Thursday, February 26, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:14-15

After John had been arrested, Jesus went into Galilee. There he proclaimed the gospel from God saying, 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent, and believe the gospel.'

Reflection

Repent and believe. It sounds like our basic problem is believing, Jesus. Our most fundamental repenting is about who or what we believe.

And believing is no mere mental act. It is not working up the power to think something is true even if you are not sure.

Believing is an investment of self, a believing into. It is giving yourself to a truth, a reality, a claim beyond oneself.

We are all believers, all are given, all are surrendered to truth that may or not be so. But to be human is to give yourself to truth in the hope that truth is real, leading to a life that fulfills the gift of our humanity, heart, hand and mind.

Repent, you say. The kingdom, the rule of the Almighty One, the Living Source, the Fountain of Creation has come. God comes to rule. Believe it. Give yourself to this rule. Surrender to its claims. Put your hand to its purposes.

But all this avoids the personal. For I know there are too many moments that reveal to me that I believe in what is not gospel. I believe that I must earn my keep, prove my worth. And in fatigue I come to the end of the day wondering if I am of any value at all. My soul feels its defeat.

Perhaps it’s only the fatigue talking. But at the root of the weariness is a truth that some part of me believes and to which that part is given. It believes--I believe--that I am my last performance. I am of value as my work has quality, and establishing my value must be done again and again.

It’s not an unusual belief. It is so common and average I am almost embarrassed. I expect more of myself. I should think I could be more unique. But I am not.

I am just one more soul in need of repentance, of turning from false truth that kills the soul to the gospel of your nearness, Holy One. For you are near, your kingdom comes. I believe that, and I would extend to myself the grace of it that I so eagerly claim and give to others.

Repent, my soul, and believe the gospel. God comes to rule you complete. My soul, you are measured by an infinite grace. Enter the circle of blessed rest. The Love who holds you longs to fill every dusty, unbelieving corner of your being.

Pr. David L. Miller

February 25, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:12-13

And at once the Spirit drove him into the desert, and he remained there for forty days, and was put to the test by Satan. He was with the wild animals, and the angels looked after him.

Reflection

Driven. I don’t like the sounds of that, but it speaks a truth of your life, Jesus, something that is true of every life.

We each are driven. Our drivers are usually not hard to discover.

Success, attractiveness, wealth, security, fear of failure, rejection or pain, the maintenance of a particular image, a comfortable life: these are common drivers.

Old voices that judged, cajoled or stung us also drive, pushing us in one direction or another. We obey them more often than not, trying to find a way to make them shut up, or we rebel against them in vain effort to show our independence from them. But even our rebellion reveals their power over us.

Sometimes are drivers are the hunger to protect and serve, to bless and heal, to give and love. Great developments of science, medicine and the arts are born of such drivenness, as are great acts of sacrifice for a child, a parent, a friend.

So drivenness isn’t all bad, just so long as it doesn’t destroy us and others in the process.

Or am I wrong, Jesus?

You were driven by the Spirit into the wilderness for testing, to get ready for the road ahead. That road led to your destruction. You were destroyed by your zeal, by the Spirit of God who drove you to love as God loves, to give as God gives, to surrender to a purpose that brought you human rejection and immense pain.

That scares us, Jesus. We know being driven by the Spirit of the All Loving One will take us beyond ourselves and well beyond our comfort. It will lead us to wonder if we are a little crazy for loving and following you. It will move us to love and care about people and places that we could easily ignore.

It will comfort and love us, while pushing us to be the love and comfort we receive. So we shy away, knowing we are not up to the challenge. It is easier to seek our own comfort.

But one way or the other, we are driven by something, something in our spirit, or something in yours, Jesus.

It’s a hard prayer, but still I must say it: Drive me beyond myself to love and care as you. Part of my heart shudders with fear at the thought; another part demands to be given away.

It’s that driver in me I can’t escape.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:91-11

It was at this time that Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized in the Jordan by John. And at once, as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit, like a dove, descending on him. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on you.'

