Today’s text
John 10:22-26
It was the time of the feast of Dedication in Jerusalem. It was winter, and Jesus was in the Temple walking up and down in the Portico of Solomon. The Jews gathered round him and said, 'How much longer are you going to keep us in suspense? If you are the Christ, tell us openly.' Jesus replied: I have told you, but you do not believe. The works I do in my Father's name are my witness; but you do not believe, because you are no sheep of mine.’
Reflection
Where is the place of meeting? We can only notice this. No one can really tell us. We must answer: Do heaven and earth meet here? Are eternal realities known here?
It is the reason my fingers are on these keys, Holy One. This is a place of meeting, a temple where the holy and the mundane overlap and your beauty pours into and through me.
It doesn’t happen every time. Or does it?
Perhaps it’s best to say that I don’t feel it every time. But this little space in a basement office, this time of listening to no one but you, this desk where my fingers poise over dark keys ready to receive a word from you, this is a temple, a place of holy meeting.
The grace of all eternity comes to me here. You cross whatever invisible membrane that separates my consciousness from knowing you near, and the joy of awareness of you who are love comes and touches me and makes me alive again.
So this must be a temple, for you and I meet here. It doesn’t look much like a holy place. There are books and papers on the desk, a printer and this computer. Three or four cards with symbols and religious pictures perch precariously atop the book case, and Dixie’s photos of flowers and trees peer at me from the wall.
So I suppose there are those elements that point to your beauty and the heart ties that bind me to other souls who love and need you as much as I do.
But it is not these external signs but an internal awareness that moves me to come and sit here this place of meeting where I wait for you to break through my dimness and light my heart with the joy of love.
I wonder about those who asked you to answer, “Are you the Christ.” Did they ever ask themselves what it was like when they were with you? Did they ever feel moved to praise God for the power or the grace present in your deeds?
Did they ever look into their hearts and notice if that eternal love for which no name will do … did that One come to expression in you?
Perhaps they couldn’t because you defied all their expectations. But I think that’s what you wanted them to do: to stop, to look and to ask, “Do heaven and earth meet here?
If so, then you are the temple, Jesus, the place of meeting, the one even I meet even here.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Today’s text
John 21:15-18
When they had eaten, Jesus said to Simon Peter, 'Simon son of John, do you love me more than these others do?' He answered, 'Yes, Lord, you know I love you.' Jesus said to him, 'Feed my lambs.' A second time he said to him, 'Simon son of John, do you love me?' He replied, 'Yes, Lord, you know I love you.' Jesus said to him, 'Look after my sheep. Then he said to him a third time, 'Simon son of John, do you love me?' Peter was hurt that he asked him a third time, 'Do you love me?' and said, 'Lord, you know everything; you know I love you.' Jesus said to him, 'Feed my sheep. In all truth I tell you, when you were young you put on your own belt and walked where you liked; but when you grow old you will stretch out your hands, and somebody else will put a belt round you and take you where you would rather not go.’
Reflection
So it is. The things we love take us beyond ourselves, beyond our limits, beyond our will.
Do you love me? It all comes does to this. Am I playing a religious game, clever with words and ideas about ultimate concerns and unsolvable mysteries?
Or do I love you, Jesus?
Do I love the thought and sight of you? Do I love the mysterious someone who touched and healed those that society tossed to the edges of life?
Do I love the non-conformist way you fought with all who drew lines to separate people from God and each other?
Do I love the soul I meet when I turn your words over in my mind?
The fact is that I do. In you, 20 centuries later, I feel like I am meeting the only real human being who ever lived, one who knew the mystery of his connection with the Infinite Source for whom no name will do.
In you I meet a true soul who was always, unfailingly himself. In you I see a beauty I am not, but which I want to be.
So ‘yes,’ I say with some surprise. Yes, this morning I discover that I love you more than I thought I did. I have known that love in recent days, and it takes me beyond where I want to go.
Loves does that.
I am not like Peter, led away by brutal hands that inflict physical wounds and, ultimately, death. But something similar happens for all of us who love you.
For me it’s more like this: The phone rings, a shaky voice asks for conversation. It happens most often in the middle of dinner and especially when I am tired and feel that I have nothing left to give. I want my couch, a glass of wine and some gentle conversation.
I don’t want to go. I’m tired. But I go. I go beyond the limits of what I think is reasonable because the love you are requires it, Jesus, because the love you have put in me moves it.
This is no external force compelling me. But it’s something no less deniable, the presence of love for the love you are moving me beyond myself, beyond my limits, beyond my own willing.
And for that time, I am as human as you, Jesus, and as blessed. And I am happy. Funny how that is.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 21:15-18
When they had eaten, Jesus said to Simon Peter, 'Simon son of John, do you love me more than these others do?' He answered, 'Yes, Lord, you know I love you.' Jesus said to him, 'Feed my lambs.' A second time he said to him, 'Simon son of John, do you love me?' He replied, 'Yes, Lord, you know I love you.' Jesus said to him, 'Look after my sheep. Then he said to him a third time, 'Simon son of John, do you love me?' Peter was hurt that he asked him a third time, 'Do you love me?' and said, 'Lord, you know everything; you know I love you.' Jesus said to him, 'Feed my sheep. In all truth I tell you, when you were young you put on your own belt and walked where you liked; but when you grow old you will stretch out your hands, and somebody else will put a belt round you and take you where you would rather not go.’
Reflection
So it is. The things we love take us beyond ourselves, beyond our limits, beyond our will.
Do you love me? It all comes does to this. Am I playing a religious game, clever with words and ideas about ultimate concerns and unsolvable mysteries?
Or do I love you, Jesus?
Do I love the thought and sight of you? Do I love the mysterious someone who touched and healed those that society tossed to the edges of life?
Do I love the non-conformist way you fought with all who drew lines to separate people from God and each other?
Do I love the soul I meet when I turn your words over in my mind?
The fact is that I do. In you, 20 centuries later, I feel like I am meeting the only real human being who ever lived, one who knew the mystery of his connection with the Infinite Source for whom no name will do.
In you I meet a true soul who was always, unfailingly himself. In you I see a beauty I am not, but which I want to be.
So ‘yes,’ I say with some surprise. Yes, this morning I discover that I love you more than I thought I did. I have known that love in recent days, and it takes me beyond where I want to go.
Loves does that.
I am not like Peter, led away by brutal hands that inflict physical wounds and, ultimately, death. But something similar happens for all of us who love you.
For me it’s more like this: The phone rings, a shaky voice asks for conversation. It happens most often in the middle of dinner and especially when I am tired and feel that I have nothing left to give. I want my couch, a glass of wine and some gentle conversation.
I don’t want to go. I’m tired. But I go. I go beyond the limits of what I think is reasonable because the love you are requires it, Jesus, because the love you have put in me moves it.
This is no external force compelling me. But it’s something no less deniable, the presence of love for the love you are moving me beyond myself, beyond my limits, beyond my own willing.
And for that time, I am as human as you, Jesus, and as blessed. And I am happy. Funny how that is.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Today’s text
Psalm 30:8-10
To you, Yahweh, I call, to my God I cry for mercy. What point is there in my death, my going down to the abyss? Can the dust praise you or proclaim your faithfulness? Listen, Yahweh, take pity on me, Yahweh, be my help!
Reflection
My soul cries for a great open space where my heart may breathe free.
The morning sun awakens in the Earth the full promise of spring. Green shoots push insistently through winter’s cold dust. Nothing can stop it. The good Earth will bloom with joy and color.
May it lift also me, for the weight of the past clings to my heart. I want only that my steps should slow and anxiety cease. I hunger for freedom from all constriction that tightens the chest and prevents me from living in the fullness of loving joy. This alone is really living.
In my mind’s eye, I see the life I want, a life I sometimes live but too often am unable to enter. I see the life for which you intend me: unrushed, confident, gentle, a soul quiet amid the contingencies and constant changes of life.
It is the calm of love that I want, the peace of walking in a love that is so total, so complete that the slings and arrows of dumb chance and human pettiness no longer disturb.
Death is not a condition at the end of my days. It is any day when such love is not known in the pit of one’s soul. For it is this that made me, and this for which I am made. Apart from such knowing of love I feel separated from my Source, from the fountain that is your life.
So I cry for mercy. No great peril faces me this day, only small challenges. But it is these that most threaten the soul as years and decades pass. They slowly wean us from the richness of love we need.
So slowly, so insidiously we begin to imagine we can live, truly live, without this sublime knowledge of you, Holy One. After a while we fail to notice we are eating crumbs from the table, scrambling to get by, living on morsels of the banquet of grace that would flood our soul and fill our being with the love you are.
Our souls are famished for want of the love that fills the heart with every confidence and the music of easy laughter.
So have mercy on me. Do not let me fall into death this day. May the life I know only in the fullness of your love fill me--and fill another heart well known to me, a soul who this day faces challenges far greater than my own.
Lord, have mercy. Do not let her fall into the abyss, for who can praise you there?
Pr. David L. Miller
Psalm 30:8-10
To you, Yahweh, I call, to my God I cry for mercy. What point is there in my death, my going down to the abyss? Can the dust praise you or proclaim your faithfulness? Listen, Yahweh, take pity on me, Yahweh, be my help!
