

Knowing peace


John 14:17

This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

Knowing peace

To know has less to do with the mind that we normally expect. Knowing is a full body and soul experience, an inner awareness that overrides everything else happening in our lives at the moment, whether sadness, fear or this confounded isolation cutting us off from things we want and the people we love.

The Spirit of truth, an abiding presence, invites us to descend beneath the surface of life where nothing feels right to that place where everything is right. The Spirit draws us to that place within where you know as you are known … by a Knower, a Presence who is Love, uncreated, real, there ... and totally undefinable.

This is the Spirit of truth, a truth that is a Presence, a person, not a statement or idea. To know this One, to feel this Presence for even a moment, stills our anxieties and quiets the unruly waves that toss us about. In that moment, you know, with body and soul, that this Love holds you, and there is nothing on the surface of life that can ever change that.  

Now and forever, you are held in the all-encompassing Love that you know at the quiet center of your soul, the center point where all the noise fades away and there is just you and this Love you will never understand.

My peace I leave you, Jesus said. Millions have known this peace, which is his presence within them calming their fears and giving strength amid even the most difficult circumstances.

This peace passes all understanding, according to St. Paul. Of course it does. The busy mind likes to understand, manage and control things. But peace comes only in the presence of a Love no one can control.

Rest there and know.

Pr. David L. Miller

Saturday, April 11, 2020

Always more


John 19:38-42

After this, Joseph of Arimathea, who was a disciple of Jesus -- though a secret one because he was afraid of the Jews -- asked Pilate to let him remove the body of Jesus. … Nicodemus came as well … and he brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds. They took the body of Jesus and bound it in linen cloths with the spices, following the Jewish burial custom. At the place where he had been crucified there was a garden, and in this garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been buried. Since it was the Jewish Day of Preparation and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.

Always more

Well, that is that. Close the book. The most remarkable life ever lived is finished. Over. Done. Time to go home and forget it ever happened.

Caiaphas returns home to celebrate Passover. Pilate stretches out on his couch and drinks more than usual, knowing he has executed an innocent man. But it wasn’t the first time. It needed to done, he tells himself.

Joseph of Arimathea and friends go to prepare the tomb, brush away the dust and lay out the spices and linens.

Fumbling with the dead weight of Jesus’ body, they wrap him in strips of cloth—his feet and legs, hands and side, chest and shoulders, until, finally, his face … the face they loved even if they seldom understood him.

They carry out their heartbreaking work and lay their hopes to rest, burying the yearning they felt whenever they heard his voice.

All is quiet now. The crowds have dispersed. Public order is restored. The ancient lust for the blood has been satisfied.

Now is the hour of regret and sorrow, of whispers in the silence and echoes of what might have been. That’s all we have.

But that is not all God has. God has more. God is always more, more love, more life. Jesus trusted that more all the way to the cross.

And so we wait, trusting the One who is all life and all love because Sunday’s coming. The gloom of despair will be lit with the light of everlasting morning. The garden of sorrow will bloom with the fragrance of eternity.

Because God is more. Always.

Pr. David L. Miller


Friday, April 10, 2020

Hold me to it


Mark 15: 33-35, 37

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ … Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last.

Hold me to it

A black Jesus drew me into to a side chapel in the great Gothic cathedral in Barcelona, Spain, during my 2017 pilgrimage. I almost walked by, but the sight of him on the cross would not let me.

He was leprous and beaten, bearing the pangs of death as he hung before a half-dozen people praying among the spare wooden benches facing the crucifix.

I took my place among the benches and watched him. A great love for every suffering of every human soul whispered from the crucifix, “This love will never abandon you. This love will meet you everywhere you go. Look at me … and know. There is no place this love will not go for you.”

I sat and prayed—offering my unanswered questions, the wounds from which I ache to be healed, my regrets about the past and uncertainty about the future, most of all my craving to feel the joy of God’s love warming me through.

When words were done I walked to the back of the chapel but still couldn’t leave. Turing to the crucifix, I shook my finger at Jesus. “I’m holding you to this … this love,” I whispered. I’m holding you to this.”

“It’s okay,” came his reply. “That’s what I am for. Hold me to it.”

Pr. David L. Miller

Saturday, April 04, 2020

Street scenes


Matthew 21:7-9

They brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and [Jesus] sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, ‘Hosanna to the Son of David!’

Street scenes

There have been few more moving images in recent days than the cheers that accompany doctors, nurses and medical staff as they go into battle against the coronavirus. Images from Italy and Spain were among the first we witnessed. People leaned out windows along cobblestone streets shouting encouragement, and singing songs of pride and blessing.

They showered praise on those who do dangerous and exhausting work, day-after-day. Many are the stories of those who faithfully carry out this mission despite fears that they, like colleagues, may get sick or die.