Reflection

You carried a secret, Jesus. You saw what you saw. The encircling dish of the heavens rip open, and the light of forever appears. A dove descends as a voice speaks.

“You are my beloved, my son, on whom my favor rests.”

That’s the secret you carried with you along all the dusty roads you walked. That’s the identity of which you were certain on the days when the powerful rejected you, denounced you and plotted your destruction.

Every challenge could be met by reference and remembrance of who you are: I am the beloved. I dwell in the circle of God’s eternal favor. My identity is nothing others say about me or do to me. The opinions and deeds of human hearts do not define me.

I am beloved of the Eternal Wonder. I dwell in the secret heart of Love Eternal. I am the unique living word of the One who is life.

And you carried on, Jesus, carried by the secret you cherished at the core of your being.

Everything starts and is empowered by your identity, an identity given to you, a gift of the God whose pleasure is to give gifts. You indwelt that gift, your heart never straying from the central truth of God’s blessing which never fades or fails.

I want this, and on my very best moments I taste it. These are not moments when I am good or wise, but moments when I simply know and rest in the identity of belovedness you share with me, this truth abiding into which you constantly welcome me.

Everything depends on resting in this identity: my peace and power, my hope and patience, my courage and love, my smile and joy. All that is best in this mortal body rises like the warm morning sun when I know I am what you say, not what others think or how I see my days and deeds.

I am what you say and give: beloved, chosen, favored, sharing in the identity that is your gift to give.

So let the day begin.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 9:2-4

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John and led them up a high mountain on their own by themselves. There in their presence he was transfigured: his clothes became brilliantly white, whiter than any earthly bleacher could make them. Elijah appeared to them with Moses; and they were talking to Jesus.

Reflection

You go up on the mountain, Jesus, to the place of holy communion with the Source of all the love that flows from your being. There on the mountain you are transfigured, filled with light so that even the eyes of the half-blind see that you are the present light of the Eternal Wonder.

Your friends are engulfed in the light of the Living Presence that surrounds and shines through you.

I need to stand within the circle of your illumination, absorbed in the light of your presence, knowing whatever it was that your friends knew on the mountain with you.

I need to be delivered from the melancholy that overwhelms the soul at the sight of one’s limitations and frailties, at the awareness of one’s insignificance.

It is only the light of your immortality that can overcome the pressing weight of my all-too-human smallness.

So if it is not too much trouble, illumine the spaces of my existence with the light of your Eternal Wonder. Lighten my darkness, lift my weary arms, warm my wavering soul with the illumination of your holy presence.

I live not on mountain but on the stale plain of the commonplace where petty concerns the urgency of one’s next duty dulls the soul.

But I believe against the resistant parts of my soul that even such places can be transfigured by your light. So transfigure dull and the routine, the weary and the worry of this day with the light of your eternal day.

My darkened soul longs for the light of your living presence.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, February 13, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:40-45

A man suffering from a virulent skin-disease came to him and pleaded on his knees saying, 'If you are willing, you can cleanse me.' Feeling sorry for him, Jesus stretched out his hand, touched him and said to him, 'I am willing. Be cleansed.' And at once the skin-disease left him and he was cleansed. And at once Jesus sternly sent him away and said to him, 'Mind you tell no one anything, but go and show yourself to the priest, and make the offering for your cleansing prescribed by Moses as evidence to them.' The man went away, but then started freely proclaiming and telling the story everywhere, so that Jesus could no longer go openly into any town, but stayed outside in deserted places. Even so, people from all around kept coming to him.

Reflection

Bring healing, O Lord, to broken places and wounded faces. Reveal your hearts desire and satisfy ours.

There is not much more I can say today. The world of tragedies, death and threat surrounds and fills my consciousness. Health evaporates like mist. Sunny security disappears behind impenetrable clouds. Accidents smash the joyous beauty of youth.

And dumbstruck souls struggle to catch their breath. Or they vainly fill the far corners of the room with airy blather, denying mortality and running from the inescapable needs they wish not to acknowledge, needs that would land them in your lap.

