Today’s reading
Philippians 2:25-30
“Still, I think it necessary to send to you Epaphroditus--my brother and coworker and fellow soldier, your messenger and minister to my need; for he has been longing for all of you, and has been distressed because you heard that he was ill. He was indeed so ill that he nearly died. But God had mercy on him, and not only on him but on me also, so that I would not have one sorrow after another. I am more eager to send him, therefore, in order that you may rejoice at seeing him again and that I may be less anxious. Welcome him in the Lord with all joy, and honor such people, because he came close to death for the work of Christ, risking his life to make up for those services that you could not give me.” (Phil. 2:25-30).
Prayer
One word, Dearest Friend, you require but a single word to move me into the joyful mystery of your life. The word today: ‘brother.’ I get on a plane and travel to a place unknown to me, to meet familiar faces I have never met. I travel 800 miles to learn new names only to discover I have known them for years.
I come to a new place and find that I never left home. For you have been there long before me, waiting for my plane. The place and souls I meet are homes of your abiding; hence they are my home. The faces are those of my brothers and sisters, my mothers and fathers.
Walking among them, I hear familiar laughter and I know: You are here. And here I belong. I come all this way to discover ... again ... that I can never leave home, for I dwell in the geography of your grace. There is nowhere I have ever traveled where you left me without brothers and sisters. For in each place, I encounter those who bear the wonder of the Love you are. There is nowhere I cannot meet you and know again the home for which my heart has longed since I was small.
Thank you. May these tears of gratitude offer more perfect praise than my words can for this communal sacrament of the love in which you hold us. The tears are your work; the words but tortured attempts to speak a wonder and joy that far transcends mind and understanding.
You join me, you join us, in the harmonious unity of the love that dances at your divine heart. Today, grant me the good pleasure of holy gratitude for the home I find in you, among your beloved people. Amen.
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Friday, November 03, 2006
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:25-28
“Still, I think it necessary to send to you Epaphroditus--my brother and coworker and fellow soldier, your messenger and minister to my need; for he has been longing for all of you, and has been distressed because you heard that he was ill. He was indeed so ill that he nearly died. But God had mercy on him, and not only on him but on me also, so that I would not have one sorrow after another. I am more eager to send him, therefore, in order that you may rejoice at seeing him again and that I may be less anxious” (Phil. 2:25-28).
Prayer
O Hidden Mystery, in the the darkness of our pain you labor to shape us into souls that are truly human, bearing the love that is your image. When the night of our fear and sorrow is impenetrable by human reason or meaning, you see the beauty that is your desire and delight to create in your beloved, in us. Give us the eyes to see or at least the heart to trust when the night is dark.
Your servant, Paul, knew the night of sorrow, loneliness and longing. Friends far off sent a servant, Epaphroditus, to accompany him in imprisonment. Now Paul sends him home to his beloved. Paul knew they hungered for the touch of his hand, the familiarity of his smile, the sound of his laughter, the silent bodily presence of a soul that could have been lost to them in this life.
Paul knew. He knew sorrow and loneliness. He knew what it was to long for missing friends and wonder if ever again he would see those souls to whom he was so joined in your blessed body of love and faith. In his knowing, you shaped the compassion in which he sends Epaphroditus home to arms that have missed him. Paul knew those anxious arms because he knew his anxiety.
Tell me, O Craftsman of Compassion, did you look on this and smile? Did you take delight knowing your divine desire had found fulfillment? You worked in Paul’s dark night to create the light of your eternal day, a light that glows in the lives of your beloved.
Create in me that compassion that glows with the light of your life. And give me the heart to trust that you labor in the darkness to bring your holy purpose to light even in the weakness of my flesh. Amen.
Philippians 2:25-28
“Still, I think it necessary to send to you Epaphroditus--my brother and coworker and fellow soldier, your messenger and minister to my need; for he has been longing for all of you, and has been distressed because you heard that he was ill. He was indeed so ill that he nearly died. But God had mercy on him, and not only on him but on me also, so that I would not have one sorrow after another. I am more eager to send him, therefore, in order that you may rejoice at seeing him again and that I may be less anxious” (Phil. 2:25-28).
Prayer
O Hidden Mystery, in the the darkness of our pain you labor to shape us into souls that are truly human, bearing the love that is your image. When the night of our fear and sorrow is impenetrable by human reason or meaning, you see the beauty that is your desire and delight to create in your beloved, in us. Give us the eyes to see or at least the heart to trust when the night is dark.
Your servant, Paul, knew the night of sorrow, loneliness and longing. Friends far off sent a servant, Epaphroditus, to accompany him in imprisonment. Now Paul sends him home to his beloved. Paul knew they hungered for the touch of his hand, the familiarity of his smile, the sound of his laughter, the silent bodily presence of a soul that could have been lost to them in this life.
Paul knew. He knew sorrow and loneliness. He knew what it was to long for missing friends and wonder if ever again he would see those souls to whom he was so joined in your blessed body of love and faith. In his knowing, you shaped the compassion in which he sends Epaphroditus home to arms that have missed him. Paul knew those anxious arms because he knew his anxiety.
Tell me, O Craftsman of Compassion, did you look on this and smile? Did you take delight knowing your divine desire had found fulfillment? You worked in Paul’s dark night to create the light of your eternal day, a light that glows in the lives of your beloved.
Create in me that compassion that glows with the light of your life. And give me the heart to trust that you labor in the darkness to bring your holy purpose to light even in the weakness of my flesh. Amen.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:19-24
“I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, so that I may be cheered by news of you. I have no one like him who will be genuinely concerned for your welfare. All of them are seeking their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But Timothy’s worth you know, like a son with a father he has served with me in the work of the gospel. I hope therefore to send him as soon as I see how things go for me. For I trust in the Lord that I will also come soon” (Phil. 2:19-24).
Prayer
He trusted, but did his hope see fruition? Did Paul again hold in his arms those dear to him? Was he able to take their faces in his hands and peer into eyes and souls for whom he had longed? Did he know this joy for which all our souls long?
I have seen such scenes in some of the world’s most tortured places, Dearest Friend, Sudan, Somalia, Rwanda, Ethiopia. It is one of the great gifts you have given me. Souls who imagined their beloved were lost to them in war, by displacement or starvation, catch sight of each other again. Frozen a moment in perplexity and disbelief, suddenly they realize their fondest hopes are fulfilled. Some ran into each others arms. Others stood weeping, holding their faces in their hands, wiping away the tears only to make sure that their joy was not illusion. Some faced each other, hands caressing and tracing the contour of their beloved’s cheek.
Scenes of homecoming, these were, even when most knew they would never again see the homes they were forced to flee. The moment was a sacrament, a sacred bearer of that final reunion when all these souls, faces aglow, still bearing the scars of war and deprivation, enter the eternal mercy in which you will hold all that is ... and me.
But even on sacramental days of reunion there were others, some who had also trusted in you, who turned again and again, sorting through the crowd, not finding the faces of their longing. Lonely hunters, they searched for souls--husbands and wives, daughters and sons--still missing, forever missing, who lay beneath the sod of some killing field.
“I trust in the Lord that in will come soon.” You give us the privilege of loving connection with others in the Love you are. Sometimes this love is joy beyond speaking, and our hopes are fulfilled in reunions and homecomings that bear the mark of your eternal promise. Sometimes this loves breaks our hearts. And fondest desires for the arms of our beloved must await a yet greater day. Grant us, O Eternal Home, a sure and certain hope for that final unity into which you will join all things. Grant that our hearts should know that there are none forever missing to you. Amen
Philippians 2:19-24
“I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, so that I may be cheered by news of you. I have no one like him who will be genuinely concerned for your welfare. All of them are seeking their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But Timothy’s worth you know, like a son with a father he has served with me in the work of the gospel. I hope therefore to send him as soon as I see how things go for me. For I trust in the Lord that I will also come soon” (Phil. 2:19-24).