These scenes of gratitude are heart-warming, but such thanks is not nearly enough. We must do everything we can to stop the spread of this plague through social distancing and using masks in public spaces like the grocery or pharmacy, etc.

These images from our streets also remind us of the Palm Sunday procession of Jesus on his donkey. “Hosanna,” people shouted at him, which means save us.

He came to Jerusalem to serve God’s kingdom by handing himself over to brutality and crucifixion. He did so to reveal the fullness of the heart of God and to establish a new community—a kingdom where love is the air we breathe and sacrificial service is our highest value and greatest aspiration.

Look at him as he rides toward his fate, as he forgives even from his cross, as he refuses to curse those who curse him. Just look.

To understand why, during these perilous times, we cheer those who serve at the risk of their lives, it has everything to do with Jesus on his donkey. His imprint on our civilization and our souls is unmistakable.

Praise him and give thanks for what is in his heart. Give thanks that this love is in your heart, too—and especially that this grace is in the hearts of those who battle for life, every day.


Pr. David L. Miller


Tuesday, March 31, 2020

Listen to the living


And as for the resurrection of the dead, have you not read what was said to you by God, “I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob”? He is God not of the dead, but of the living.’ (Matthew 22:31-32)

Listen to the living

At the Lord’s Table, I am often aware of a great crowd of people standing back of me, as I bless the bread and raise the cup. They watch and smile their approval, although no one can see them.

I feel their presence, and they lift me into the joy of knowing I belong to them and to the Love who joins us, even as I know that someday I will join them.

For they are every soul who has known and loved this Lord we receive into ourselves at that holy table.

Old friends are there, family members I have loved and laid to rest in the soil of this earth. My father is there, and I feel Grandma Miller; Bob and Fritz, and every soul who has ever blessed me.

As the years go by, that crowd gets larger, including faces I have served and loved at St. Timothy, people you know and love, too.

They are physically gone from us, yet they are so alive in our hearts and in this great cloud of witnesses that cheers us on, especially now.

Many of them faced greater crises and fears than those that haunt us during this time. And to a person they all say, “Keep on. Keep on. This time will pass. But Love who holds you never will.”

Listen to them. They know.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, March 23, 2020

Sun spots


Tuesday, March 24

Colossians 1:12-13

[T]hanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light. He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son.

Sun spots

Go sit in the light. The sun just came out as I write this. Snow from late Sunday melts among green shoots of the day lilies. Spring whispers her promise that winter is about to lose its grip.

So find a place where sunlight finds you. A window where the light streams through is especially welcome. So is a walk.

But sitting is best … or standing still.

We need to feel light, warmth, penetrating. It’s liquid hope, filling the inner reservoir of our hearts.

So go sit in the light until you feel a smile rising within and finding its way to your face, spreading there.

And know, we live in the light that shines from eternity. That sun warming you is one expression of the Father of all Lights, the Enveloping Love who is looking for ways to embrace you.

Let him.

Pr. David L. Miller

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Whatever, whatever


Psalm 23:6

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
   all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
   my whole life long.

Wherever, whatever

Life is a journey of unknowing. Surely, we feel that now. It’s undeniable.

We do not know what’s coming next. We don’t know when the present crisis will release its grip. We don’t know exactly how it will affect us, our job, our town, our church.

The darkness of unknowing turns some to fear, and others to the Great Heart who says, “Be still, and know.”

This Voice speaks peace deep within our being and reminds us there is something, no, Someone who holds us … and every future we will ever know.

We dwell in the house of the Lord, in the house of Everlasting Love … no matter where the currents of time carry us. For this earth, this universe, the reality we share … is the Lord’s house, the place Love lives and moves, enveloping every moment of time and space.

Breathe. Just breathe in this awareness, and you will know what is sure amid every unknowing.

Whatever comes … you live in the house of Lord, the land of the Beloved, whose mercy and goodness attend every step of your journey.

Pr. David L. Miller

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Thursday, March 12, 2020

You know



He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible … all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.
(Colossians 1:15-17)

You know

Let fear be gone. Let anxiety vanish. Let joy rise and courage fill your heart like the radiant sun of early spring.

You know everything you need to live with hope and grace. For you have seen the beginning of time … and you know the end.

You know the One from whom you come and the One to whom you will go at the end of your earthly journey. You know the energy of life and love that holds creation together, drawing all things into unity.

Everything is destined to become one, united in the love of our Lord Jesus, the Christ.

Look at him. Just look at him. Imagine him as he reaches out to bless children, heal the sick and comfort the broken hearted. Look at his eyes as he forgives those burdened by guilt. See how he rebukes hate and turns away those who judge and condemn.

Look and know: He is the beginning and end of all things … and of each of us.