And I sit in the quiet, wanting only the nearness of you who say you are willing, willing to touch and heal.

So touch and heal, dearest Friend. You know all those for whom I pray with weak words and fearful heart.

But there is no reason for fear. That which we fear can and will happen. Sooner or later, it always does.

But you happen, too. And you are willing to touch and heal every hurt, awakening that hope that does not die.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, February 6, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:35-39

In the morning, long before dawn, [Jesus] got up and left the house and went off to a lonely place and prayed there. Simon and his companions set out in search of him, and when they found him they said, 'Everybody is looking for you.' He answered, 'Let us go elsewhere, to the neighboring country towns, so that I can proclaim the message there too, because that is why I came.' And he went all through Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and driving out devils.

Reflection

‘That is why I came.’ It makes no sense, but the words bring strange comfort. There’s nothing remarkable about them, except the quietness I hear in your voice.

You don’t force the words, Jesus. There’s no dramatic emphasis, no steely resolve, just a simple statement expressing an unshakable awareness of who you are and what you are about.

You are about the revealing of God’s intention to change the world, to fill it with compassion and justice like water covers the sea. This is what you are about in every moment and circumstance. Your eyes fix on a single point on the far horizon that informs each word and act. Your focus never changes.

Mine does. I think that is why I am moved by your words. You know who you are, and you never lose track of the center of your soul no matter what else is happening, no matter how others respond, regardless of momentary distractions.

Approval or rejection, success or failure do not deter you from that which you came to do.

And you came to draw us into the love that burns at your heart. Little wonder that your words should bless me. You know why you are here, and you are here for me, for all of us.

God knows we all need it.

Draw us in, Jesus. May God’s loving rule be the horizon point that steers us each moment through the landscape of our days.

Fix our vision on the compassion that is your intention for our world that we, as you, may know why we are here.

Pr. David L. Miller

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:32-37

That evening, after sunset, they brought to [Jesus] all who were sick and those who were possessed by devils. The whole town came crowding round the door, and he cured many who were sick with diseases of one kind or another; he also drove out many devils, but he would not allow them to speak, because they knew who he was. In the morning, long before dawn, he got up and left the house and went off to a lonely place and prayed there. Simon and his companions set out in search of him, and when they found him they said, 'Everybody is looking for you.'

Reflection

You knew how to attract a crowd, Jesus. A healing or two, driving demons from the souls of the tormented: such behavior does not go unnoticed.

And when it was, you sought quiet respite for your soul. I understand that. I could use some quiet respite.

But soon enough those who need and want you come looking. Anxiety drips from their words, ‘Everybody is looking for you. Where have you been? We searched everywhere.’

They didn’t want you to escape them. But what did they want? The spectacle, to know the thrill of seeing your acts of power? To listen to your words? To enjoy your nearness and the souls they became when they were with you?

Maybe they wanted to use your power for their own purposes. It is a normal human impulse, however selfish.

All of this is true, I suppose, and more.

All we are told is that they came looking. And so do I. That’s why I am here, fingers on the keys, listening again to stories from an ancient book which have long held the power to move me into awareness of what I need to know: You.

Mysterious you, who seem close as my breath one moment and far off the next, yet who abides.

I come looking, wanting you for more reasons than I know how to say, some of them selfish, others born of a spirit beyond me. The reason doesn’t matter. What matters is that I come looking, and you receive me no matter my reason.

Today, I just want to sit with you in the dark silence and know your soul. I want to know the silence from which your words and power spring that I may be this other soul that I am when I am with you.

And nothing else matters.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:29-32

And at once on leaving the synagogue, he went with James and John straight to the house of Simon and Andrew. Now Simon's mother-in-law was in bed and feverish, and at once they told him about her. He went in to her, took her by the hand and helped her up. And the fever left her and she began to serve them.

Reflection

Some moments freeze in time. Time stops so that you can look at what is happening and examine it before it is lost in the next action and the next.