Prayer
He trusted, but did his hope see fruition? Did Paul again hold in his arms those dear to him? Was he able to take their faces in his hands and peer into eyes and souls for whom he had longed? Did he know this joy for which all our souls long?
I have seen such scenes in some of the world’s most tortured places, Dearest Friend, Sudan, Somalia, Rwanda, Ethiopia. It is one of the great gifts you have given me. Souls who imagined their beloved were lost to them in war, by displacement or starvation, catch sight of each other again. Frozen a moment in perplexity and disbelief, suddenly they realize their fondest hopes are fulfilled. Some ran into each others arms. Others stood weeping, holding their faces in their hands, wiping away the tears only to make sure that their joy was not illusion. Some faced each other, hands caressing and tracing the contour of their beloved’s cheek.
Scenes of homecoming, these were, even when most knew they would never again see the homes they were forced to flee. The moment was a sacrament, a sacred bearer of that final reunion when all these souls, faces aglow, still bearing the scars of war and deprivation, enter the eternal mercy in which you will hold all that is ... and me.
But even on sacramental days of reunion there were others, some who had also trusted in you, who turned again and again, sorting through the crowd, not finding the faces of their longing. Lonely hunters, they searched for souls--husbands and wives, daughters and sons--still missing, forever missing, who lay beneath the sod of some killing field.
“I trust in the Lord that in will come soon.” You give us the privilege of loving connection with others in the Love you are. Sometimes this love is joy beyond speaking, and our hopes are fulfilled in reunions and homecomings that bear the mark of your eternal promise. Sometimes this loves breaks our hearts. And fondest desires for the arms of our beloved must await a yet greater day. Grant us, O Eternal Home, a sure and certain hope for that final unity into which you will join all things. Grant that our hearts should know that there are none forever missing to you. Amen
Monday, October 30, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:19-24
“I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, so that I may be cheered by news of you. I have no one like him who will be genuinely concerned for your welfare. All of them are seeking their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But Timothy’s worth you know, like a son with a father he has served with me in the work of the gospel. I hope therefore to send him as soon as I see how things go for me. For I trust in the Lord that I will also come soon” (Phil. 2:19-24).
Prayer
Blessed are you, O Inimitable Contriver. You weave the tendrils of the real into a single texture binding us tightly to each other and all that is. Every fiber of the creation connects with every other, making separate life an illusion.
Separated from those we love, we hunger to see, to touch, to hear news of the beloved. But tell me: Does it really help? Does it help Paul to hear of those he cannot touch because of the chains that imprison him? He hungers for words that will bear him up, fill him with hope and joy--with assurance that, just perhaps, all is well in spite of his circumstances.
Why should hearing news of those to whom we have given our heart make such a difference when our circumstances remain unaffected by their fortunes? Yet, it does. Our hearts soar when we know our beloved are blessed, thriving, even when our prospects continue to trouble. We are lifted and relieved of the limitations of current struggles.
We don’t choose this. This is how you fashion our flesh in your own inimitable image. We are made for sharing, not for some illusion of splendid isolation. And you fulfill your image in us, binding us heart-to-heart, flesh to sinew in the body of sharing you are, dear Christ.
You weave us together, never dropping a stitch, linking us with invisible tendrils of connection that the blessing of our beloved blesses us, the flourishing of another cheers us. Lifting us beyond gray prison walls of the isolated self, you enlarge our lives. You release us from the despair of detachment to ride currents of blessing and bear the burdens of human deprivation with those to whom you bind us. This is how we discover what it is is to be human, what it is to reveal the image of your divine wonder. Today, cheer me with news and move me to pray through the lives of all those others with whom you connect me in you. Amen.
Philippians 2:19-24
“I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, so that I may be cheered by news of you. I have no one like him who will be genuinely concerned for your welfare. All of them are seeking their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But Timothy’s worth you know, like a son with a father he has served with me in the work of the gospel. I hope therefore to send him as soon as I see how things go for me. For I trust in the Lord that I will also come soon” (Phil. 2:19-24).
Prayer
Blessed are you, O Inimitable Contriver. You weave the tendrils of the real into a single texture binding us tightly to each other and all that is. Every fiber of the creation connects with every other, making separate life an illusion.
Separated from those we love, we hunger to see, to touch, to hear news of the beloved. But tell me: Does it really help? Does it help Paul to hear of those he cannot touch because of the chains that imprison him? He hungers for words that will bear him up, fill him with hope and joy--with assurance that, just perhaps, all is well in spite of his circumstances.
Why should hearing news of those to whom we have given our heart make such a difference when our circumstances remain unaffected by their fortunes? Yet, it does. Our hearts soar when we know our beloved are blessed, thriving, even when our prospects continue to trouble. We are lifted and relieved of the limitations of current struggles.
We don’t choose this. This is how you fashion our flesh in your own inimitable image. We are made for sharing, not for some illusion of splendid isolation. And you fulfill your image in us, binding us heart-to-heart, flesh to sinew in the body of sharing you are, dear Christ.
You weave us together, never dropping a stitch, linking us with invisible tendrils of connection that the blessing of our beloved blesses us, the flourishing of another cheers us. Lifting us beyond gray prison walls of the isolated self, you enlarge our lives. You release us from the despair of detachment to ride currents of blessing and bear the burdens of human deprivation with those to whom you bind us. This is how we discover what it is is to be human, what it is to reveal the image of your divine wonder. Today, cheer me with news and move me to pray through the lives of all those others with whom you connect me in you. Amen.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Friday, October 26, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:19-24
“I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, so that I may be cheered by news of you. I have no one like him who will be genuinely concerned for your welfare” (Phil. 2:19-20).
Prayer
I hear the cry in Paul’s voice. It transports into depths of inescapable longing. You make us so needy, O Inexhaustible Wonder. You make us so vulnerable, so weak. You are Eternal Abundance, dwelling in boundless fullness of the Fullness you are. But you create us to need and to need so much more than bread. You fashion our flesh that we crave the smile and touch, the tear and silent presence of souls as vulnerable as we.
Have I said ‘thank you’ for that recently? I need. And I fly on the wings of my need into the arms of your eternal mercy--and into the presence of souls whose smiles and hugs are holy sacraments of an unspeakable grace, a grace you privilege us to bear and receive. Had you made me less needy, would I know you as well, or the beauty you fashion in the flesh of human souls?
Blessed be the needy; they shall be full of the Fullness you are. Blessed are you, Loving Mystery, for making me need. Blessed are we whom you have joined in a communion of souls who ache for the care and companionship we alone can give each other. Our sharing reveals the eternal generosity of your divine heart, the mystery of your triune nature. In our need, we know you, and know we need nothing more. Amen
Philippians 2:19-24
“I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, so that I may be cheered by news of you. I have no one like him who will be genuinely concerned for your welfare” (Phil. 2:19-20).
Prayer
I hear the cry in Paul’s voice. It transports into depths of inescapable longing. You make us so needy, O Inexhaustible Wonder. You make us so vulnerable, so weak. You are Eternal Abundance, dwelling in boundless fullness of the Fullness you are. But you create us to need and to need so much more than bread. You fashion our flesh that we crave the smile and touch, the tear and silent presence of souls as vulnerable as we.