Reflection
My soul cries for a great open space where my heart may breathe free.
The morning sun awakens in the Earth the full promise of spring. Green shoots push insistently through winter’s cold dust. Nothing can stop it. The good Earth will bloom with joy and color.
May it lift also me, for the weight of the past clings to my heart. I want only that my steps should slow and anxiety cease. I hunger for freedom from all constriction that tightens the chest and prevents me from living in the fullness of loving joy. This alone is really living.
In my mind’s eye, I see the life I want, a life I sometimes live but too often am unable to enter. I see the life for which you intend me: unrushed, confident, gentle, a soul quiet amid the contingencies and constant changes of life.
It is the calm of love that I want, the peace of walking in a love that is so total, so complete that the slings and arrows of dumb chance and human pettiness no longer disturb.
Death is not a condition at the end of my days. It is any day when such love is not known in the pit of one’s soul. For it is this that made me, and this for which I am made. Apart from such knowing of love I feel separated from my Source, from the fountain that is your life.
So I cry for mercy. No great peril faces me this day, only small challenges. But it is these that most threaten the soul as years and decades pass. They slowly wean us from the richness of love we need.
So slowly, so insidiously we begin to imagine we can live, truly live, without this sublime knowledge of you, Holy One. After a while we fail to notice we are eating crumbs from the table, scrambling to get by, living on morsels of the banquet of grace that would flood our soul and fill our being with the love you are.
Our souls are famished for want of the love that fills the heart with every confidence and the music of easy laughter.
So have mercy on me. Do not let me fall into death this day. May the life I know only in the fullness of your love fill me--and fill another heart well known to me, a soul who this day faces challenges far greater than my own.
Lord, have mercy. Do not let her fall into the abyss, for who can praise you there?
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, April 09, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Today’s text
John 20:27-29
Then he spoke to Thomas, 'Put your finger here; look, here are my hands. Give me your hand; put it into my side. Do not be unbelieving any more but believe.' Thomas replied, ‘My Lord and my God!’ Jesus said to him: ‘You believe because you can see me. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.’
Reflection
Thomas routinely gets a bad rap, and we get a bad example. Thomas bashing through the centuries has made people ashamed of their questions and doubts. He becomes the deficient disciple, lacking a heart of faith, the perfect illustration of what not to be.
So we squelch our searching questions, our confusion and doubts, hiding them from public view.
What’s missed is that Thomas’ doubts and his demand to see are the royal road to discovery and the joy of real faith.
It is Thomas and no one else who exclaims, “My Lord and my God,” which is the premiere affirmation of all that Jesus is. His words are not shaded in shame or sorrow but explode with the joy of discovering that your fondest hopes have been realized.
I want this joy, my Lord. No, I need it. When I don’t have it I die inside.
And I find it, or should I say it finds me, not in the utter blindness of faith, but when I see something that tells me again that you live. I need to see. We all do. Few of us believe or can believe without seeing something.
Prove that your mother loves you, the skeptic challenges. And we cannot. We can only point to actions, gestures and words that add up to something that suggests that we are or are not cherished.
So we look at the record, at what your disciples did, Jesus, how they witnessed to you, how they lived and died. We listen to their words and look at the lives of those who most closely clung to you, people we knew, people who touched us.
And we are moved to believe that something amazing and utterly incomprehensible occurred, that the life you are came out of that tomb and lives.
As for me, I look at your wounds, the wounds of those whom I know have loved you best. They bore wounds of love for the sake of others, for the sake of so many wounded by life’s great injustices.
I look at them and see you, Jesus. The marks they bear are your wounds, the wounds of love freely and fully given.
Seeing them, I believe. I believe that the immensity of the Love you are … lives, resurrected in lives and places where I may see and believe and say with Thomas, “my Lord and my God.”
Pr. David L. Miller
John 20:27-29
Then he spoke to Thomas, 'Put your finger here; look, here are my hands. Give me your hand; put it into my side. Do not be unbelieving any more but believe.' Thomas replied, ‘My Lord and my God!’ Jesus said to him: ‘You believe because you can see me. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.’
Reflection
Thomas routinely gets a bad rap, and we get a bad example. Thomas bashing through the centuries has made people ashamed of their questions and doubts. He becomes the deficient disciple, lacking a heart of faith, the perfect illustration of what not to be.
So we squelch our searching questions, our confusion and doubts, hiding them from public view.
What’s missed is that Thomas’ doubts and his demand to see are the royal road to discovery and the joy of real faith.
It is Thomas and no one else who exclaims, “My Lord and my God,” which is the premiere affirmation of all that Jesus is. His words are not shaded in shame or sorrow but explode with the joy of discovering that your fondest hopes have been realized.
I want this joy, my Lord. No, I need it. When I don’t have it I die inside.
And I find it, or should I say it finds me, not in the utter blindness of faith, but when I see something that tells me again that you live. I need to see. We all do. Few of us believe or can believe without seeing something.
Prove that your mother loves you, the skeptic challenges. And we cannot. We can only point to actions, gestures and words that add up to something that suggests that we are or are not cherished.
So we look at the record, at what your disciples did, Jesus, how they witnessed to you, how they lived and died. We listen to their words and look at the lives of those who most closely clung to you, people we knew, people who touched us.
And we are moved to believe that something amazing and utterly incomprehensible occurred, that the life you are came out of that tomb and lives.
As for me, I look at your wounds, the wounds of those whom I know have loved you best. They bore wounds of love for the sake of others, for the sake of so many wounded by life’s great injustices.
I look at them and see you, Jesus. The marks they bear are your wounds, the wounds of love freely and fully given.
Seeing them, I believe. I believe that the immensity of the Love you are … lives, resurrected in lives and places where I may see and believe and say with Thomas, “my Lord and my God.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, March 26, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 19:38-40
They cried out: Blessed is he who is coming as King in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heavens! Some Pharisees in the crowd said to him, 'Master, reprove your disciples,' but he answered, 'I tell you, if these keep silence, the stones will cry out.'
Reflection
We know the trappings of victory, Jesus. When the contest is won shiny medals hang around the victors' necks, and trophies are brandished high, glinting under spotlights and the flash of cameras.
Winners laugh, cry and hug each other, sharing their triumph which often has come after many thousands of hours of practice and too many set-backs to remember.
I, too, smile when I see such joy on the TV screen, but these moments stand in stark contrast to the joy and accolades lifting you, Jesus.
When the glory of heaven, the victory of God appears on earth, it rides a humble beast and is hailed by shouts of the poor waving palm branches, emblems of peace.
I take nothing from those who strive for excellence and find reward in human contests of strength and skill. These, too, teach us the excellence and striving for which the Holy One makes us.
But the contrast between our understanding of victory and your appearance, Jesus, is too striking to miss. You ride among the poor, the forgotten, those outside the inner circles of human significance.
You spent most of your days among those on whom no spotlight ever shined, ignoring human distinctions between winner and loser, rich and poor, acceptable and outcast. It is they who hail you as the glory of heaven on earth--not those whom we spend far too much of our life trying to impress.
They know: true glory is not the golden glint of victory, but the peace of God extended to every last living thing--no matter who, no matter what, and definitely to the most defeated parts of ourselves.
And when true glory appears, even the stones speak.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 19:38-40
They cried out: Blessed is he who is coming as King in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heavens! Some Pharisees in the crowd said to him, 'Master, reprove your disciples,' but he answered, 'I tell you, if these keep silence, the stones will cry out.'
Reflection
We know the trappings of victory, Jesus. When the contest is won shiny medals hang around the victors' necks, and trophies are brandished high, glinting under spotlights and the flash of cameras.
Winners laugh, cry and hug each other, sharing their triumph which often has come after many thousands of hours of practice and too many set-backs to remember.
I, too, smile when I see such joy on the TV screen, but these moments stand in stark contrast to the joy and accolades lifting you, Jesus.
When the glory of heaven, the victory of God appears on earth, it rides a humble beast and is hailed by shouts of the poor waving palm branches, emblems of peace.
I take nothing from those who strive for excellence and find reward in human contests of strength and skill. These, too, teach us the excellence and striving for which the Holy One makes us.
But the contrast between our understanding of victory and your appearance, Jesus, is too striking to miss. You ride among the poor, the forgotten, those outside the inner circles of human significance.
You spent most of your days among those on whom no spotlight ever shined, ignoring human distinctions between winner and loser, rich and poor, acceptable and outcast. It is they who hail you as the glory of heaven on earth--not those whom we spend far too much of our life trying to impress.
They know: true glory is not the golden glint of victory, but the peace of God extended to every last living thing--no matter who, no matter what, and definitely to the most defeated parts of ourselves.
And when true glory appears, even the stones speak.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 19:35-38
So they took the colt to Jesus and, throwing their cloaks on its back, they lifted Jesus on to it. As he moved off, they spread their cloaks in the road, and now, as he was approaching the downward slope of the Mount of Olives, the whole group of disciples joyfully began to praise God at the top of their voices for all the miracles they had seen. They cried out: Blessed is he who is coming as King in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heavens!Reflection
Strange details catch the eye. They lifted you on the colt. They surround you: a couple in back, another in front, while a fourth stoops in the dust, cups his hands and lifts your foot.