Jesus is the face of the eternal Christ, who has been working in all things since the birth of time. He reveals what will evermore be—the Eternal Love from whom we come and to whom we go.

Smile and know: The beginning is love … the end, too.

Pr. David L. Miller

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

Expansive hearts


A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. (Ezekiel 36:26)

Expansive hearts

Real spiritual growth moves us toward being magnanimous, literally big-hearted. Anything else is an impostor.

You can know the Bible front-to-back and be able to quote a verse for every occasion, annoying your friends while doing so.

You can pray for hours, meditate on scripture and practice an array of spiritual disciplines fit for a monk, but if you heart doesn’t get roomy and expansive its all for naught. You might as well save your time.

If you have not love, the Apostle Paul says, you are nothing, and you are definitely on the wrong road, not the way of Jesus, who is the way.

A contemporary assumption, growing rapidly in recent years, is that being Christian makes you narrow, judgmental. Christianity gets portrayed as anti-gay, anti-woman, anti- science, anti-intellectual; you get the idea.

Unfortunately, some Christians, including high profile preachers, produce enough arrogant, judgmental nonsense to suggest these perceptions may be correct.  

But the real mark of faith is a new heart, an expansive, magnanimous heart that can embrace others and this crazy world God so loves.

If you’ve recently accepted or forgiven someone through a major change of heart, you can be sure God had something to do with it.

Pr. David L. Miller









                                                                                        

Monday, March 09, 2020

Never alone


Christ, however, was faithful over God’s house as a son, and we are his house if we hold firm the confidence and the pride that belong to hope. (Hebrews 3:6)

Never alone

You are not alone. You belong.

You belong to the Love who greets you every time you retreat into yourself to pray your life and name you pains, joys and hopes. In the quiet space of your prayerful heart, you meet the One who shatters the existential loneliness that haunts every human soul.

So go there and pray, but do not stay there. The life of faith is not a solitary exercise but an invitation to belong to a house Christ builds as we are drawn into him.

All of us. As we are. Old and young. Accomplished and struggling. Sick and well. Progressive and conservative. All colors and ethnicities. All.

Christ joins us to each other, one people, one house. In our gatherings, we touch and know; we exchange the peace and break the bread of life to share—together. Never alone.

Christ is lives in our togetherness, and there we know his love as surely as we touch, hand-to-hand, and feel the warmth arms about our shoulders … welcoming us home, into the community of Love he is.

We need each other. In our togetherness, we meet the One who says, “You are never alone.”
Perhaps this has never been so important, for a terrible loneliness chills the heart of our society today. 

Google the word ‘loneliness’ and you quickly discover hundreds of articles detailing the nature of loneliness, its causes and damage to our physical and emotional health.

So do not resist opportunities to worship together and meet with other believers. Receive with joy invitations to share food and drink … and your life … with others who, like you, need to feel the truth: You are never alone.

Pr. David L. Miller

Saturday, March 07, 2020

One perfect moment

The centurion sent friends to say to him, ‘Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof…. But only speak the word, and let my servant be healed. For I also am a man set under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to one, “Go,” and he goes, and to another, “Come,” and he comes, and to my slave, “Do this,” and the slave does it.’ When Jesus heard this he was amazed at him, and said, … ‘I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.’ (Luke 7:6b-9)


One perfect moment

There are perfect moments in life when exactly the right thing is said at exactly the right moment.

Such moments glisten in mind and heart, drawing our attention back to examine them again and again, reliving their joy, savoring their wisdom and marveling at how … in one exquisite instant we … or anyone … could have been so graced.

So it was for the Roman centurion who sent messengers to Jesus, seeking healing for his servant.

For one perfect moment, he epitomized what it means to be truly human and blessed. For one moment, he trusted that there is a Love that hungers to heal what is most broken in us.

For one moment he actually believed that Love would bless him and the one he loved.

For one moment he revealed the simple trust to which this extraordinary Love invites us.

His words, no, his heart reveals the trust to which Jesus invites each of us and the life God hungers to give us.

Jesus reveals the boundless heart of God, inviting us to know, truly know this Love hungers to make us whole, to heal what is broken, forgive what is wrong and assure us beyond every doubt that Love surrounds and holds us every moment, wherever we are.

“Trust me, Jesus says. Trust the One, the Love, who sent me.”

Trust, and you may just have one perfect moment … and more.

Pr. David L. Miller

One perfect moment


The centurion sent friends to say to him, ‘Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof…. But only speak the word, and let my servant be healed. For I also am a man set under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to one, “Go,” and he goes, and to another, “Come,” and he comes, and to my slave, “Do this,” and the slave does it.’ When Jesus heard this he was amazed at him, and said, … ‘I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.’ (Luke 7:6b-9)

One perfect moment

There are perfect moments in life when exactly the right thing is said at exactly the right moment.