Have I said ‘thank you’ for that recently? I need. And I fly on the wings of my need into the arms of your eternal mercy--and into the presence of souls whose smiles and hugs are holy sacraments of an unspeakable grace, a grace you privilege us to bear and receive. Had you made me less needy, would I know you as well, or the beauty you fashion in the flesh of human souls?
Blessed be the needy; they shall be full of the Fullness you are. Blessed are you, Loving Mystery, for making me need. Blessed are we whom you have joined in a communion of souls who ache for the care and companionship we alone can give each other. Our sharing reveals the eternal generosity of your divine heart, the mystery of your triune nature. In our need, we know you, and know we need nothing more. Amen
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
My care is too small so, too, my joy. I know: they are connected, dearest Lord of Laughter. Where there is great care gladness can grow into holy celebration. Should I come to greater care for the growth in grace, beauty and stature of those whom you have placed in my hands, my tiny heart would burst. You would expand my soul’s capacity to encompass the joy you surely know in the fullness of life your your Spirit inspires in these your beloved. I hunger to enter into the blessed laughter of your life.
But sharing your gladness invites the peril of pain from disappointment, abuse, failure, rejection, even destruction. All this you risked and received in your incarnation, and to this you invite all who would come after you. And you offer it with a smile on your blessed face. For you know: the risk is the gate of wonder and gladness. It is entry into the joy of seeing life abundant not only in one’s own flesh but in the lives of those whose souls and faith you, in holy madness, entrust to me and all called to pastoral ministry.
Your servant, Paul, surely took the risk, Pouring out his life for your beloved ones, he entered a gladness whose source is the impenetrable mystery of your divine life, where losing becomes gaining, giving becomes receiving and dying is the gate to startling and unexpected life.
So teach me, my brother, First-born of Eternal Laughter, blessed face of Perpetual Gladness. Such are my morning names for you, however inadequate. Teach me the joy of giving my soul to the souls of those to whom you have given me. In the growth of your life in them, may I enter your gladness. May they all truly know you, and may this be my truest joy. Amen
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
My care is too small so, too, my joy. I know: they are connected, dearest Lord of Laughter. Where there is great care gladness can grow into holy celebration. Should I come to greater care for the growth in grace, beauty and stature of those whom you have placed in my hands, my tiny heart would burst. You would expand my soul’s capacity to encompass the joy you surely know in the fullness of life your your Spirit inspires in these your beloved. I hunger to enter into the blessed laughter of your life.
But sharing your gladness invites the peril of pain from disappointment, abuse, failure, rejection, even destruction. All this you risked and received in your incarnation, and to this you invite all who would come after you. And you offer it with a smile on your blessed face. For you know: the risk is the gate of wonder and gladness. It is entry into the joy of seeing life abundant not only in one’s own flesh but in the lives of those whose souls and faith you, in holy madness, entrust to me and all called to pastoral ministry.
Your servant, Paul, surely took the risk, Pouring out his life for your beloved ones, he entered a gladness whose source is the impenetrable mystery of your divine life, where losing becomes gaining, giving becomes receiving and dying is the gate to startling and unexpected life.
So teach me, my brother, First-born of Eternal Laughter, blessed face of Perpetual Gladness. Such are my morning names for you, however inadequate. Teach me the joy of giving my soul to the souls of those to whom you have given me. In the growth of your life in them, may I enter your gladness. May they all truly know you, and may this be my truest joy. Amen
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
“You shine like stars.” I hear not Paul’s voice but yours, dearest Friend. You speak tenderly not only to my soul but to the souls of those among whom I live and serve and from whom I daily receive. “You shine like stars. Do you not see it? You are alive with the life I am. For I dwell in the depth of your desire to know me, to love me, to be the love whom I am. You walk about shining with a life not your own, if only you would stop and see and share it, speaking no longer from your fears but from the depth of my love as you have known it, and which you bear.”
I see my brother. I see that our life is not a competition to get what we think we need. The life you give is a communion in the shining of God, a sharing in the glow of divine glory in world. We share in the splashing forth of the resplendence rushing eternally from your face. Your divine splendor, expressed in your healing of the broken, your feeding of the hungry, your mercy on the denied and abused, lights human souls with a love that lifts us above our fears and the walls of self-interest into the self-giving you are.
“You shine like stars,” you say again. “Do not be disturbed my light in another is different or seems brighter than your own. All this shining blesses me. It blesses you. So help them shine.” And I see. It is your desire that we shine with your love that your grace may be the more, your incarnation larger that all might see and savor you. Seeing you blesses me. Your desire is that I may see and share the blessing and joy of dwelling in the presence of love larger than any human flesh can produce.
Today, let me see my life not as a competition by as communion in the glory of your life as you shine in the lives and limbs of all you love. Thank you for the constancy of your love for me. Only in your love can my soul live. Only in you am I me. Amen.
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
“You shine like stars.” I hear not Paul’s voice but yours, dearest Friend. You speak tenderly not only to my soul but to the souls of those among whom I live and serve and from whom I daily receive. “You shine like stars. Do you not see it? You are alive with the life I am. For I dwell in the depth of your desire to know me, to love me, to be the love whom I am. You walk about shining with a life not your own, if only you would stop and see and share it, speaking no longer from your fears but from the depth of my love as you have known it, and which you bear.”
I see my brother. I see that our life is not a competition to get what we think we need. The life you give is a communion in the shining of God, a sharing in the glow of divine glory in world. We share in the splashing forth of the resplendence rushing eternally from your face. Your divine splendor, expressed in your healing of the broken, your feeding of the hungry, your mercy on the denied and abused, lights human souls with a love that lifts us above our fears and the walls of self-interest into the self-giving you are.
“You shine like stars,” you say again. “Do not be disturbed my light in another is different or seems brighter than your own. All this shining blesses me. It blesses you. So help them shine.” And I see. It is your desire that we shine with your love that your grace may be the more, your incarnation larger that all might see and savor you. Seeing you blesses me. Your desire is that I may see and share the blessing and joy of dwelling in the presence of love larger than any human flesh can produce.
Today, let me see my life not as a competition by as communion in the glory of your life as you shine in the lives and limbs of all you love. Thank you for the constancy of your love for me. Only in your love can my soul live. Only in you am I me. Amen.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
My stomach churns at the passion and vulnerability I hear in Paul’s words. The depth of his care marks a surrender to the Spirit’s call. It subjects him to immense pain and disappointment, emotions against which I do my best to protect myself. To love is know pain. To love greatly is to know great pain from the struggle and need of the beloved, pain you can neither stop or control.
Paul risks great pain. Passionately poured out for the faith and souls of those he loves, their failure to live in Christian witness would mean his failure, his loss, his collapse. It is not enough for him to name Christ among them with whatever power and persuasion he possesses, and then walk away. Not nearly. All is vanity unless they live in faith, in gentle peace and unity in the Spirit of the One Love that won’t let him go.
So different from my ways. Failures of grace and love within your holy church make me want to walk away, troubled, depressed, wounded, wanting only to distance myself from the disappointment of again not finding the incarnation of your love my soul most needs. So I seek to tell my little stories, make my witness and press on.
But it is not enough. Do I care enough to struggle, to suffer pain, to subject myself to the risk of running in vain so that my efforts amount to nothing? Is this really your call, to invest so heavily in the souls and faith of those I serve that their murmuring, their failures to live in the peace of your Spirit, their turning from the depth of soul’s commitment you would work in them becomes my pain, my sorrow, my grief?
If so, I haven’t the reserves for this kind of life. I cannot do it, not without you. Be with me my blessed brother. Grant me my measure of the Spirit in which you loved all the way to the cross. Maybe then I will know Paul’s passion and participate in the Love you are. Amen.
