Love’s song

Consider the ravens, for they neither sow nor reap, which have neither storehouse nor barn; and God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds? (Luke 12:240

It is easy enough to imagine Jesus saying these words. There are any number of meadows among the rolling hills of Galilee where he might have pointed to the birds, hoping his companions might hear the Incomprehensible Giver singing a love song.

But today I need not imagine faraway lands to enjoy the music. A red-breasted house finch perches at the extreme end of a branch nearest the window where I sit in my favorite chair.

Chattering on, he (she?) announces the morning as the sun works its way through a bank of clouds, suddenly filling the room with light, to say nothing of my heart.

He seems in no hurry, although I’m sure there’s a mate and nest nearby who require his care. For a few crystal moments my morning friend is content to sit there and call to me.

Watching him, I’m not so sure I am of greater worth than the birds, at least not this one, who awakens unexpected gratitude that I should be here, savoring the moment, a gift from the One who, through eons of time, fashions red-breasted finches, morning sun and this heart of mine, which may yet learn to rest in the grace of given moments.

Seek God’s kingdom, Jesus says, just after he directed his followers’ attention to the flowers and birds, hoping they would learn of God and life and themselves.

Perhaps this starts by simply paying attention, listening for Love’s song that it may awaken gratitude for life and light, for finch calls and the color red, and for the Love who sings outside my window.

David L. Miller

 

 

The Face behind

But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.
Do not fear, for I am with you; I will bring your offspring from the east, and from the west I will gather you; I will say to the north, ‘Give them up,’ and to the south, ‘Do not withhold; bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth. (Isaiah 43:1, 5-6)

There is a face behind the words, a Presence known only when the words fall away and you feel the warmth and light, the affection and desire of their Source.

Listen: Do not fear. You are mine. I call you by name. I speak to the four winds into which my beloved are scattered, and I order them to bring you home ... to me. For you are mine, and I long for your nearness.

That is what you say to me, to us, Living One, and our hearts cling to each gracious phrase hoping they will dissolve every last doubt and fear from our being. But this is not yet the gift you long to give.

Let go of the words; release your anxious grip on what they offer, and one begins to notice the Infinite Source behind the words, a Face we cannot see but know, alight with a great and impossible Love embracing everything we are.

The words on which we meditate matter: “You are mine. I call you by name.” They are real and true. We turn them over in our hearts and minds, grappling with all they might mean for us.

But their truest purpose is to carry us to the moment when we let the words fall away and commune with the Face who is Love ... and nothing else. No words needed.

David L. Miller