It’s a group effort, and there is joy on the faces of those blessed to touch you. Others gather around and smile at what they are doing for you. They know it is right and proper.
With joy they surround and praise you, waving their palms, little suspecting what would soon come. This is a moment of joy for hearts that are certain they have seen and been found by the presence that they never knew they’d always wanted and needed.
You offered a vision of a world where mercy not rigid lines of separation and division ruled, and their hearts hungered for it. Your words and way, the hunger in your eye for a world barely born, embodied all you taught about this kingdom that sought and treasured them, despite the outward circumstances of their lives.
So they came and praised you for miracles of healing and wholeness--and for the fact that they never felt more whole than when they were with you.
Blessed, you are, Jesus, for the fullness of God shines in your eyes and reaches out with your hands. You bring the peace of heaven that is the glory, the beauty and the wonder of God.
The peace you bring is not that of the conqueror who deposes the enemy, but of a grace that tears down the divisions that divide one human soul from another by boundaries of wealth or nation, culture or creed, color or language.
You draw all that is into the unity of your life where the only thing that matters is the one great sharing of love you are.
I see that unity as they lift you on your horse.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 19:35-38
So they took the colt to Jesus and, throwing their cloaks on its back, they lifted Jesus on to it. As he moved off, they spread their cloaks in the road, and now, as he was approaching the downward slope of the Mount of Olives, the whole group of disciples joyfully began to praise God at the top of their voices for all the miracles they had seen. They cried out: Blessed is he who is coming as King in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heavens!Reflection
Strange details catch the eye. They lifted you on the colt. They surround you: a couple in back, another in front, while a fourth stoops in the dust, cups his hands and lifts your foot.
It’s a group effort, and there is joy on the faces of those blessed to touch you. Others gather around and smile at what they are doing for you. They know it is right and proper.
With joy they surround and praise you, waving their palms, little suspecting what would soon come. This is a moment of joy for hearts that are certain they have seen and been found by the presence that they never knew they’d always wanted and needed.
You offered a vision of a world where mercy not rigid lines of separation and division ruled, and their hearts hungered for it. Your words and way, the hunger in your eye for a world barely born, embodied all you taught about this kingdom that sought and treasured them, despite the outward circumstances of their lives.
So they came and praised you for miracles of healing and wholeness--and for the fact that they never felt more whole than when they were with you.
Blessed, you are, Jesus, for the fullness of God shines in your eyes and reaches out with your hands. You bring the peace of heaven that is the glory, the beauty and the wonder of God.
The peace you bring is not that of the conqueror who deposes the enemy, but of a grace that tears down the divisions that divide one human soul from another by boundaries of wealth or nation, culture or creed, color or language.
You draw all that is into the unity of your life where the only thing that matters is the one great sharing of love you are.
I see that unity as they lift you on your horse.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 15:25-31
'Now the elder son was out in the fields, and on his way back, as he drew near the house, he could hear music and dancing. Calling one of the servants he asked what it was all about. The servant told him, "Your brother has come, and your father has killed the calf we had been fattening because he has got him back safe and sound." He was angry then and refused to go in, and his father came out and began to urge him to come in; but he retorted to his father, "All these years I have slaved for you and never once disobeyed any orders of yours, yet you never offered me so much as a kid for me to celebrate with my friends. But, for this son of yours, when he comes back after swallowing up your property -- he and his loose women -- you kill the calf we had been fattening." 'The father said, "My son, you are with me always and all I have is yours."
Reflection
All the years. All the wasted years. All the time he knew neither himself nor his father, missing the place of privilege that was always his.
The whole time he thought life was about him, about his faithfulness and hard work, about toeing the line, obeying the rules, keeping his nose clean and making sure the old man was happy.
He missed what was always there. What made his life possible had nothing to do with his work or being a good citizen.
He failed to notice that life is not about the brownie points he piled up, building credits he could cash in on a rainy day.
He thought life was about keeping score. He was wrong.
Life is about knowing its Source, the Giver of Life---and recognizing that all we ever are is receivers. No matter who we are or what we do we remain receivers from the Infinite Fountain who is always there, always willing, always sharing the gift that life always is.
“All that I have is yours. Always was. Always will be.
“The same way it is always there for the ones who wander off, finally to slink home at 3 a.m., smelling of stale beer and cheap perfume and offering apologies in which I have no interest.
“Didn’t you know this? Didn’t you see that you could take from my completeness at any time and know life in abundance, love without measure and joy beyond expectation?
“It was there for you all the time. Still is.
“Don’t waste another moment.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 15:25-31
'Now the elder son was out in the fields, and on his way back, as he drew near the house, he could hear music and dancing. Calling one of the servants he asked what it was all about. The servant told him, "Your brother has come, and your father has killed the calf we had been fattening because he has got him back safe and sound." He was angry then and refused to go in, and his father came out and began to urge him to come in; but he retorted to his father, "All these years I have slaved for you and never once disobeyed any orders of yours, yet you never offered me so much as a kid for me to celebrate with my friends. But, for this son of yours, when he comes back after swallowing up your property -- he and his loose women -- you kill the calf we had been fattening." 'The father said, "My son, you are with me always and all I have is yours."
Reflection
All the years. All the wasted years. All the time he knew neither himself nor his father, missing the place of privilege that was always his.
The whole time he thought life was about him, about his faithfulness and hard work, about toeing the line, obeying the rules, keeping his nose clean and making sure the old man was happy.
He missed what was always there. What made his life possible had nothing to do with his work or being a good citizen.
He failed to notice that life is not about the brownie points he piled up, building credits he could cash in on a rainy day.
He thought life was about keeping score. He was wrong.
Life is about knowing its Source, the Giver of Life---and recognizing that all we ever are is receivers. No matter who we are or what we do we remain receivers from the Infinite Fountain who is always there, always willing, always sharing the gift that life always is.
“All that I have is yours. Always was. Always will be.
“The same way it is always there for the ones who wander off, finally to slink home at 3 a.m., smelling of stale beer and cheap perfume and offering apologies in which I have no interest.
“Didn’t you know this? Didn’t you see that you could take from my completeness at any time and know life in abundance, love without measure and joy beyond expectation?
“It was there for you all the time. Still is.
“Don’t waste another moment.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 15:17-22
Then he came to his senses and said, "How many of my father's hired men have all the food they want and more, and here am I dying of hunger! I will leave this place and go to my father and say: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired men." So he left the place and went back to his father. 'While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity. He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms and kissed him. Then his son said, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son." But the father said to his servants, "Quick! Bring out the best robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.'
Reflection
No speeches. Please no speeches. I have heard enough words, and all of them are tin and clatter on the ear.
I want no apologies, no explanations, no pious confessions, no wallowing in guilt or shame. I have no desire to listen to your attempts to name your sins or work up sorrow for your offenses. Keep it far from me
To offer me such is to misunderstand … everything.
I am not moved by your words. I am not changed by your sorrow or repenting. My plans are not altered by the pain you suffer when you wander far from me by rebellion or hardness of heart.
I remain what I always am, what I always have been, what I always will be. And that is love beyond all comprehension. I am abundance of heart beyond all knowing, immensity of compassion whose end you will never know.
I do not change when you come to your senses and decide you need to come home.
I simply am. I am the seeking love that haunts your heart and tells you that you are meant for more than some kind of half life. I am the hungry heart discontent until all that I love---all whom I love---are home in me.
I am the eager energy of every real love you will ever know. I am desire of the welcoming father who longs not for words or apologies, pieties, guilt or shame. I want none of it.
I want only that my beloved should know that they are just that … beloved--and that the abundance of my heart is theirs.
So, no speeches please; no words, no apologies, no explanations. Just come and receive the welcome I offer … and always will.
That’s all I want from you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 15:17-22
Then he came to his senses and said, "How many of my father's hired men have all the food they want and more, and here am I dying of hunger! I will leave this place and go to my father and say: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired men." So he left the place and went back to his father. 'While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity. He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms and kissed him. Then his son said, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son." But the father said to his servants, "Quick! Bring out the best robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.'
Reflection
No speeches. Please no speeches. I have heard enough words, and all of them are tin and clatter on the ear.
I want no apologies, no explanations, no pious confessions, no wallowing in guilt or shame. I have no desire to listen to your attempts to name your sins or work up sorrow for your offenses. Keep it far from me
To offer me such is to misunderstand … everything.
I am not moved by your words. I am not changed by your sorrow or repenting. My plans are not altered by the pain you suffer when you wander far from me by rebellion or hardness of heart.
I remain what I always am, what I always have been, what I always will be. And that is love beyond all comprehension. I am abundance of heart beyond all knowing, immensity of compassion whose end you will never know.
I do not change when you come to your senses and decide you need to come home.
I simply am. I am the seeking love that haunts your heart and tells you that you are meant for more than some kind of half life. I am the hungry heart discontent until all that I love---all whom I love---are home in me.