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain. But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you--and in the same way you also must be glad and rejoice with me” (Phil. 2:14-18).
Prayer
My stomach churns at the passion and vulnerability I hear in Paul’s words. The depth of his care marks a surrender to the Spirit’s call. It subjects him to immense pain and disappointment, emotions against which I do my best to protect myself. To love is know pain. To love greatly is to know great pain from the struggle and need of the beloved, pain you can neither stop or control.
Paul risks great pain. Passionately poured out for the faith and souls of those he loves, their failure to live in Christian witness would mean his failure, his loss, his collapse. It is not enough for him to name Christ among them with whatever power and persuasion he possesses, and then walk away. Not nearly. All is vanity unless they live in faith, in gentle peace and unity in the Spirit of the One Love that won’t let him go.
So different from my ways. Failures of grace and love within your holy church make me want to walk away, troubled, depressed, wounded, wanting only to distance myself from the disappointment of again not finding the incarnation of your love my soul most needs. So I seek to tell my little stories, make my witness and press on.
But it is not enough. Do I care enough to struggle, to suffer pain, to subject myself to the risk of running in vain so that my efforts amount to nothing? Is this really your call, to invest so heavily in the souls and faith of those I serve that their murmuring, their failures to live in the peace of your Spirit, their turning from the depth of soul’s commitment you would work in them becomes my pain, my sorrow, my grief?
If so, I haven’t the reserves for this kind of life. I cannot do it, not without you. Be with me my blessed brother. Grant me my measure of the Spirit in which you loved all the way to the cross. Maybe then I will know Paul’s passion and participate in the Love you are. Amen.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain” (Phil. 2:14-16).
Prayer
I have seen you, O Gracious Vision. I have seen you shine in human faces alight with a glory beyond human capacity. Names and faces, manifestations of your eternal beauty, ever ancient, ever new, appear in the mind’s eye. They “shine like stars in the world.”
I see Magdalena praying at hospital beds, weathered hands folded, her brittle skin an ancient papyrus on which I can read every indignity she ever suffered, every child she mourned, every neighbor’s sorrow she absorbed as her own. It was never enough. Her folded hands and tender heart bore the weight of human woe until she had so completed your sufferings she could carry no more—and fell asleep in you. And we all rejoiced to have known her, silently giving thanks to have witnessed a glory more than human.
I see Eilert, dying with words of gratitude and blessing on his lips, blessing me and all he loved. I see George forgiving more than I can imagine, the glistening black eyes of his blessed and murdered Christina, shining from the little photo on his lapel. The love alight in those eyes shines, too, in George’s weary hope that violent death will claim no more, a hope he holds as a shield against all likelihood and despair.
There are so many more, O Ancient Beauty, in whose luster I have seen the light of eternity. Far too many to name. Each shines like the sun, some now in the intimacy of your eternal embrace, and all of them in me—exciting my heart and illumining my imagination to the beauty you are pleased to reveal in your saints, and in me.
For such stars in the world I give you thanks. Thanks, too, for eyes to see your beauty. Today, may I live so closely to you that the beauty you are may appear also in the contours of my face, in a way pleasing to your divine mercy. Amen.
Philippians 2:14-18
“Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world. It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain” (Phil. 2:14-16).
Prayer
I have seen you, O Gracious Vision. I have seen you shine in human faces alight with a glory beyond human capacity. Names and faces, manifestations of your eternal beauty, ever ancient, ever new, appear in the mind’s eye. They “shine like stars in the world.”
I see Magdalena praying at hospital beds, weathered hands folded, her brittle skin an ancient papyrus on which I can read every indignity she ever suffered, every child she mourned, every neighbor’s sorrow she absorbed as her own. It was never enough. Her folded hands and tender heart bore the weight of human woe until she had so completed your sufferings she could carry no more—and fell asleep in you. And we all rejoiced to have known her, silently giving thanks to have witnessed a glory more than human.
I see Eilert, dying with words of gratitude and blessing on his lips, blessing me and all he loved. I see George forgiving more than I can imagine, the glistening black eyes of his blessed and murdered Christina, shining from the little photo on his lapel. The love alight in those eyes shines, too, in George’s weary hope that violent death will claim no more, a hope he holds as a shield against all likelihood and despair.
There are so many more, O Ancient Beauty, in whose luster I have seen the light of eternity. Far too many to name. Each shines like the sun, some now in the intimacy of your eternal embrace, and all of them in me—exciting my heart and illumining my imagination to the beauty you are pleased to reveal in your saints, and in me.
For such stars in the world I give you thanks. Thanks, too, for eyes to see your beauty. Today, may I live so closely to you that the beauty you are may appear also in the contours of my face, in a way pleasing to your divine mercy. Amen.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Friday, October 20, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Do you experience joy, Holy One? You work for your good pleasure in me, in every fallen leaf on October days and in the restless energies of the universe. Each pulses with the life you breathe, conspiring to turn each leaf into nutrient and soil to seed a million tomorrows on this tiny, out-of-the-way planet. Does this bring joy to your divine heart?
Do you look at all the wonder you make, all in which you work, and take pleasure in it, inhaling joy even as I draw in the crisp, autumnal air until my lungs ache? I want only that my flesh should hold more of the ocean of life that envelops me as certainly as your embrace. I breathe in, drawing joy in every breath. And I want more. I want more.
Are you like that, wanting more, more life, more joy, more abundance, more of all in which you take pleasure? I like to think so. I like to think that my constant desire for more—more joy, more life, more love, more of you, is the presence of the Spirit you are. The restless desire for more is but a taste of your hunger to give life, to pour your joy into us that we may stand in awe-struck wonder at the unlikely fact that life is.
But perhaps not so unlikely. From the beginning, your one work has been to love the world—and me—into life, in spite of our determined resistance. Every act of creation, every body and soul Jesus healed, every soul you have released from bondage in this and every age speaks to me of your joy. Every time I cry to you and know again the love in which I was made, the love in which you hold me, voices your delight: “My pleasure is life and giving it. This is my joy.”
I want to share your joy, the good pleasure you surely must know in making beautiful things and loving them into life. I can imagine no greater privilege. Even as the sun rests low, invite me again into the eternal joy of your holy labor. Amen.
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Do you experience joy, Holy One? You work for your good pleasure in me, in every fallen leaf on October days and in the restless energies of the universe. Each pulses with the life you breathe, conspiring to turn each leaf into nutrient and soil to seed a million tomorrows on this tiny, out-of-the-way planet. Does this bring joy to your divine heart?
Do you look at all the wonder you make, all in which you work, and take pleasure in it, inhaling joy even as I draw in the crisp, autumnal air until my lungs ache? I want only that my flesh should hold more of the ocean of life that envelops me as certainly as your embrace. I breathe in, drawing joy in every breath. And I want more. I want more.
Are you like that, wanting more, more life, more joy, more abundance, more of all in which you take pleasure? I like to think so. I like to think that my constant desire for more—more joy, more life, more love, more of you, is the presence of the Spirit you are. The restless desire for more is but a taste of your hunger to give life, to pour your joy into us that we may stand in awe-struck wonder at the unlikely fact that life is.
But perhaps not so unlikely. From the beginning, your one work has been to love the world—and me—into life, in spite of our determined resistance. Every act of creation, every body and soul Jesus healed, every soul you have released from bondage in this and every age speaks to me of your joy. Every time I cry to you and know again the love in which I was made, the love in which you hold me, voices your delight: “My pleasure is life and giving it. This is my joy.”