I see two hands, Jesus. Your brown hand reaches beneath the hand of this unnamed woman, known to us only by her relationship to one of your followers.

I see you reach down as she lifts her hands to you. You take it and raise her up, gently, slowly, with little effort, it seems. Before I see her uncertain eyes searching for yours, I see only the hands.

And they tell the story of who you are and what you are doing.

They speak your care and desire to lift us above the maladies that weigh us down, holding us to earth, preventing flights of joy and purpose.

You would lift us beyond ourselves into life.

So lift us, Jesus, that we may know the strength and care of your hand, raising us to what we yet may be.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, January 30, 2009

Friday, January 30, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:21-27

They went as far as Capernaum, and at once on the Sabbath he went into the synagogue and began to teach. And his teaching made a deep impression on them because, unlike the scribes, he taught them with authority. And at once in their synagogue there was a man with an unclean spirit, and he shouted, 'What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are: the Holy One of God.' But Jesus rebuked it saying, 'Be quiet! Come out of him!' And the unclean spirit threw the man into convulsions and with a loud cry went out of him.

Reflection

You do not stand far off, Jesus. You get involved in the mess of living to heal and bless.

The presence of the possessed man made the synagogue unclean, impure, and the way to deal with impurity was to flee, to turn ones eyes away. Do not look. Do not touch. Stand clear.

If you do not, you become unclean, unacceptable to others, to God, to proper society.

But you do not stand clear, Jesus. The demon taunts you, telling you that you, indeed, are holy, pure, given to God, so you cannot have anything to do with the man. To do so is to become defiled.

In fear of becoming an outcast, this is just what many do.

But to this you say the magic words, ‘Shut up:’

Be quiet and come out of him, you say, for such thinking is far from the truth of God, who comes not to reinforce the codes of holiness that lift some but exclude the many. It is compassion not concern with personal protection of ones purity, ones’ ‘rightness,’ that concerns you, Jesus.

And to this way, beyond concern for the cleanliness of our own hands, that you invite us, leading us straight into the mess, there to know and serve the true holiness that is your compassion.

So lead us beyond such self-concern to the places where we may most know you, in the mess where you cast out the demons that hold our souls in fear that the purity of compassion may be born.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:21-27

They went as far as Capernaum, and at once on the Sabbath he went into the synagogue and began to teach. And his teaching made a deep impression on them because, unlike the scribes, he taught them with authority. And at once in their synagogue there was a man with an unclean spirit, and he shouted, 'What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are: the Holy One of God.' But Jesus rebuked it saying, 'Be quiet! Come out of him!' And the unclean spirit threw the man into convulsions and with a loud cry went out of him.

Reflection

The razor-edged cry of the mad cuts the heart and awakens fear of what we can neither understand nor control.

And what of those who loved the man, who cared for him, fed and reared him when he was a child? What of his mother and father, cut to the heart and helpless as they look upon what has happened to their child?

Helpless, indeed, and hopeless, knowing his future is out of their hands and beyond their influence. They look on little believing anything can heal him, wondering also what, what they did, what could they have done, what might have made things turn out differently.

And all the while, blaming themselves.

It is not one man alone who rails against you Jesus, his mind twisted by disease so that he cannot know or give the love in which the Holy Mystery intended us to live, the love and sharing that makes us truly human. This is denied him.

But it is denied, too, to all those who know and care for him. His family and friends also suffer in bondage, all who look on and wonder what they, what anyone can do to help.

You do not wonder, Jesus. You command the demons of madness and destruction to flee the soul of the suffering, making well not just one, but the many whose lives he touches, most often with pain.

We hunger for your command, with authority, making well, revealing your determined will to heal your world and especially those whose struggles are also our own.

So come this day, Jesus. Come with power in the lives of those disfigured with illness and confusion, whose bodies and minds are thrown about by forces they cannot stop. Speak the world and heal them, Jesus.