I am the eager energy of every real love you will ever know. I am desire of the welcoming father who longs not for words or apologies, pieties, guilt or shame. I want none of it.
I want only that my beloved should know that they are just that … beloved--and that the abundance of my heart is theirs.
So, no speeches please; no words, no apologies, no explanations. Just come and receive the welcome I offer … and always will.
That’s all I want from you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 13:1-3
It was just about this time that some people arrived and told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with that of their sacrifices. At this he said to them, 'Do you suppose that these Galileans were worse sinners than any others, that this should have happened to them? They were not, I tell you. No; but unless you repent you will all perish as they did.'
Reflection
You don’t single out the worst of us for special treatment, my Lord. You don’t look upon our deeds and imagine that they require special handling by you.
You are not as shortsighted as we. Your purpose is eternal, and you seek it in every circumstance. You incorporate our free acts into your intentions, working in them, through them and in spite of them.
You waste nothing but are undeterred from the union of all things in love that is your goal. May your will be done; may that kingdom come.
So many fearful minds imagine their pain and misfortune is punishment from you. Bad things happen, and their consciences accuse them. They imagine that you have singled them out for some grave sin or rebellion. Often, it is the very good and overly sensitive who are so unnecessarily troubled.
Others operate by the “just world” theory. They think the world is or should be carefully ordered, and that if something bad happens to you it is right because you must have done … something. Earthquakes shake Haiti and Chile and hurricanes strike New Orleans because folk there are obviously bigger sinners than the rest of us.
It’s neat theory, though also crazy … and brutal, especially to those who suffer hunger and great deprivation. Obviously, it’s their fault or that of their ancestors.
No, you don’t single out certain sinners for special treatment, making an example of them for the rest of us. What kind of god would do this? Certainly not one deserving our praise, our service, our love.
Still, you call us to repent.
Perhaps what we most need to repent of … is every idea in our head that imagines that you are something less than love. Perhaps what we most need to change is the idea that you, Loving Mystery, are like us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 13:1-3
It was just about this time that some people arrived and told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with that of their sacrifices. At this he said to them, 'Do you suppose that these Galileans were worse sinners than any others, that this should have happened to them? They were not, I tell you. No; but unless you repent you will all perish as they did.'
Reflection
You don’t single out the worst of us for special treatment, my Lord. You don’t look upon our deeds and imagine that they require special handling by you.
You are not as shortsighted as we. Your purpose is eternal, and you seek it in every circumstance. You incorporate our free acts into your intentions, working in them, through them and in spite of them.
You waste nothing but are undeterred from the union of all things in love that is your goal. May your will be done; may that kingdom come.
So many fearful minds imagine their pain and misfortune is punishment from you. Bad things happen, and their consciences accuse them. They imagine that you have singled them out for some grave sin or rebellion. Often, it is the very good and overly sensitive who are so unnecessarily troubled.
Others operate by the “just world” theory. They think the world is or should be carefully ordered, and that if something bad happens to you it is right because you must have done … something. Earthquakes shake Haiti and Chile and hurricanes strike New Orleans because folk there are obviously bigger sinners than the rest of us.
It’s neat theory, though also crazy … and brutal, especially to those who suffer hunger and great deprivation. Obviously, it’s their fault or that of their ancestors.
No, you don’t single out certain sinners for special treatment, making an example of them for the rest of us. What kind of god would do this? Certainly not one deserving our praise, our service, our love.
Still, you call us to repent.
Perhaps what we most need to repent of … is every idea in our head that imagines that you are something less than love. Perhaps what we most need to change is the idea that you, Loving Mystery, are like us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 13:34
'Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you that kill the prophets and stone those who are sent to you! How often have I longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you refused!’
Reflection
I want to get inside your emotion this morning, Jesus, but I am not there. Not yet, at least. So draw me in that I may know the love that burns at your soul for the lost and alone--yes, and for the lost and lonely parts of our hearts, too.
I want to crawl inside your heart, see through your eyes and know the pain of loving as you love. Maybe then I would know how to care for wounded souls within my reach.
They are beyond me, many of them, even though they are near. But I can not reach or touch the deep wounded places in their souls to set them free to live and breathe in fullness. Their lungs and lives remain constricted by festering wounds, pains and sorrows that tie their souls to earth’s cold crust.
Some wounds are self-inflicted; others the scars of cruelty and apathy, left by those who live their lives oblivious to the damage they left in their wake. Doesn’t seem fair, but then it isn’t.
But my anger for those who wound and abuse heals no one. It gathers no soul beneath protective wings so that the wounded little ones may at last come home and know the love you are, a love that covers all things--that forgives the sins, melts the wounds, heals the scars and leaves only tears of gratitude.
Can they know this, Jesus? Can they know you whole and complete? For knowing you so well is all that can make us well. And we hope and need to well again.
So let us in, let us feel, let us know the yearning you feel to gather all your little ones beneath your wings and make them whole. Let us feel this. Maybe then we shall be released.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 13:34
'Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you that kill the prophets and stone those who are sent to you! How often have I longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you refused!’
Reflection
I want to get inside your emotion this morning, Jesus, but I am not there. Not yet, at least. So draw me in that I may know the love that burns at your soul for the lost and alone--yes, and for the lost and lonely parts of our hearts, too.
I want to crawl inside your heart, see through your eyes and know the pain of loving as you love. Maybe then I would know how to care for wounded souls within my reach.
They are beyond me, many of them, even though they are near. But I can not reach or touch the deep wounded places in their souls to set them free to live and breathe in fullness. Their lungs and lives remain constricted by festering wounds, pains and sorrows that tie their souls to earth’s cold crust.
Some wounds are self-inflicted; others the scars of cruelty and apathy, left by those who live their lives oblivious to the damage they left in their wake. Doesn’t seem fair, but then it isn’t.
But my anger for those who wound and abuse heals no one. It gathers no soul beneath protective wings so that the wounded little ones may at last come home and know the love you are, a love that covers all things--that forgives the sins, melts the wounds, heals the scars and leaves only tears of gratitude.
Can they know this, Jesus? Can they know you whole and complete? For knowing you so well is all that can make us well. And we hope and need to well again.
So let us in, let us feel, let us know the yearning you feel to gather all your little ones beneath your wings and make them whole. Let us feel this. Maybe then we shall be released.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 13:31-34
Just at this time some Pharisees came up. 'Go away,' they said. 'Leave this place, because Herod means to kill you.' He replied, 'You may go and give that fox this message: Look! Today and tomorrow I drive out devils and heal, and on the third day I attain my end. But for today and tomorrow and the next day I must go on, since it would not be right for a prophet to die outside Jerusalem.'
Reflection
Why Jerusalem?
I suppose there are historical reasons, but reasons of the heart have always been more persuasive to me, and why shouldn’t they be when the question is a matter of where one chooses to die, a rather personal concern no matter how you look at it.
Your last stand, last statement, final testament must occur there, in a place where messengers of the God’s mercy and justice had for centuries stood and spoke, even when no one listened. Prophet’s blood had been spilled before on those ancient cobblestones.
So you head there, Jesus, to the city considered the center of the universe, there to make clear the center of the divine heart, which long before had become the center of your own.
You journey to the center of the world to reveal the center of the One who is central to all of life in this and every cosmos.
It is as if you hang out a large blinking sign, “Watch! Don’t miss this! The final act reveals the meaning of the whole story!”
That would be the big story of all life … and of my life, Jesus. On those ancient cobblestones, a story plays out revealing holy beauty and human ugliness, divine intention and determined rejection, dogged hate and indomitable love.
These forces will parry and clash in Jerusalem, setting out the eternal conflict that goes on in human souls and societies in every time and place. But at the end, one will stand; one will emerge walking unbound from death’s bitter ashes.
And we will know … Love will have its way. This is the central truth shining bright at the central place where the whole story comes clear.
May that love form the center of my soul this and every day.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 13:31-34
Just at this time some Pharisees came up. 'Go away,' they said. 'Leave this place, because Herod means to kill you.' He replied, 'You may go and give that fox this message: Look! Today and tomorrow I drive out devils and heal, and on the third day I attain my end. But for today and tomorrow and the next day I must go on, since it would not be right for a prophet to die outside Jerusalem.'
Reflection
Why Jerusalem?
I suppose there are historical reasons, but reasons of the heart have always been more persuasive to me, and why shouldn’t they be when the question is a matter of where one chooses to die, a rather personal concern no matter how you look at it.
Your last stand, last statement, final testament must occur there, in a place where messengers of the God’s mercy and justice had for centuries stood and spoke, even when no one listened. Prophet’s blood had been spilled before on those ancient cobblestones.
So you head there, Jesus, to the city considered the center of the universe, there to make clear the center of the divine heart, which long before had become the center of your own.
You journey to the center of the world to reveal the center of the One who is central to all of life in this and every cosmos.
It is as if you hang out a large blinking sign, “Watch! Don’t miss this! The final act reveals the meaning of the whole story!”
That would be the big story of all life … and of my life, Jesus. On those ancient cobblestones, a story plays out revealing holy beauty and human ugliness, divine intention and determined rejection, dogged hate and indomitable love.