I want to share your joy, the good pleasure you surely must know in making beautiful things and loving them into life. I can imagine no greater privilege. Even as the sun rests low, invite me again into the eternal joy of your holy labor. Amen.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
“My beloved”... the words echo another day, long before, when you, my brother, Jesus, stood in the stream, and John the Baptist poured water over you. There you stood, a flesh and blood human being, immersed in the swirling muddy waters of mortal existence. You stood there, the flesh of God’s desire to stand among fallen and frazzled humanity, sharing our plight and confusion, our pain and pleasure, leaving nothing out, taking it all into the immensity of the your divine heart. You stood there, a perfect icon of the singular generosity of God.
There you stood in the mud, and the voice of the Loving Mystery spoke, calling you ‘beloved son.’ And here your servant, Paul, uses the same blessing to name others whom you also have loved since before the birth of time: “my beloved.”
Your grace and blessing is twofold. The first is the blessing of being named “beloved:” cherished, loved, wanted, delighted in. The second grace is greater: that of blessing another human soul with the name you give me and all whom you love: “my beloved.”
Tell me, what is the source of such grace and blessing, if not the boundless spring of your divine heart? You hold us in your belovedness. You call us “beloved.” You enlarge our sin-shriveled hearts, making them spacious and large, with room for others that we may share your joy. And that? The joy of sharing the holy sacrament of naming another hungry soul, “my beloved,” passing along the grace that you, O Loving Mystery, has pronounced over me, and over all this frazzled, fallen mess of a world, all of it, “my beloved.”
Today, let me never forget your name for me. Grant me the joy of sharing this, your singular grace, with another needy soul who is, indeed, beloved of God from all eternity. Amen.
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
“My beloved”... the words echo another day, long before, when you, my brother, Jesus, stood in the stream, and John the Baptist poured water over you. There you stood, a flesh and blood human being, immersed in the swirling muddy waters of mortal existence. You stood there, the flesh of God’s desire to stand among fallen and frazzled humanity, sharing our plight and confusion, our pain and pleasure, leaving nothing out, taking it all into the immensity of the your divine heart. You stood there, a perfect icon of the singular generosity of God.
There you stood in the mud, and the voice of the Loving Mystery spoke, calling you ‘beloved son.’ And here your servant, Paul, uses the same blessing to name others whom you also have loved since before the birth of time: “my beloved.”
Your grace and blessing is twofold. The first is the blessing of being named “beloved:” cherished, loved, wanted, delighted in. The second grace is greater: that of blessing another human soul with the name you give me and all whom you love: “my beloved.”
Tell me, what is the source of such grace and blessing, if not the boundless spring of your divine heart? You hold us in your belovedness. You call us “beloved.” You enlarge our sin-shriveled hearts, making them spacious and large, with room for others that we may share your joy. And that? The joy of sharing the holy sacrament of naming another hungry soul, “my beloved,” passing along the grace that you, O Loving Mystery, has pronounced over me, and over all this frazzled, fallen mess of a world, all of it, “my beloved.”
Today, let me never forget your name for me. Grant me the joy of sharing this, your singular grace, with another needy soul who is, indeed, beloved of God from all eternity. Amen.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Work out your salvation with fear and trembling. I hear the words, O Constant Compassion, but I have no fears, not where you are concerned. I know in you an immensity, a generosity of heart, a determined conviction of holy purpose to bring all you love into the all-encompassing embrace in which you hunger to hold all that is ... and me. I know this, and for this assurance I have only you to thank.
You aim to hold every moment of time and existence, drawing them into the immensity of your bosom, like a mother holding her infant beloved to her chest in a holy care that transcends her ability to speak. You shall hold all that is and has been to your breast, bringing healing to the nations and to our conflicted souls that we might know life abundant and eternal as you intend. Such is your purpose.
I have no fear about this, although I don’t like your timing. For we need the fullness of your eternal embrace now. Now. And that is where my fear is. My fear is about me and how I lose track of the one true thing I know: You, and your inexplicable love for this universe, for this world in all its fractured frenzy, and for me
I fear my own waywardness, my wandering heart, my impulsive ways, my occasional sloth, my self-seeking, self-justifying ways in which I fumble away the immensity of your love that is always at hand. I lose you each time I begin to believe that who I am is what I do, what I earn, what I produce, what status or influence I possess. Then the old voices arise to accuse and abuse, reminding me again that I count for little in this world. Perhaps they are right.
But it does not matter. For I hurl my anxious, accusing heart into the immensity of your embrace, claiming again the love in which you hold me and all things, and always will. And again I find assurance that you neither falter nor fail, O Constant Compassion. Let me so know you this day. Amen.
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Work out your salvation with fear and trembling. I hear the words, O Constant Compassion, but I have no fears, not where you are concerned. I know in you an immensity, a generosity of heart, a determined conviction of holy purpose to bring all you love into the all-encompassing embrace in which you hunger to hold all that is ... and me. I know this, and for this assurance I have only you to thank.
You aim to hold every moment of time and existence, drawing them into the immensity of your bosom, like a mother holding her infant beloved to her chest in a holy care that transcends her ability to speak. You shall hold all that is and has been to your breast, bringing healing to the nations and to our conflicted souls that we might know life abundant and eternal as you intend. Such is your purpose.
I have no fear about this, although I don’t like your timing. For we need the fullness of your eternal embrace now. Now. And that is where my fear is. My fear is about me and how I lose track of the one true thing I know: You, and your inexplicable love for this universe, for this world in all its fractured frenzy, and for me
I fear my own waywardness, my wandering heart, my impulsive ways, my occasional sloth, my self-seeking, self-justifying ways in which I fumble away the immensity of your love that is always at hand. I lose you each time I begin to believe that who I am is what I do, what I earn, what I produce, what status or influence I possess. Then the old voices arise to accuse and abuse, reminding me again that I count for little in this world. Perhaps they are right.
But it does not matter. For I hurl my anxious, accusing heart into the immensity of your embrace, claiming again the love in which you hold me and all things, and always will. And again I find assurance that you neither falter nor fail, O Constant Compassion. Let me so know you this day. Amen.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Who are you? Who are you who work at the secret center, weaving sinews of flesh and spirit into a rational soul, a breathing being so that I might somehow please you? Who are you, Secret Heart, who fashions in me a heart of flesh whose pleasure is your good pleasure? Who is this who molds in human flesh a heart after your own divine heart, one that lives to love?
It is morning. You wake me again from the little death of sleep because it is your joy to make breathing and beautiful beings come to life. Beauty, I have little, but what little I have is you. You have known me from the time I was not. You willed my existence. I am your desire. You wanted me and wanted that I should be particular expression of your good pleasure.
You knit me together in my mother’s womb. You have walked with me every moment. You bear in your immense mercy every wound, every bruise, every cry of body and soul, every blessed word I have heard, every gentle hand I have touched, every place I have been, every voice I have heard, every face I have met, laboring in the whole mess to make a human soul capable of loving and of loving you.
You are large, your heart all-expansive, all-encompassing, holding in redemptive mercy every moment of my life, every evil and wasted word I have spoken, every failure and misstep, every refusal to love and respond to your mercy, every blessing you have somehow wrung from my resistant heart, and every tear I have shed for the sheer joy of loving and being loved, tears that surely must make you smile.
All of it, all of it, and much more you used for your good pleasure. It brings you joy to labor at the secret center to make us live and live truly in love, the only life that is life. If there are words to give thanks for all of this, I don’t have them. Amen.