Bring wholeness, soundness of body and soul, through all the resources and human hearts at your command that troubled souls may be released from bondage to freedom.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, January 23, 2009

Friday, January 23, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:14-20

After John had been arrested, Jesus went into Galilee. There he proclaimed the gospel from God saying, 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent, and believe the gospel.' As he was walking along by the Lake of Galilee he saw Simon and Simon's brother Andrew casting a net in the lake -- for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, 'Come after me and I will make you into fishers of people.' And at once they left their nets and followed him. Going on a little further, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John; they too were in their boat, mending the nets. At once he called them and, leaving their father Zebedee in the boat with the men he employed, they went after him.

Reflection
Come … and I will change you. Isn’t that what you are saying Jesus? I will make something of you that you are not.

But I do not want to be a ‘fisher of people,’ … a ‘fisher of men’ as older translations read. The metaphor feels trite and forced. The comparison of fishing and gathering human souls around the power of your presence and purpose isn’t fitting in my imagination.

I am impressed with the magnetism you possessed, Jesus. Your heart was on fire, restlessly burning and yearning for a reality being born in the work of your hands, the rule of God.

God’s kingdom pushes through the crust of old ways. Bellies are fed with bread of life. Souls are nourished with certain awareness of their dignity and infinite value to God.

Oppression ceases and tears of sorrow are transformed into the joy of the dance. For God’s new order of life and peace, justice and compassion pushes aside all that limits and disfigures life.

Death and disease are destroyed, injustice and oppression are overturned, and hopeless despair evaporates in the heat of divine love.

This is the fire that burnt at your soul, Jesus. And human souls wanted to draw near because the air around you was 10 degrees warmer than anywhere else.

And warmed, they, too, burned and yearned for the compassion of your kingdom, your rule, where what you are fills all that is.

So let it be also in me, that other human hearts may draw near the warmth of your fire in me.

Pr. David L. Miller

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:14-15

After John had been arrested, Jesus went into Galilee. There he proclaimed the gospel from God saying, 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent, and believe the gospel.' As he was walking along by the Lake of Galilee he saw Simon and Simon's brother Andrew casting a net in the lake -- for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, 'Come after me and I will make you into fishers of people.' And at once they left their nets and followed him.

Reflection

At once, they left. Really?

It seems so unlikely, unless they had met you before Jesus, unless they had some idea of who you are, what you are doing.

That’s the way this story is told in another gospel. There, it’s clear that these early followers had an inkling of who you are, but even then: they had no idea how radical and world-changing their journey would be. How could they?

But leaving home, family, a way of life and earning a living is striking, even a stark challenge to modern diffidence.

We certainly have desires leave it all, to give up what we are doing and have accomplished for something else, perhaps simpler, more focused and heart-rewarding than the daily rigors of our current existence.

But these are escapist dreams. And there is no indication that those who first followed you were escaping their lives, leaving to get away from responsibilities to work and family.

They were going to something, to someone--you. They wanted to gain whatever it was you first stirred in their hearts, a hunger for the new life and reality that is God’s kingdom.

Did they know what it was or meant? Probably not, or not much. But they knew it was blessing for them and this tired world, so they came, leaving behind what was … for the holy promise of what is, even now, at hand.

Give us the anticipation and joy of releasing our grip on what is that we may walk into the future that is at hand, here and now.

Pr. David L. Miller

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:14-15

After John had been arrested, Jesus went into Galilee. There he proclaimed the gospel from God saying, 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent, and believe the gospel.'

Reflection

The time is now. It always is, Jesus. This is the moment that I know I have. Another breath brings a new moment, until the day when the next breath doesn’t come.

I think little of leaving this earth. My body is well and my mind is still intact, more or less. But more than any time in my life I am aware that there are far fewer acts remaining than have already occurred.

And I know that I have bobbled my lines in earlier scenes. Only occasionally, have I played my part well, the part that only I can play. And I am aware that now is the time. If I am ever finally to get it right, to be the soul you (and I) have always known that I am and hunger to be, now is the time.

I can no longer look for future moments or circumstances where there are fewer obstacles to the soul’s maturity to itself.