These forces will parry and clash in Jerusalem, setting out the eternal conflict that goes on in human souls and societies in every time and place. But at the end, one will stand; one will emerge walking unbound from death’s bitter ashes.
And we will know … Love will have its way. This is the central truth shining bright at the central place where the whole story comes clear.
May that love form the center of my soul this and every day.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 13:31-32
Just at this time some Pharisees came up. 'Go away,' they said. 'Leave this place, because Herod means to kill you.' He replied, 'You may go and give that fox this message: Look! Today and tomorrow I drive out devils and heal, and on the third day I attain my end.
Reflection
I admire your self-possession, Jesus. I envy and want it.
Faced with threat, it is not threat that determines your course. Your path is set by your own internal compass, not the decisions of others about you, not even when they seek your life.
You go your own way, your heart set to true north. There is work to do, a purpose to fulfill, a commitment to complete, a mystery to reveal.
Nothing deters you, not even the machinations of tin-pot despots whose hands drip with blood.
It is not your courage that most moves me, but your abiding sense of self, of identity. You know who you are, what you are to do and what must be done for your life to have served the purpose for which it is appointed.
How do you manage such singular focus? How is it that external events fail to bump you off course? Did you wake each day and claim again the Father’s purpose for you? Did you grit your teeth and steel yourself for whatever might come?
I don’t think so.
But my experience of waffling makes me wonder how you stayed on true north when resistance, rejection and threat blocked your path.
For you always walked true north, deeper with each step into the holy purpose of revealing a world ruled by mercy alone. My end will take care of itself, you said, and reaching that end was all that mattered to you.
I am moved by such single-hearted dedication to mercy’s deed. Always have been, always will.
What I notice when I look most closely is the lack of jut-jawed defiance in your words and bearing. I see a measure of humor--“that fox,” indeed! And I sense the conviction of mercy, of love, of compassion for every last and lost corner of earth.
The conviction of mercy moves you. That is true north, and you live joyously aware that this singular truth requires that your feet move always and only in one direction.
For mercy will come. Mercy will be all in all, and all you do must show this.
Accept my amazement and thanks, and hear my hope that perhaps, I, too, may walk as you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 13:31-32
Just at this time some Pharisees came up. 'Go away,' they said. 'Leave this place, because Herod means to kill you.' He replied, 'You may go and give that fox this message: Look! Today and tomorrow I drive out devils and heal, and on the third day I attain my end.
Reflection
I admire your self-possession, Jesus. I envy and want it.
Faced with threat, it is not threat that determines your course. Your path is set by your own internal compass, not the decisions of others about you, not even when they seek your life.
You go your own way, your heart set to true north. There is work to do, a purpose to fulfill, a commitment to complete, a mystery to reveal.
Nothing deters you, not even the machinations of tin-pot despots whose hands drip with blood.
It is not your courage that most moves me, but your abiding sense of self, of identity. You know who you are, what you are to do and what must be done for your life to have served the purpose for which it is appointed.
How do you manage such singular focus? How is it that external events fail to bump you off course? Did you wake each day and claim again the Father’s purpose for you? Did you grit your teeth and steel yourself for whatever might come?
I don’t think so.
But my experience of waffling makes me wonder how you stayed on true north when resistance, rejection and threat blocked your path.
For you always walked true north, deeper with each step into the holy purpose of revealing a world ruled by mercy alone. My end will take care of itself, you said, and reaching that end was all that mattered to you.
I am moved by such single-hearted dedication to mercy’s deed. Always have been, always will.
What I notice when I look most closely is the lack of jut-jawed defiance in your words and bearing. I see a measure of humor--“that fox,” indeed! And I sense the conviction of mercy, of love, of compassion for every last and lost corner of earth.
The conviction of mercy moves you. That is true north, and you live joyously aware that this singular truth requires that your feet move always and only in one direction.
For mercy will come. Mercy will be all in all, and all you do must show this.
Accept my amazement and thanks, and hear my hope that perhaps, I, too, may walk as you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 9:28-32
Now about eight days after this had been said, he took with him Peter, John and James and went up the mountain to pray. And it happened that, as he was praying, the aspect of his face was changed and his clothing became sparkling white. And suddenly there were two men talking to him; they were Moses and Elijah appearing in glory, and they were speaking of his passing which he was to accomplish in Jerusalem. Peter and his companions were heavy with sleep, but they woke up and saw his glory and the two men standing with him.
Reflection
They woke up… and saw. How many times do we experience this, Jesus?
They woke and saw your glory, a glory of oneness with the Mystery to whom you prayed and called, “Father,” in utter love and trust. They saw the glory of a life transparent to utter mystery and love, to the Infinite Source of their being and all that is.
They saw, awaking to a truth they had begun to grasp in the valleys and plains, but here on the mountain, in an instant, all was clear, so, too, was the answer to the question of every human heart: To whom shall I listen? Who will tell me truth? Who can I trust in all things and places?
This one. You, Jesus.
This certainty, this clarity would not last for them. On the mountain, things are clear. In the muddy day-to-day, the mind forgets, and hearts fail to cling to the truth of unveiled moments. Fear uproots our certainties, as joy and confidence fade.
Always, we must return from the mountain to valleys and plains where hard work awaits, where disappointments occur, where people are difficult and the things we most fear come true.
We return to the daily and mundane, where average joys and common frustrations tempt us to think that this is all there is; this is reality; this is good as it gets.
But the mountain top tells us we are made for something more, for the truth of the love that shines through you, Jesus. We are made to known, to bask in it, to live it.
We are made for constant remembrance of the glory we see in you, wherever and how ever we see that glory. For it is this and these moments that tell us the truth of our lives, a truth that must be reclaimed many, many times.
Until face-to-face, we dwell fully in the glory you are.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 9:28-32
Now about eight days after this had been said, he took with him Peter, John and James and went up the mountain to pray. And it happened that, as he was praying, the aspect of his face was changed and his clothing became sparkling white. And suddenly there were two men talking to him; they were Moses and Elijah appearing in glory, and they were speaking of his passing which he was to accomplish in Jerusalem. Peter and his companions were heavy with sleep, but they woke up and saw his glory and the two men standing with him.
Reflection
They woke up… and saw. How many times do we experience this, Jesus?
They woke and saw your glory, a glory of oneness with the Mystery to whom you prayed and called, “Father,” in utter love and trust. They saw the glory of a life transparent to utter mystery and love, to the Infinite Source of their being and all that is.
They saw, awaking to a truth they had begun to grasp in the valleys and plains, but here on the mountain, in an instant, all was clear, so, too, was the answer to the question of every human heart: To whom shall I listen? Who will tell me truth? Who can I trust in all things and places?
This one. You, Jesus.
This certainty, this clarity would not last for them. On the mountain, things are clear. In the muddy day-to-day, the mind forgets, and hearts fail to cling to the truth of unveiled moments. Fear uproots our certainties, as joy and confidence fade.
Always, we must return from the mountain to valleys and plains where hard work awaits, where disappointments occur, where people are difficult and the things we most fear come true.
We return to the daily and mundane, where average joys and common frustrations tempt us to think that this is all there is; this is reality; this is good as it gets.
But the mountain top tells us we are made for something more, for the truth of the love that shines through you, Jesus. We are made to known, to bask in it, to live it.
We are made for constant remembrance of the glory we see in you, wherever and how ever we see that glory. For it is this and these moments that tell us the truth of our lives, a truth that must be reclaimed many, many times.
Until face-to-face, we dwell fully in the glory you are.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 6:19-20
People tormented by unclean spirits were also cured and everyone in the crowd was trying to touch him because power came out of him that cured them all. Then fixing his eyes on his disciples he said: How blessed are you who are poor: the kingdom of God is yours.
Reflection
You turned your eyes from the desperate and hoping to find your friends. Overwhelming joy and gratitude swelled in your inner being, and you cried out, “Blessed. Blessed are you.”
I know why. You were healing, touching, making whole the broken lives and hearts of those who were loved far more than they could imagine. Their lives were … and are … enveloped in the height and depth of grace, held in the arms of the Loving Mystery for all eternity.
You saw this. No, you felt it. This grace expanded your heart to infinite proportions removing any and all doubt about the fundamental reality of our lives. We are held, known and treasured by an incalculable love that has neither beginning nor end.
Your heart stretched to the uttermost reaches of Earth’s forgotten corners,--and on … to the cosmic reach of darkest space. Your heart took it all in … and loved it, loved it as the Loving Mystery who is the Father embraces and loves it all.
Your heart and the Father’s were one, and now your heart and mine are no longer two but the same.
For a single moment, the blink of any eye, I enter your consciousness and see with the love that is there looking out at me … and at all that is.
And I, too, know beyond question why you cry out, “blessed are you poor.”
My faltering words cannot capture it, but I know you look at our broken and confused lives and see them enfolded in grace unbounded, and we in our poverty can receive, can know the grace that swells your heart in this tiny instant.
Our hearts, too, can expand and embrace the uttermost parts and the outermost reaches. We who are poor can know this. We can be this, for we know the emptiness of our hands and the incompleteness of our souls.