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Who are you? Who are you who work at the secret center, weaving sinews of flesh and spirit into a rational soul, a breathing being so that I might somehow please you? Who are you, Secret Heart, who fashions in me a heart of flesh whose pleasure is your good pleasure? Who is this who molds in human flesh a heart after your own divine heart, one that lives to love?
It is morning. You wake me again from the little death of sleep because it is your joy to make breathing and beautiful beings come to life. Beauty, I have little, but what little I have is you. You have known me from the time I was not. You willed my existence. I am your desire. You wanted me and wanted that I should be particular expression of your good pleasure.
You knit me together in my mother’s womb. You have walked with me every moment. You bear in your immense mercy every wound, every bruise, every cry of body and soul, every blessed word I have heard, every gentle hand I have touched, every place I have been, every voice I have heard, every face I have met, laboring in the whole mess to make a human soul capable of loving and of loving you.
You are large, your heart all-expansive, all-encompassing, holding in redemptive mercy every moment of my life, every evil and wasted word I have spoken, every failure and misstep, every refusal to love and respond to your mercy, every blessing you have somehow wrung from my resistant heart, and every tear I have shed for the sheer joy of loving and being loved, tears that surely must make you smile.
All of it, all of it, and much more you used for your good pleasure. It brings you joy to labor at the secret center to make us live and live truly in love, the only life that is life. If there are words to give thanks for all of this, I don’t have them. Amen.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Monday, October 16, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
I am not like you, dearest Holy Mystery. I am not simple. My heart is not pure, given to one thing alone. I am complex, a menagerie of conflicting voices and colliding desires that make any choice subject to capricious movements of heart and will.
But among the clamoring voices is your constant calling, inviting, drawing, coaxing me into the incandescent fire of your life. There you burn off that which is worthless, transforming me into the fire of the love whom you are. You labor in me. The thought of it should frighten me I suppose, but today there is no fear. I know only hope and tears that bless you for the wonder of living a life where you are, a life where you work to bring me to the fullness of of life you desire for me.
You labor in me: You who cast the nebulae into the cold darkness of space, who command Orion to illumine the night watches, who are the illimitable Source from whom all life streams from eternity into time, who are beyond human intellection and knowing, beyond light and darkness, beyond being and non being, beyond wonder and imagination, who are the impenetrable abyss no eye has see and no ear heard, you who quilt all life together in arrays of color and connection that dazzle the understanding: You, who are Unspeakable Wonder, labor in the crowded halls of my heart, clearing the room to bring fullness of salvation and simplicity so that all that matters is your love alone.
And I? I shall work and move with confidence, not doubt and second guessing. For you whose single work is life, labor also to abundant life for me, in me, through me. In the heart’s crowded halls, I shall listen for the voice of your desire for peace, for love, for life, for hope, knowing you are there, O Unspeakable Mystery. And should I mistake another's voice for your call, I shall yet know greater forgiveness, and your holy desire will yet be done despite my failings. So let me live. Amen.
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
I am not like you, dearest Holy Mystery. I am not simple. My heart is not pure, given to one thing alone. I am complex, a menagerie of conflicting voices and colliding desires that make any choice subject to capricious movements of heart and will.
But among the clamoring voices is your constant calling, inviting, drawing, coaxing me into the incandescent fire of your life. There you burn off that which is worthless, transforming me into the fire of the love whom you are. You labor in me. The thought of it should frighten me I suppose, but today there is no fear. I know only hope and tears that bless you for the wonder of living a life where you are, a life where you work to bring me to the fullness of of life you desire for me.
You labor in me: You who cast the nebulae into the cold darkness of space, who command Orion to illumine the night watches, who are the illimitable Source from whom all life streams from eternity into time, who are beyond human intellection and knowing, beyond light and darkness, beyond being and non being, beyond wonder and imagination, who are the impenetrable abyss no eye has see and no ear heard, you who quilt all life together in arrays of color and connection that dazzle the understanding: You, who are Unspeakable Wonder, labor in the crowded halls of my heart, clearing the room to bring fullness of salvation and simplicity so that all that matters is your love alone.
And I? I shall work and move with confidence, not doubt and second guessing. For you whose single work is life, labor also to abundant life for me, in me, through me. In the heart’s crowded halls, I shall listen for the voice of your desire for peace, for love, for life, for hope, knowing you are there, O Unspeakable Mystery. And should I mistake another's voice for your call, I shall yet know greater forgiveness, and your holy desire will yet be done despite my failings. So let me live. Amen.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Friday, October 13, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:5-11
“And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross. Therefore God highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of the Father” (Phil. 2: 9-11).
Prayer
The song of the universe goes on, and this day also in me. It continues: the voice of your Spirit, risen and exalted One, is the wonder of prayer itself. For I do not pray; you pray within me. On days of particular wonder, you consume my soul, tuning it to the alleluia chorus of all the created. The melody lilting from the radio, lifting my soul, is but a single theme in the Spirit’s ancient harmony. Your song is near me and in me, as in the depths of all being. For there, in the black abyss, where all the fibers of the manifold meet, you labor in joy, as we wait the day when praise of you as Lord is no longer implicit but the universal cry of all that is.
So, for now, I shall sing eternity’s song even when no words come from the fullness of my soul. For how shall I praise you my Lord, you who fill all time with your loving presence and purpose? You are unending, unfailing, unchanging, yet moving ever to encompass the disjointed confusion of life, surrounding and enveloping every molecule with a love that I cannot speak.
With what words can I praise you? What language is up to the task? What nouns and verbs will do? What superlatives can name you, O Unspeakable Loving Wonder, so that in the speaking I may know you and fall into the blessed silence of having spoken your name as well as I can? Your immense nearness, your intimate infinity chokes every word before it can cross my lips. I want to praise you as love infinite and eternal, giving voice to an eloquence always beyond me. I stumble in the dark, catching faintest shadows of you and trying to name that which I see. And nothing quite works. Your beauty overwhelms my every attempt.
But I will go on trying, knowing I shall always fail. For each failure bears me to wordless wonder, where I know again what I cannot speak. May it ever be so. Amen.
Philippians 2:5-11
“And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross. Therefore God highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of the Father” (Phil. 2: 9-11).
Prayer
The song of the universe goes on, and this day also in me. It continues: the voice of your Spirit, risen and exalted One, is the wonder of prayer itself. For I do not pray; you pray within me. On days of particular wonder, you consume my soul, tuning it to the alleluia chorus of all the created. The melody lilting from the radio, lifting my soul, is but a single theme in the Spirit’s ancient harmony. Your song is near me and in me, as in the depths of all being. For there, in the black abyss, where all the fibers of the manifold meet, you labor in joy, as we wait the day when praise of you as Lord is no longer implicit but the universal cry of all that is.
So, for now, I shall sing eternity’s song even when no words come from the fullness of my soul. For how shall I praise you my Lord, you who fill all time with your loving presence and purpose? You are unending, unfailing, unchanging, yet moving ever to encompass the disjointed confusion of life, surrounding and enveloping every molecule with a love that I cannot speak.
With what words can I praise you? What language is up to the task? What nouns and verbs will do? What superlatives can name you, O Unspeakable Loving Wonder, so that in the speaking I may know you and fall into the blessed silence of having spoken your name as well as I can? Your immense nearness, your intimate infinity chokes every word before it can cross my lips. I want to praise you as love infinite and eternal, giving voice to an eloquence always beyond me. I stumble in the dark, catching faintest shadows of you and trying to name that which I see. And nothing quite works. Your beauty overwhelms my every attempt.