I want to be able to say that the time is fulfilled, finally, for my heart has entered and dwells in that inner chamber where I am one with you, and my every word speaks the deep truth of who you are in me. And fear itself is gone.

Then your reign will have come not only here or there, but to and in me, and my soul is surrendered to the Source of Life and all Being.

So bring your kingdom on earth, Jesus, and to me. I want the fulfillment you alone bring.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:14-15

After John had been arrested, Jesus went into Galilee. There he [Jesus]proclaimed the gospel from God saying, 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent, and believe the gospel.'

Reflection

Enlarge my vision, Jesus. Stretch sight beyond the narrow range of anxious self. Transform my seeing.

Your kingdom lies at hand, laboring present in this moment. The first order of repenting is to change how we see, looking for signs and snippets of your own sweet self in the selves around us and the temper of the times.

For your rule is here in the lives of our souls and the soul of the world, laboring to burst the thick crust of resistance to the truly new and free. Your reign is the making new of what is tired and old, making young our hearts so that we again know the joy of being alive, beloved and free to be whatever sort of vessel you have made us.

So let us see you in beauty and in faces of dignity, in smiles of care and in committed hearts living in ways that make your loving justice real and now.

Strip away all doubt of the nearness of your rule that I may see you and rejoice that I live a life not forsaken, but shot through with the holy nearness of a love I can at which I can only wonder.

A love that will be forever and day, always and every place full. This is your rule.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, January 16, 2009

Today’s text

John 1:35-39

The next day as John stood there again with two of his disciples, Jesus went past, and John looked towards him and said, 'Look, there is the lamb of God.' And the two disciples heard what he said and followed Jesus. Jesus turned round, saw them following and said, 'What do you want?' They answered, 'Rabbi' -- which means Teacher -- 'where do you live? He replied, 'Come and see'; so they went and saw where he lived, and stayed with him that day. It was about the tenth hour.

Reflection

‘Where do you live?’ I want to know. I want to live there too.

I want to walk as you, Jesus, beyond the tiny world of my needs and wants where every word and act echoes with the sound of self.

You tell us, Jesus, that you live in the One Love you call the Father. That One is your home; you in the Father, the Father in you.

Your every word and action resonates with the being, the tenor, the truth of your dwelling, your home, the place heart and mind reside.

So, too, with every human heart.

Our words echo with the resonance of the places our minds and hearts make their home. If my mind resides in pettiness and self-absorbed concern, my words will ring shallow, lacking depth of significance or any life-giving purpose beyond my narrow desires.

But when my heart takes time (and it does take time) to reside in you, you lead me to a larger and resplendent world of God’s holy intention to bless and give life. You invite me to abide there, to listen, to know whatever I can know dwelling with you and the Father.

Then it is that I step out of the narrow circle of self into a way of being that echoes with eternal concerns and true purpose.

I speak from that home that is home, you.

And I become a human being.

Pr. David L. Miller

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Today’s text

John 1:35-39

The next day as John stood there again with two of his disciples, Jesus went past, and John looked towards him and said, 'Look, there is the lamb of God.' And the two disciples heard what he said and followed Jesus. Jesus turned round, saw them following and said, 'What do you want?' They answered, 'Rabbi' -- which means Teacher -- 'where do you live? He replied, 'Come and see'; so they went and saw where he lived, and stayed with him that day. It was about the tenth hour.

Reflection

It is a simple question, Jesus. We ask it all the time. Where are you from? Where is your home?

We don’t mean much by it. Usually, we only are seeking to discover something about the person that will keep the conversation moving. Maybe where they live will tell us something about them.

So it is hard to imagine great significance in this bit of ancient conversation, except that it is you whom they are asking. And so many times you invited people to abide with you, dwell with you, live in you.

The question quickly changes into something more personal and meaningful: Where do you live? Just what is it that you invite us to come and see?

A home, a place to lay your head? Yes, in a manner of speaking.