Yet, only in this state can we be filled by the fullness of the Love who is all Fullness, the holy and Loving Mystery who, in this moment, filled you, Jesus, and moved you to embrace the world without reservation in utter joy.
Make this joy mine not only for a moment, but for all time. It is in this moment, seeing through your eyes, that I know the end of time, and it is Love unspeakable.
And I know but one word for you, “blessed, blessed, blessed.
Beyond my wildest imagining, you are blessed, and it is exactly this into which you draw me. And all I have to offer is a single word of praise and a gratitude that’s beyond all words.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 6:19-20
People tormented by unclean spirits were also cured and everyone in the crowd was trying to touch him because power came out of him that cured them all. Then fixing his eyes on his disciples he said: How blessed are you who are poor: the kingdom of God is yours.
Reflection
You turned your eyes from the desperate and hoping to find your friends. Overwhelming joy and gratitude swelled in your inner being, and you cried out, “Blessed. Blessed are you.”
I know why. You were healing, touching, making whole the broken lives and hearts of those who were loved far more than they could imagine. Their lives were … and are … enveloped in the height and depth of grace, held in the arms of the Loving Mystery for all eternity.
You saw this. No, you felt it. This grace expanded your heart to infinite proportions removing any and all doubt about the fundamental reality of our lives. We are held, known and treasured by an incalculable love that has neither beginning nor end.
Your heart stretched to the uttermost reaches of Earth’s forgotten corners,--and on … to the cosmic reach of darkest space. Your heart took it all in … and loved it, loved it as the Loving Mystery who is the Father embraces and loves it all.
Your heart and the Father’s were one, and now your heart and mine are no longer two but the same.
For a single moment, the blink of any eye, I enter your consciousness and see with the love that is there looking out at me … and at all that is.
And I, too, know beyond question why you cry out, “blessed are you poor.”
My faltering words cannot capture it, but I know you look at our broken and confused lives and see them enfolded in grace unbounded, and we in our poverty can receive, can know the grace that swells your heart in this tiny instant.
Our hearts, too, can expand and embrace the uttermost parts and the outermost reaches. We who are poor can know this. We can be this, for we know the emptiness of our hands and the incompleteness of our souls.
Yet, only in this state can we be filled by the fullness of the Love who is all Fullness, the holy and Loving Mystery who, in this moment, filled you, Jesus, and moved you to embrace the world without reservation in utter joy.
Make this joy mine not only for a moment, but for all time. It is in this moment, seeing through your eyes, that I know the end of time, and it is Love unspeakable.
And I know but one word for you, “blessed, blessed, blessed.
Beyond my wildest imagining, you are blessed, and it is exactly this into which you draw me. And all I have to offer is a single word of praise and a gratitude that’s beyond all words.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 6:17-19
He then came down with them and stopped at a piece of level ground where there was a large gathering of his disciples, with a great crowd of people from all parts of Judaea and Jerusalem and the coastal region of Tyre and Sidon who had come to hear him and to be cured of their diseases. People tormented by unclean spirits were also cured and everyone in the crowd was trying to touch him because power came out of him that cured them all.
Reflection
The scene is unsettled, noisy, disordered. People come from across the countryside, jostling for position amid the crowd trying to glimpse you. They come with hope but are moved by desperation, seeking release from their torments.
They want to touch you and to be touched by something they can’t understand. But I understand, for this is what I want too.
Some have known little more than torment in their lives. But the deepest intuition of their humanity tells them life is more than agitation of body and spirit.
They come seeking release. They want freedom, the freedom of wholeness, of health, of souls and arms they can lift to the sky with joy.
They want to feel what their lives can be beyond the distortion and diminishment of disease and suffering. They want to feel alive and human, joyously eager for each new day, something they may have never felt.
And you cured them. You released them. I wonder what that moment was like. How did they feel? What expressions filtered across their faces as they realized they were free from the chains that bound them to lives of struggle?
I imagine tears of joy, laughter and disbelief. I imagine praise to God and grateful souls falling into your embrace. I see faces struck dumb in stunned silence, but I also hear the thump of feet running for the first time in years. I can’t think of if without smiling.
And that smile is magic. It’s healing and freeing. It covers my face and fills my soul, releasing me from the bondage of sadness.
I see you touch desperate souls and once again, for the umpteenth thousand time, I, too, am touched by the love that I see, the Love whom I see.
“Come and see,” you once urged a would-be disciple. “Come and see.”
Today, I came, and I saw. And in seeing, you give me the healing I need. As of old, you touch and set free. And I discover that, just maybe, I know exactly how they felt.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 6:17-19
He then came down with them and stopped at a piece of level ground where there was a large gathering of his disciples, with a great crowd of people from all parts of Judaea and Jerusalem and the coastal region of Tyre and Sidon who had come to hear him and to be cured of their diseases. People tormented by unclean spirits were also cured and everyone in the crowd was trying to touch him because power came out of him that cured them all.
Reflection
The scene is unsettled, noisy, disordered. People come from across the countryside, jostling for position amid the crowd trying to glimpse you. They come with hope but are moved by desperation, seeking release from their torments.
They want to touch you and to be touched by something they can’t understand. But I understand, for this is what I want too.
Some have known little more than torment in their lives. But the deepest intuition of their humanity tells them life is more than agitation of body and spirit.
They come seeking release. They want freedom, the freedom of wholeness, of health, of souls and arms they can lift to the sky with joy.
They want to feel what their lives can be beyond the distortion and diminishment of disease and suffering. They want to feel alive and human, joyously eager for each new day, something they may have never felt.
And you cured them. You released them. I wonder what that moment was like. How did they feel? What expressions filtered across their faces as they realized they were free from the chains that bound them to lives of struggle?
I imagine tears of joy, laughter and disbelief. I imagine praise to God and grateful souls falling into your embrace. I see faces struck dumb in stunned silence, but I also hear the thump of feet running for the first time in years. I can’t think of if without smiling.
And that smile is magic. It’s healing and freeing. It covers my face and fills my soul, releasing me from the bondage of sadness.
I see you touch desperate souls and once again, for the umpteenth thousand time, I, too, am touched by the love that I see, the Love whom I see.
“Come and see,” you once urged a would-be disciple. “Come and see.”
Today, I came, and I saw. And in seeing, you give me the healing I need. As of old, you touch and set free. And I discover that, just maybe, I know exactly how they felt.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, February 05, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 5:8-11
When Simon Peter saw this he fell at the knees of Jesus saying, 'Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man.' For he and all his companions were completely awestruck at the catch they had made; so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were Simon's partners. But Jesus said to Simon, 'Do not be afraid; from now on it is people you will be catching. Then, bringing their boats back to land they left everything and followed him.
Reflection
At the end, what do I want to have done? Who do I want to have followed?
When all my time here is memory and few moments of earth’s sweet air remain for me, what do I want to be able to say, “This I have given? This I have thought. This I have loved. This I present to you, Jesus.”
They left everything and followed you, these few fishermen. Perhaps I should feel shame in the face of such self-giving, for I give so little. But I do not. Nor do I believe you want such feelings, despite the guilt your followers stir in themselves for no good purpose.
Joy and desire color my heart, not guilt or shame. I want the joy of giving each act and word, each hour and day to the love you are. And I want to do it mindfully, aware and present to each moment.
I want to rise above unconscious living, little thinking of how this moment can be lived in and for you. I want my mind to leave everything else to follow you so that in each moment, this is all that matters.
Yes, I know: I want a life beyond those lived by your first friends, this Simon, James and John. They were unconscious most of the time, and they followed you not knowing, not being aware of much of anything, except that being with you was better than being without you.
But they left everything to follow, and this stirs joy and desire in me to do the same in my own way and time. For I am little different from them, slightly more conscious, I suppose.
But I, too, know that being with you is better than being without you. And each time my mind wanders away to thoughts and motives other than your love, it enters a netherworld so monochrome and draining compared to the bright joy of knowing you near.
So keep calling to me when I wander. Call me from my meandering thoughts, my wild hare impulses, my self-indulgent narcissism and self-important posturing.
Call me to leave them all, even if you must call me a million times and more. I will keep leaving them, again and again, until the day I when all here is done for me, and I can say, “This I have done; you, I have loved.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 5:8-11
When Simon Peter saw this he fell at the knees of Jesus saying, 'Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man.' For he and all his companions were completely awestruck at the catch they had made; so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were Simon's partners. But Jesus said to Simon, 'Do not be afraid; from now on it is people you will be catching. Then, bringing their boats back to land they left everything and followed him.
Reflection
At the end, what do I want to have done? Who do I want to have followed?
When all my time here is memory and few moments of earth’s sweet air remain for me, what do I want to be able to say, “This I have given? This I have thought. This I have loved. This I present to you, Jesus.”
They left everything and followed you, these few fishermen. Perhaps I should feel shame in the face of such self-giving, for I give so little. But I do not. Nor do I believe you want such feelings, despite the guilt your followers stir in themselves for no good purpose.