But I will go on trying, knowing I shall always fail. For each failure bears me to wordless wonder, where I know again what I cannot speak. May it ever be so. Amen.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:5-11
“And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death--even death on a cross. Therefore God highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of the Father” (Phil. 2:9-11).
Prayer
I put my hand to the door, and your praise wells in me, joining the chorus of the universe, blessing the glorious beauty you are, O Christ. Praise was not in me a moment ago, though it is constant in every place and time. For you have made a praising universe. All things are created to bless you. Each created thing magnifies you by being what it is, and doing so it dwells in its own true identity.
The golden tree stands in the yard, limbs lifted, shouting ‘glory’ to an infinite blue sky on a cold October morning. It speaks out its brilliance, soon to fade in winter’s grayness, yet for this time gives ecstatic praise to the Eternal Splendor of which it is but a shadow. Pleased, it is, to share in the glory of you, who are Unfading Beauty. Yet, its voice is almost unheard for the riot of ‘alleluias’ rising from billions of voices, each praising you and the deathless love in which you work shalom for all you have made.
And I? I put my hand to the door. A moment ago my heart was silent, my soul fatigued, my thoughts far from you. But the Spirit of you, who are the ever-living one, awakens in me, too, the song of the universe, as every blessed thing speaks out the life you have given to each. And my silent soul joins the chorus, praising you, the source of all life and beauty. I do not know how or why my soul should suddenly awaken to eternity’s song, only that you have done this. And that I am grateful for it.
But such is your way. Having humbly given yourself, you restore and renew your splendor in us, pouring resurrected life into our mortal flesh and into finite reality that we each might find truest joy in one chorus: “Glory to you, O crucified and risen One. Glory.”
Today, may I be as wise as the golden trees, giving praise to you by being beauty you have given. Amen.
Philippians 2:5-11
“And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death--even death on a cross. Therefore God highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of the Father” (Phil. 2:9-11).
Prayer
I put my hand to the door, and your praise wells in me, joining the chorus of the universe, blessing the glorious beauty you are, O Christ. Praise was not in me a moment ago, though it is constant in every place and time. For you have made a praising universe. All things are created to bless you. Each created thing magnifies you by being what it is, and doing so it dwells in its own true identity.
The golden tree stands in the yard, limbs lifted, shouting ‘glory’ to an infinite blue sky on a cold October morning. It speaks out its brilliance, soon to fade in winter’s grayness, yet for this time gives ecstatic praise to the Eternal Splendor of which it is but a shadow. Pleased, it is, to share in the glory of you, who are Unfading Beauty. Yet, its voice is almost unheard for the riot of ‘alleluias’ rising from billions of voices, each praising you and the deathless love in which you work shalom for all you have made.
And I? I put my hand to the door. A moment ago my heart was silent, my soul fatigued, my thoughts far from you. But the Spirit of you, who are the ever-living one, awakens in me, too, the song of the universe, as every blessed thing speaks out the life you have given to each. And my silent soul joins the chorus, praising you, the source of all life and beauty. I do not know how or why my soul should suddenly awaken to eternity’s song, only that you have done this. And that I am grateful for it.
But such is your way. Having humbly given yourself, you restore and renew your splendor in us, pouring resurrected life into our mortal flesh and into finite reality that we each might find truest joy in one chorus: “Glory to you, O crucified and risen One. Glory.”
Today, may I be as wise as the golden trees, giving praise to you by being beauty you have given. Amen.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:5-11
“Therefore God highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the the glory of the Father” (Phil. 2:9-11).
Prayer
You are Lord, and today I need you to be my Lord. There are many applicants for the job. Their voices echo against the bare walls of my soul, insidiously whispering their insinuations. They seek vulnerable spots in my soul for their attack, dragging me into shadowed halls of no escape where I find no way out.
The voices in the hall arrogantly announce the final word over my life or at least over my day. Jesus, I know my failures all to well. There are too many of them, and too often the same weary inadequacies--my inability to live up to my aspirations, my want of knowledge, my lack of deep insight, my stumbling about to trust and express what little I know, my fear to live from the heart of grace you give and be the human soul you intend. I could go on, ... easily. You get the idea.
But why must these ancient voices arise in my weak moments to accuse and abuse and haunt me into their nether world of non life? Even after all these years I cannot drive them out and prevent their return. So you can see, that is why I need you to be my Lord. For if you are not, I am left to the voices.
But you are the Living Presence of the Loving Mystery, the blessed face of the Eternal Wonder, the height and depth, length and breadth of Illimitable Love--and you are Lord. Last words over all things belong to you. And your word over me is “beloved.” But you have other words: “known” and “chosen,” and “delighted in.” You have known and wanted and loved me since before the birth of the worlds. Such is your good pleasure.
At the sound of your word the taunting voices flee, the doors are opened, the shadows are banished, the breath of life returns to my soul. For you are Lord. And I am yours. Amen.
Philippians 2:5-11
“Therefore God highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the the glory of the Father” (Phil. 2:9-11).
Prayer
You are Lord, and today I need you to be my Lord. There are many applicants for the job. Their voices echo against the bare walls of my soul, insidiously whispering their insinuations. They seek vulnerable spots in my soul for their attack, dragging me into shadowed halls of no escape where I find no way out.
The voices in the hall arrogantly announce the final word over my life or at least over my day. Jesus, I know my failures all to well. There are too many of them, and too often the same weary inadequacies--my inability to live up to my aspirations, my want of knowledge, my lack of deep insight, my stumbling about to trust and express what little I know, my fear to live from the heart of grace you give and be the human soul you intend. I could go on, ... easily. You get the idea.
But why must these ancient voices arise in my weak moments to accuse and abuse and haunt me into their nether world of non life? Even after all these years I cannot drive them out and prevent their return. So you can see, that is why I need you to be my Lord. For if you are not, I am left to the voices.
But you are the Living Presence of the Loving Mystery, the blessed face of the Eternal Wonder, the height and depth, length and breadth of Illimitable Love--and you are Lord. Last words over all things belong to you. And your word over me is “beloved.” But you have other words: “known” and “chosen,” and “delighted in.” You have known and wanted and loved me since before the birth of the worlds. Such is your good pleasure.
At the sound of your word the taunting voices flee, the doors are opened, the shadows are banished, the breath of life returns to my soul. For you are Lord. And I am yours. Amen.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2: 5-11
“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death--even death on a cross” (Phil 2:4-8).
Prayer
What is your mind, Holy One? What thoughts did you think? What sights and sounds flashed through you, filling your heart with wonder or anger, praise or the abiding sadness into which all human souls sink? All these certainly were yours, as they are ours.
Beyond the myriad emotions and that pulled at you there is a constancy present in your every act. There is a consistency flowing from a central conviction about who you are and who the Blessed Wonder called you to be. Your soul and eye did not waver from the one good thing—revealing from the depths of your being the face of the Eternal Wonder. You are the face and flesh the One who lights the night sky with Pleidies and Orion. You are the visible beauty of the Blessed Silence, who constantly loves, giving life to the fallen and confused, the troubled and misdirected, which is to say, to me.
Never, dear Christ, did you turn from the holy purpose of revealing the unfathomable depth of the divine heart, the length and breadth of illimitable love. Blessed are you. Your face reveals the mind of God. Of all the faces of Earth, I need to see yours most of all. When I do not see you my soul sinks into shadows of gray where there is no fire of life and joy. But when I see your love for me and every soul of Earth I know: I was made to dwell in the blessedness of God—and to be such blessedness in my time and place that the beauty of the divine heart may be known.
Today, may the beauty of your mind find expression in the life you have given me to live. Amen.
Philippians 2: 5-11
“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death--even death on a cross” (Phil 2:4-8).