Where do you live, Jesus? I live too much of my life in my anxieties about getting things done and worrying about how I will be perceived. Far, far too much time.

You didn’t live there at all. You lived in the bosom of the Loving Mystery, your heart and mind dwelling in God’s eternal love and purpose. You lived in the awareness of what was truly important, revealing the will of the One who sent you.

That One was your home, your food and drink, your every thought and joy. You lived constantly mindful of what life is to be, enlarging the presence of God and God’s love and justice.

In this home, your heart rested and your mind meditated on how you were to live. And to this home you invite us.

Lord Jesus, may I come and see where you live that I may dwell constantly with you. I make my home in you this day.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, January 9, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:4-11

John the Baptist was in the desert, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. All Judaea and all the people of Jerusalem made their way to him, and as they were baptized by him in the river Jordan they confessed their sins. John wore a garment of camel-skin, and he lived on locusts and wild honey. In the course of his preaching he said, 'After me is coming someone who is more powerful than me, and I am not fit to kneel down and undo the strap of his sandals. I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.' It was at this time that Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized in the Jordan by John. And at once, as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit, like a dove, descending on him. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on you.'

Reflection

‘You are mine,’ truly a voice from heaven, revealing our secret need, and Jesus great knowledge.

I know the words are not first spoken to me, Loving Mystery. You speak them to Jesus, and from this moment his life flows like a stream. Not everything he does works, not everyone accepts or even understands him, and the powerful will destroy him.

But he goes his way with that knowledge that enlarges the soul and makes it great: He is treasured, wanted, assured that he belongs to you, who are Love mysterious and unfailing. Nothing that happens later can change this, no disappointment, no suffering, no failure, nothing.

This assurance is the source of his soul, the fountain of grace at the core of Jesus life, flowing outward to all, to me.

I am carried in a river called beloved, through the land of grace, beneath skies that resonate with the voice that assures, ‘You are mine.’

A voice from heaven. May I hear you today. Everyday.

Pr. David L. Miller

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:4-11

John the Baptist was in the desert, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. All Judaea and all the people of Jerusalem made their way to him, and as they were baptized by him in the river Jordan they confessed their sins. John wore a garment of camel-skin, and he lived on locusts and wild honey. In the course of his preaching he said, 'After me is coming someone who is more powerful than me, and I am not fit to kneel down and undo the strap of his sandals. I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.' It was at this time that Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized in the Jordan by John. And at once, as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit, like a dove, descending on him. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on you.'

Reflection

Stay with me, Jesus. Stay with me. I want to stand beside you in the water.

The water is muddy, murky and clouded with the mire of human imperfection--including my own. The water is no mere river but existence, life itself, and it doesn’t run clear and clean.

I need to stand there with you and feel your smile as you know that you are beloved. I need the favor that rests on you to shine also on me. I need to know your arm around me, welcoming me into your belovedness, even as the waters swirl.

I need to be lifted above the rejections and judgments that come my way, which I apparently accept. My sadness attests their power in my heart. My mind is a hall of voices, echoing accusations and denials present and long past, reminding me, as if I needed it, how odd and unacceptable I often am, even to myself.

The voices steal my identity from me and with it my joy, my vitality, my name.

Only now am I willing and able to fight to take it back.

Looking at you in water, smiling, something sparks in me. Certainly, I feel my need for your welcoming arm around me. But I also know the truth that every voice I carry within is a liar.

Only one voice tells the truth of my life, your voice. And you speak to me from the heart of your belovedness as we stand together in the waters. I feel your smile, a smile that is for me, even as you extend your arm and say, ‘Stand with me. Stand with me.’

And we stand side-by side, with the swirling waters around our ankles and the golden light of your belovedness enveloping us, filling our souls with the one truth that matters.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, January 5, 2009

Today’s text

Mark 1:4-11

John the Baptist was in the desert, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. All Judaea and all the people of Jerusalem made their way to him, and as they were baptized by him in the river Jordan they confessed their sins. John wore a garment of camel-skin, and he lived on locusts and wild honey. In the course of his preaching he said, 'After me is coming someone who is more powerful than me, and I am not fit to kneel down and undo the strap of his sandals. I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.' It was at this time that Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized in the Jordan by John. And at once, as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit, like a dove, descending on him. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on you.'