Such moments glisten in mind and heart, drawing our attention back to examine them again and again, reliving their joy, savoring their wisdom and marveling at how … in one exquisite instant we … or anyone … could have been so graced.

So it was for the Roman centurion who sent messengers to Jesus, seeking healing for his servant.

For one perfect moment, he epitomized what it means to be truly human and blessed. For one moment, he trusted that there is a Love that hungers to heal what is most broken in us.

For one moment he actually believed that Love would bless him and the one he loved.

For one moment he revealed the simple trust to which this extraordinary Love invites us.

His words, no, his heart reveals the trust to which Jesus invites each of us and the life God hungers to give us.

Jesus reveals the boundless heart of God, inviting us to know, truly know this Love hungers to make us whole, to heal what is broken, forgive what is wrong and assure us beyond every doubt that Love surrounds and holds us every moment, wherever we are.

“Trust me, Jesus says. Trust the One, the Love, who sent me.”

Trust, and you may just have one perfect moment … and more.

Pr. David L. Miller

Thursday, March 05, 2020

Look to the hills

I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. (Psalm 121:1-2)

Look to the hills

I suppose it was natural for those in earlier times to look at the rocky heights and crags of mountains and think of God. Who, after all, could create that which dwarfs mere humans? Their Creator must be greater still.

Feeling small before such immensity awakens a silent knowing of the wonder and gift of being alive, witnesses to an earth more beautiful and inspiring than anything human ingenuity can create. 

Everything … even the hard stuff … begins to feel like a gift from a Giver beyond our capacity to imagine or understand.

Why is there anything at all, we ask, and why … this? And why am I moved to such love for what my senses strain to take in?

Perhaps this wonder, this love is what the Great Giver had in mind all along. Perhaps this love and wonder is who this Mystery is.

Just so, ancient and modern hearts begin to hope that the One who fashions every stony crag through untold millennia actually loves and cares for their little lives.

But however well God etches the divine name on mountain tops, the heart of God comes most clear on a hill a bit less high where a man hung on a cross, forgiving his enemies and surrendering to the mysterious Love he called “Father.”

Golgotha is the name of that hill where Jesus gave himself for the love of a broken world … and our broken hearts … that we may look to the hills and smile. No long wondering, but knowing … what the mountains only whisper.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, March 03, 2020

Handle with care


 ‘Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven. (Matthew 18:10)

Handle with care

Jesus had a more tender view of children than was common in his era. When others shooed them away he gathered them around himself to bless them.

They were not a nuisance or distraction but tender hearts eager to accept the blessing he was so willing to share. He wanted them to know how precious they are to God.

I suspect he found as much pleasure embracing and blessing them as do we. Seeing their smiles likely gave him as much joy as he gave them. It was also a welcome relief from arguments with those whose hearts were far less tender.

So he handled them with care, showing us what the heart of God is really like.

The little ones he mentions are not only children. They are the awkward and disadvantaged, the slow and socially inept. They are any who are too weak or unable to protect themselves from onslaughts of words and deeds that insult, injure, exclude or deny their dignity.

Every one of them has special place in the heart of God who sees the indignities and oppression they suffer, which might make us cringe when we remember our own insensitivity and apathy.

But guilt is not the point or God’s desire for us— life is, to be handled with the same extraordinary care God has for each of us.

Pr. David L. Miller


Friday, February 28, 2020

Ashes of identity


Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. (Psalm 51:1)

Ashes of identity

A little girl, six or seven, studied my face last Wednesday. What’s on your head? She asked.  “Ashes,” I said. “Why do you have that?” She asked, tilting her head for a better look.

Yes, why did I have that? Why go through this ritual every year?

As a young pastor, I cringed as I marked the foreheads of worshipers with the grim reminder, “Remember that you are dust and to the dust you shall return.” These were my friends, my people, faces I love.

I still recoil, especially when marking the head of a baby or small child, their innocent skin soft and untouched by hardship. They have barely begun to live and already we speak of death. Seems cruel.

But these ashes are not a mere smudge but in the form of the cross of Jesus Christ, expressing the deepest truth of life: All that falls … rises, that which dies comes to new and vibrant life in the warmth of the great love of God, a love that is for all.

Marked with a cross of ash, we know who we are and who God is. We are mortal, and God brings life out of every death we die. We fall prey to our selfishness and egoism, but the arms of the cross embrace us and whisper, “Let it go; you are mine.”

We fail to live out our highest ideals and feel unworthy, and God says, “I will lift you again and again into the fullness of a love that will never let you go.” As Christ was raised from death by the glory of God the Father, this glorious love continues to shape in us the mind of and heart of Christ.

So we wear our ashes without shame or fear, marked by the Everlasting Love who claims us, always knowing we are defined not by our failures but by this great and holy Love.

Pr. David L. Miller