Prayer
What is your mind, Holy One? What thoughts did you think? What sights and sounds flashed through you, filling your heart with wonder or anger, praise or the abiding sadness into which all human souls sink? All these certainly were yours, as they are ours.
Beyond the myriad emotions and that pulled at you there is a constancy present in your every act. There is a consistency flowing from a central conviction about who you are and who the Blessed Wonder called you to be. Your soul and eye did not waver from the one good thing—revealing from the depths of your being the face of the Eternal Wonder. You are the face and flesh the One who lights the night sky with Pleidies and Orion. You are the visible beauty of the Blessed Silence, who constantly loves, giving life to the fallen and confused, the troubled and misdirected, which is to say, to me.
Never, dear Christ, did you turn from the holy purpose of revealing the unfathomable depth of the divine heart, the length and breadth of illimitable love. Blessed are you. Your face reveals the mind of God. Of all the faces of Earth, I need to see yours most of all. When I do not see you my soul sinks into shadows of gray where there is no fire of life and joy. But when I see your love for me and every soul of Earth I know: I was made to dwell in the blessedness of God—and to be such blessedness in my time and place that the beauty of the divine heart may be known.
Today, may the beauty of your mind find expression in the life you have given me to live. Amen.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Monday, October 9, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2: 5-11
“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death--even death on a cross" (Phil 2:4-8).
Prayer
I see you, blessed Christ, bent and laden, carrying your cross. The rough wood beam cuts a path through the dusty street as it drags and clanks on uneven stones. Your feet bare, your movement steady, slow, you move ahead, ever onward. Then you stop and turn to me. “Follow me,” you say. “Carry your cross”
The intensity of vision soon passes, but the image persists in the mind’s eye and begins to speak. Words form in the heart: “Each day is an invitation to live the newness. Each moment is an opportunity to live the newness.” The words repeat until all that is left is the slogan itself: “Live the newness.”
These are your words to me--in me, and the meaning is near to hand. I know what it is for me: to release the fears that limit my soul so that I recoil from hard struggle. You invite me to a freedom beyond fear, to see each person, each encounter, each moment as occasion to live the love, the joy, the peace and conviction of the reign of God that even now shapes the depths of my being. It is to let the givenness of your love be the fountain from which every action and word flows in life-giving stream.
To live the newness is to give expression to your life, O blessed Spring. It bubbles from impenetrable eternity, emerging through my depths to freshen my heart with love and the hope-filled expectation that the every cross bears the promise of birthing the eternal newness flowing from your heart.
“Live the newness,“ you say again, the cross resting on your shoulder. Today, may I take up my daily duties, bearing them in hope, that each may become the occasion for the joy of sharing the new life you are. Amen.
Philippians 2: 5-11
“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death--even death on a cross" (Phil 2:4-8).
Prayer
I see you, blessed Christ, bent and laden, carrying your cross. The rough wood beam cuts a path through the dusty street as it drags and clanks on uneven stones. Your feet bare, your movement steady, slow, you move ahead, ever onward. Then you stop and turn to me. “Follow me,” you say. “Carry your cross”
The intensity of vision soon passes, but the image persists in the mind’s eye and begins to speak. Words form in the heart: “Each day is an invitation to live the newness. Each moment is an opportunity to live the newness.” The words repeat until all that is left is the slogan itself: “Live the newness.”
These are your words to me--in me, and the meaning is near to hand. I know what it is for me: to release the fears that limit my soul so that I recoil from hard struggle. You invite me to a freedom beyond fear, to see each person, each encounter, each moment as occasion to live the love, the joy, the peace and conviction of the reign of God that even now shapes the depths of my being. It is to let the givenness of your love be the fountain from which every action and word flows in life-giving stream.
To live the newness is to give expression to your life, O blessed Spring. It bubbles from impenetrable eternity, emerging through my depths to freshen my heart with love and the hope-filled expectation that the every cross bears the promise of birthing the eternal newness flowing from your heart.
“Live the newness,“ you say again, the cross resting on your shoulder. Today, may I take up my daily duties, bearing them in hope, that each may become the occasion for the joy of sharing the new life you are. Amen.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Friday, October 6, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:1-7
“If there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy ... . Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 2:1, 4-5).
Prayer
And this you would give me, your own mind? The thought of it alone brings tears. Shall I have the mind that knows the Eternal Wonder and speaks to the Unspeakable One as to dearest old friend? Shall I see the Beauty who kisses golden autumn days with crisp clarity and sparkling wonder? Shall I ache for the day when the eternal blessing for which all is intended absorbs every needy soul and mends every broken thing? Shall I hunger to be wholly given to that holy dream as are you in blessed completeness?
Dearest One, is this what it is to have your mind in my mortal flesh? Such is my hunger for you. I am too much with me. I long to live in you, knowing the substance of your being within my own, blessed Christ. I want to be filled with your greedy love that desires nothing less than all of me, a liquid compassion that seeks the vacant emptiness in the dark cylinder of my soul, pushing out all that is not itself. Then, only then shall your mind appear in its fullness in me. And I shall share in the beauty of the Eternal Wonder and in the insatiable longing for the healing of every wound and every death Earth has ever known.
But even now you keep your promise, and your mind appears in your people, and me. You fill us with a liquid grace that overflows our hearts, dissolving all shame and guilt, all anxiety and fear, so that with fresh eyes we see all that is. Then it is that there is no need to tell us to have your mind, to exhort us to do nothing from selfishness and conceit. For we are filled with you, in whose presence selfishness and conceit evaporate like so much morning mist. It is then that we know what it is to have your mind.
How does this happen, blessed Font of life? Do we ‘let’ your mind dwell us, or do you simply fill us with the impenetrable mystery and indivisible mercy whom you are? However it happens, may it happen to us today that we may see as you see and love as you love, for the sake of the world you cherish more than we can know. Amen.
Philippians 2:1-7
“If there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy ... . Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 2:1, 4-5).
Prayer
And this you would give me, your own mind? The thought of it alone brings tears. Shall I have the mind that knows the Eternal Wonder and speaks to the Unspeakable One as to dearest old friend? Shall I see the Beauty who kisses golden autumn days with crisp clarity and sparkling wonder? Shall I ache for the day when the eternal blessing for which all is intended absorbs every needy soul and mends every broken thing? Shall I hunger to be wholly given to that holy dream as are you in blessed completeness?
Dearest One, is this what it is to have your mind in my mortal flesh? Such is my hunger for you. I am too much with me. I long to live in you, knowing the substance of your being within my own, blessed Christ. I want to be filled with your greedy love that desires nothing less than all of me, a liquid compassion that seeks the vacant emptiness in the dark cylinder of my soul, pushing out all that is not itself. Then, only then shall your mind appear in its fullness in me. And I shall share in the beauty of the Eternal Wonder and in the insatiable longing for the healing of every wound and every death Earth has ever known.
But even now you keep your promise, and your mind appears in your people, and me. You fill us with a liquid grace that overflows our hearts, dissolving all shame and guilt, all anxiety and fear, so that with fresh eyes we see all that is. Then it is that there is no need to tell us to have your mind, to exhort us to do nothing from selfishness and conceit. For we are filled with you, in whose presence selfishness and conceit evaporate like so much morning mist. It is then that we know what it is to have your mind.
How does this happen, blessed Font of life? Do we ‘let’ your mind dwell us, or do you simply fill us with the impenetrable mystery and indivisible mercy whom you are? However it happens, may it happen to us today that we may see as you see and love as you love, for the sake of the world you cherish more than we can know. Amen.
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