Reflection

Someone is coming.

And John is waiting, waiting for his heart’s desire, waiting for the fulfillment of his joy, waiting for completion of a promise that he may have begun to wonder about. Will it happen?

I would have wondered. Doubts on days when nothing much was happening weigh my soul with the gravity of grayness. Life goes on but without the splendor of hope or the electricity of expectation.

But not today … or yesterday. Today, my body bears a fire. Burning steadily at my core, it sparks to flame at the words, ‘after me is coming someone who is more powerful,’ someone who baptizes with fire.

Is this the fire I feel, Jesus, your holy flame, the breath of your life?

I have done nothing to fan its burning beyond reading these words, suddenly to find this joy and knowledge, yes knowledge, that you come and will again to me.

This fire is beyond faith, for it gives already the experience of your presence. It fulfills in some fashion your promise to come--and to come to me. Promise has become presence, expectation has become possession, and hope has become reality.

Yes, there is more of you of you to know and receive. But the fire of your life burns with warm assurance and natural joy. For you come and always will.

So come Lord Jesus. Light each day the fire of expectation in my heart. Satisfy the soul's fondest desire.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, January 2, 2009

Today’s text

Matthew 2:7-12

Then Herod summoned the wise men to see him privately. He asked them the exact date on which the star had appeared and sent them on to Bethlehem with the words, 'Go and find out all about the child, and when you have found him, let me know, so that I too may go and do him homage.' Having listened to what the king had to say, they set out. And suddenly the star they had seen rising went forward and halted over the place where the child was. The sight of the star filled them with delight, and going into the house they saw the child with his mother Mary, and falling to their knees they did him homage. Then, opening their treasures, they offered him gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh. But they were given a warning in a dream not to go back to Herod, and returned to their own country by a different way.

Reflection

The eternal conflict continues, Jesus, and I am in the middle of it.

The wise come, seeking to know and be made new by your appearing. But those holding the reins of power seek you only to destroy you and the seeds of newness you plant in the earth’s dusty soil.

So it goes. You come, seeking to born in us again that shoots of truly new life may emerge from amid the dusty decades of our living. But the powers that rule our souls resist their overthrow.

Something in us prefers to keep all things as they are, instead of watering the seeds of the soul from which you grow.

Your growth means change; a change in habits, attitudes, joys and sorrows, in how I speak and use my time. It means becoming a new person, a new soul centered in the joyous growth of the seed of your life in soil of our souls.

Old routines, long engrained, having worn deep ruts in our souls pull us back by the gravity of habit into the selves in which we are stuck. They don’t easily release their grip.

But we have been again to the manger. We have seen your face. The light of eternity has warmed our cheeks and hearts and excited our minds with unexpected possibilities. Something new was awakened, a hope that our lives can be more, more gracious, more purposeful, more holy and joyful, more of you than normally they are.

I want this more, now and all year long. So let me be as wise as the seekers who came bearing gifts.

They did not try to defeat your enemy. They went away from him to savor what they had seen and to contemplate the awakening of mind and heart that had happened for them at your infant bed.

So I will launch no assault on the ruts and habits that resist the seed of your newness in my soul. I can no more overcome them than the wise man could unseat Herod.

I will go another way. I will avoid the destroyers who resist your newness. I will go to those places where best I can remember what I have seen and heard, where I remember what it was like to look at you so closely again, where I can hear your voice in my depths:

‘Behold I make all things new, even you.’

I will savor your voice and every moment of newness and joy in which I know freedom from my sad, old self. For you are making me new, finally at 56, into the soul I might have been long before.

But I know nothing is lost. Nothing. All that I am, even the sad and troubled years, will be graced and given back, to become a gift of your great loving.

Pr. David L. Miller