Joy and desire color my heart, not guilt or shame. I want the joy of giving each act and word, each hour and day to the love you are. And I want to do it mindfully, aware and present to each moment.
I want to rise above unconscious living, little thinking of how this moment can be lived in and for you. I want my mind to leave everything else to follow you so that in each moment, this is all that matters.
Yes, I know: I want a life beyond those lived by your first friends, this Simon, James and John. They were unconscious most of the time, and they followed you not knowing, not being aware of much of anything, except that being with you was better than being without you.
But they left everything to follow, and this stirs joy and desire in me to do the same in my own way and time. For I am little different from them, slightly more conscious, I suppose.
But I, too, know that being with you is better than being without you. And each time my mind wanders away to thoughts and motives other than your love, it enters a netherworld so monochrome and draining compared to the bright joy of knowing you near.
So keep calling to me when I wander. Call me from my meandering thoughts, my wild hare impulses, my self-indulgent narcissism and self-important posturing.
Call me to leave them all, even if you must call me a million times and more. I will keep leaving them, again and again, until the day I when all here is done for me, and I can say, “This I have done; you, I have loved.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 5:8-11
When Simon Peter saw this he fell at the knees of Jesus saying, 'Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man.' For he and all his companions were completely awestruck at the catch they had made; so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were Simon's partners. But Jesus said to Simon, 'Do not be afraid; from now on it is people you will be catching. Then, bringing their boats back to land they left everything and followed him.
Reflection
A first act of courage is here, the first steps from a mind of fear to … well, they didn’t know. They did not know where they were going or what might happen. They had not idea what was just beginning.
But as they left their boats the way of fear was ending for them. This journey would take the rest of their lives and then some.
It’s that way for all of us, Jesus. You invite us beyond the mind of fear to a new mind, a new consciousness, a new way of seeing and being. Uneducated fishermen take their early steps on this way by being intrigued or amazed enough to follow you into the unknown.
They wanted to be near whatever you had, to hear whatever you might say, to see whatever you might do and to know whoever you are … because being with you was better than being anywhere without you.
This much they knew … and little else. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was following, being with you.
In your presence the fear, the anxiety, the dead clay that weighs our spirits all fall away, as we find, to our amazement, that we are children of God’s abundant delight, whom the Father favors with grace everlasting and inexhaustible.
You knew this, Jesus. And when this awareness sinks into our minds, into our being and bearing, other souls feel lighter and more alive in our presence, captured by the life that is you.
Fill me with all that you are. Grant me your own mind, Jesus, that with the Christ mind I may live beyond my fears and with such joy that hearts may be warmed by your nearness, even in the likes of me.
I know; it’s a journey. You don’t arrive all at once. It takes a lifetime and then some. But today, may I take a few steps on the way.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 5:8-11
When Simon Peter saw this he fell at the knees of Jesus saying, 'Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man.' For he and all his companions were completely awestruck at the catch they had made; so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were Simon's partners. But Jesus said to Simon, 'Do not be afraid; from now on it is people you will be catching. Then, bringing their boats back to land they left everything and followed him.
Reflection
A first act of courage is here, the first steps from a mind of fear to … well, they didn’t know. They did not know where they were going or what might happen. They had not idea what was just beginning.
But as they left their boats the way of fear was ending for them. This journey would take the rest of their lives and then some.
It’s that way for all of us, Jesus. You invite us beyond the mind of fear to a new mind, a new consciousness, a new way of seeing and being. Uneducated fishermen take their early steps on this way by being intrigued or amazed enough to follow you into the unknown.
They wanted to be near whatever you had, to hear whatever you might say, to see whatever you might do and to know whoever you are … because being with you was better than being anywhere without you.
This much they knew … and little else. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was following, being with you.
In your presence the fear, the anxiety, the dead clay that weighs our spirits all fall away, as we find, to our amazement, that we are children of God’s abundant delight, whom the Father favors with grace everlasting and inexhaustible.
You knew this, Jesus. And when this awareness sinks into our minds, into our being and bearing, other souls feel lighter and more alive in our presence, captured by the life that is you.
Fill me with all that you are. Grant me your own mind, Jesus, that with the Christ mind I may live beyond my fears and with such joy that hearts may be warmed by your nearness, even in the likes of me.
I know; it’s a journey. You don’t arrive all at once. It takes a lifetime and then some. But today, may I take a few steps on the way.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 5:3-10
When he had finished speaking he said to Simon, 'Put out into deep water and pay out your nets for a catch.' Simon replied, 'Master, we worked hard all night long and caught nothing, but if you say so, I will pay out the nets.' And when they had done this they netted such a huge number of fish that their nets began to tear, so they signaled to their companions in the other boat to come and help them; when these came, they filled both boats to sinking point. When Simon Peter saw this he fell at the knees of Jesus saying, 'Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man.' For he and all his companions were completely awestruck at the catch they had made; so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were Simon's partners. But Jesus said to Simon, 'Do not be afraid; from now on it is people you will be catching.'
Reflection
“Do not be afraid.” How many times do those words appear on your lips, Jesus? How many times in all of Scripture?
It is as if this were the central truth we must know. Forget all else. Remember this: There is no reason for fear.
Life is uncontrollable. Unexpected and painful things will happen. Friends will forget and betray you. Work once meaningful will drain your soul. Youth, health and strength will fade. Threats from without and within will come.
But don’t worry. Don’t be afraid. All you are and all you have, all you hope and all you fear rests in the infinite abundance of the Father’s heart. Know this, and fear is gone.
There is such a contrast between you, Jesus, and those who surround you. Anxious crowds push nearer to hear, and you take to a boat. The fishermen doubt anything good can happen after a long night’s labor gains nothing. But you quietly direct them to deep water.
Amazed, they struggle at the nets to gather the catch. You stand silently in the background, watching. I wonder, do you smile at the startling abundance they haul in?
Peter confesses his unworthiness and the discomfort of being in your presence, a presence he cannot possibly understand. His eyes are fixed squarely on himself.
Wrong place. Everyone in the story dwells in the wrong place. Their hearts rest in their emptiness, their need, their inadequacy, their anxiety about having and being enough. Little wonder they are amazed when abundance appears.
But you are not surprised, Jesus. No amazement appears on your face or in your voice. You dwell in perfect peace, knowing the infinite abundance of the divine heart is always enough … and always will be.
May my mind dwell with yours, Jesus. May all your children share your peace.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 5:3-10
When he had finished speaking he said to Simon, 'Put out into deep water and pay out your nets for a catch.' Simon replied, 'Master, we worked hard all night long and caught nothing, but if you say so, I will pay out the nets.' And when they had done this they netted such a huge number of fish that their nets began to tear, so they signaled to their companions in the other boat to come and help them; when these came, they filled both boats to sinking point. When Simon Peter saw this he fell at the knees of Jesus saying, 'Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man.' For he and all his companions were completely awestruck at the catch they had made; so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were Simon's partners. But Jesus said to Simon, 'Do not be afraid; from now on it is people you will be catching.'
Reflection
“Do not be afraid.” How many times do those words appear on your lips, Jesus? How many times in all of Scripture?
It is as if this were the central truth we must know. Forget all else. Remember this: There is no reason for fear.
Life is uncontrollable. Unexpected and painful things will happen. Friends will forget and betray you. Work once meaningful will drain your soul. Youth, health and strength will fade. Threats from without and within will come.
But don’t worry. Don’t be afraid. All you are and all you have, all you hope and all you fear rests in the infinite abundance of the Father’s heart. Know this, and fear is gone.
There is such a contrast between you, Jesus, and those who surround you. Anxious crowds push nearer to hear, and you take to a boat. The fishermen doubt anything good can happen after a long night’s labor gains nothing. But you quietly direct them to deep water.
Amazed, they struggle at the nets to gather the catch. You stand silently in the background, watching. I wonder, do you smile at the startling abundance they haul in?
Peter confesses his unworthiness and the discomfort of being in your presence, a presence he cannot possibly understand. His eyes are fixed squarely on himself.
Wrong place. Everyone in the story dwells in the wrong place. Their hearts rest in their emptiness, their need, their inadequacy, their anxiety about having and being enough. Little wonder they are amazed when abundance appears.
But you are not surprised, Jesus. No amazement appears on your face or in your voice. You dwell in perfect peace, knowing the infinite abundance of the divine heart is always enough … and always will be.
May my mind dwell with yours, Jesus. May all your children share your peace.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Tuesday, February, 2, 2010
Today’s text
Luke 5:2-6
Jesus got into one of the boats -- it was Simon's -- and asked him to put out a little from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking he said to Simon, 'Put out into deep water and pay out your nets for a catch.' Simon replied, 'Master, we worked hard all night long and caught nothing, but if you say so, I will pay out the nets.' And when they had done this they netted such a huge number of fish that their nets began to tear … .
Reflection
“If you say so … .” I doubt Peter’s words were spoken eagerly, as if he were itching to pull at the oars and lug the nets over the gunnels of the boat after a long night of wasted effort. Food and a nap in the heat of the day were far more attractive.
“But if you say so, Jesus, … we’ll do it again.”
That’s what I hear, resistance to hard work that already proved fruitless.
My body feels that on some days, but not today, despite the enervation of energy from my limbs. Perhaps it is an oncoming cold, perhaps just a snowy winter Monday resting heavy on my shoulders.
But despite these aching muscles I remain quietly unwilling to surrender to the voice that says it doesn’t matter, the work, that is--the commitment and effort required to stay faithful to the duties of the day. There are calls to be made, promises to keep, appointments to make, plus letters to write, scattered papers on the desk and yes, prayers for human pains likely to cross my path.
Who knows how many there will be? It’s still early.
The voice that asks, does any of this really matter, never fully goes away. I hear it as I step from the shower and dry my head. But the question doesn’t drag me into its gravity. It lacks power to discourage or stop me from taking the next step into the day.
This has nothing to do with the strength of my will or the courage of my resolve. I learned long ago not to depend too much on those.
I go, stepping into the duties of the day because you, Jesus, tell me to do it all again. Take care of the detail, pray with the people, make the calls and keep the appointments. Throw out the nets because … well, you never know.
Unexpected graces come. You need to be there to catch them.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 5:2-6
Jesus got into one of the boats -- it was Simon's -- and asked him to put out a little from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking he said to Simon, 'Put out into deep water and pay out your nets for a catch.' Simon replied, 'Master, we worked hard all night long and caught nothing, but if you say so, I will pay out the nets.' And when they had done this they netted such a huge number of fish that their nets began to tear … .
Reflection
“If you say so … .” I doubt Peter’s words were spoken eagerly, as if he were itching to pull at the oars and lug the nets over the gunnels of the boat after a long night of wasted effort. Food and a nap in the heat of the day were far more attractive.
“But if you say so, Jesus, … we’ll do it again.”
That’s what I hear, resistance to hard work that already proved fruitless.
My body feels that on some days, but not today, despite the enervation of energy from my limbs. Perhaps it is an oncoming cold, perhaps just a snowy winter Monday resting heavy on my shoulders.
But despite these aching muscles I remain quietly unwilling to surrender to the voice that says it doesn’t matter, the work, that is--the commitment and effort required to stay faithful to the duties of the day. There are calls to be made, promises to keep, appointments to make, plus letters to write, scattered papers on the desk and yes, prayers for human pains likely to cross my path.
Who knows how many there will be? It’s still early.
The voice that asks, does any of this really matter, never fully goes away. I hear it as I step from the shower and dry my head. But the question doesn’t drag me into its gravity. It lacks power to discourage or stop me from taking the next step into the day.
This has nothing to do with the strength of my will or the courage of my resolve. I learned long ago not to depend too much on those.
I go, stepping into the duties of the day because you, Jesus, tell me to do it all again. Take care of the detail, pray with the people, make the calls and keep the appointments. Throw out the nets because … well, you never know.
Unexpected graces come. You need to be there to catch them.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Reflection
Happiness and Haiti, funerals and politics, Genesis and church chatter come together in unexpected ways.
A couple of years ago, a journalist published a book that lived on my daughter’s shelf until she gave it to me, knowing I was intrigued by the title, The Geography of Bliss. The book is a funny and illuminating read.
The author traveled to a dozen countries to learn why those who live there are so happy--or not. The countries were not picked at random. He chose his destinations after visiting the World Happiness Database (I’m not making this up) in Amsterdam, The Netherlands.
The WHD compiles and compares studies from social scientists across the world, who examine the age-old mystery of what makes for happy contented lives. Countries even receive scores on a 1-10 scale, based on extensive surveying.
In case you’re wondering, the United States is not among the 20 happiest places on Earth. It ranks below places like Costa Rica, Malta, Malaysia, Bhutan and Iceland, way below Iceland.
No surprise there. During my lifetime, Americans have become many times richer, but the divorce rate has tripled, violent crime has quadrupled, the prison population quintupled and mental health disorders like anxiety and depression are much more common, not merely more commonly diagnosed.
This leads to the obvious conclusion that money matters less we imagine. After having enough to satisfy basic human needs, happiness plateaus and having more money makes little difference.
What matters are social and family connections, belonging to a people, a history and a culture that transcends oneself. Trusting others is essential, your neighbors and fellow citizens. Envy is totally toxic, as are unrealistic expectations for personal success and accomplishment.
Happy places allow people to try and fail without shame, providing them freedom to reinvent themselves. They have space for idleness beyond the daily rush. They also inspire an expansive consciousness, the awareness that life is bigger than me and my personal needs.
Summing up his view--and much of this happy, thoughtful book, a public official in the tiny nation of Bhutan said, “Happiness is 100% relational.”
The Bible connects here. Once we move beyond silly arguments about whether the creation stories of Genesis are literal history, the stories speak deep truth about human nature and how we connect with God.
We are created from and for each other, to complete each other. We are fashioned for harmony with the earth and those with whom we share it. Recognize it or not, we are deeply connected, and we find our joy and purpose in the community of those connections.
Little wonder that human happiness is 100% relational. We can’t deny our communal nature or hide it under the myth of the “self-made man” or beneath foolish ideas that suggest that we can live separate lives. We are intimately connected with every other human family with whom we share this planet.
Occasionally, the narcissistic walls that keep us from seeing these connections crumble. Earthquakes do this. Pictures from Haiti move us in ways we can neither understand nor deny, as we witness faces of suffering and recognize those faces as our own.
So we care, we act, we give, becoming more human and, dare I say it, happier, having fulfilled in our bodies the humanity and communal connection God fashioned in our depths.
This is why two funerals I recently led were happier places than the American political marketplace. At the funerals, we remembered, cried and laughed together. We felt the sinews of love, struggle and history that bind us together. Amid sorrow, there was joy as we experienced those connections--and our connection with God.
This is so different from American politics where the reality that we are all in this together is daily ripped asunder by tactics of denunciation and excoriation.
Different, too, were the circles of conversation that continued longer than normal in the narthex last Sunday. Serious exchanges and laughter spiced the air. People shared news of illnesses and treatment, of family visits and children’s activities, of hopes and anxieties for the coming week.
Connections were savored and nurtured, and we were happier and more human for it. In some not-so-hidden way, the kingdom of God’s delight was real.
Pr. David L. Miller
Happiness and Haiti, funerals and politics, Genesis and church chatter come together in unexpected ways.
A couple of years ago, a journalist published a book that lived on my daughter’s shelf until she gave it to me, knowing I was intrigued by the title, The Geography of Bliss. The book is a funny and illuminating read.
The author traveled to a dozen countries to learn why those who live there are so happy--or not. The countries were not picked at random. He chose his destinations after visiting the World Happiness Database (I’m not making this up) in Amsterdam, The Netherlands.
The WHD compiles and compares studies from social scientists across the world, who examine the age-old mystery of what makes for happy contented lives. Countries even receive scores on a 1-10 scale, based on extensive surveying.
In case you’re wondering, the United States is not among the 20 happiest places on Earth. It ranks below places like Costa Rica, Malta, Malaysia, Bhutan and Iceland, way below Iceland.
No surprise there. During my lifetime, Americans have become many times richer, but the divorce rate has tripled, violent crime has quadrupled, the prison population quintupled and mental health disorders like anxiety and depression are much more common, not merely more commonly diagnosed.
This leads to the obvious conclusion that money matters less we imagine. After having enough to satisfy basic human needs, happiness plateaus and having more money makes little difference.
What matters are social and family connections, belonging to a people, a history and a culture that transcends oneself. Trusting others is essential, your neighbors and fellow citizens. Envy is totally toxic, as are unrealistic expectations for personal success and accomplishment.
Happy places allow people to try and fail without shame, providing them freedom to reinvent themselves. They have space for idleness beyond the daily rush. They also inspire an expansive consciousness, the awareness that life is bigger than me and my personal needs.
Summing up his view--and much of this happy, thoughtful book, a public official in the tiny nation of Bhutan said, “Happiness is 100% relational.”
The Bible connects here. Once we move beyond silly arguments about whether the creation stories of Genesis are literal history, the stories speak deep truth about human nature and how we connect with God.
We are created from and for each other, to complete each other. We are fashioned for harmony with the earth and those with whom we share it. Recognize it or not, we are deeply connected, and we find our joy and purpose in the community of those connections.
Little wonder that human happiness is 100% relational. We can’t deny our communal nature or hide it under the myth of the “self-made man” or beneath foolish ideas that suggest that we can live separate lives. We are intimately connected with every other human family with whom we share this planet.
Occasionally, the narcissistic walls that keep us from seeing these connections crumble. Earthquakes do this. Pictures from Haiti move us in ways we can neither understand nor deny, as we witness faces of suffering and recognize those faces as our own.
So we care, we act, we give, becoming more human and, dare I say it, happier, having fulfilled in our bodies the humanity and communal connection God fashioned in our depths.
This is why two funerals I recently led were happier places than the American political marketplace. At the funerals, we remembered, cried and laughed together. We felt the sinews of love, struggle and history that bind us together. Amid sorrow, there was joy as we experienced those connections--and our connection with God.
This is so different from American politics where the reality that we are all in this together is daily ripped asunder by tactics of denunciation and excoriation.
Different, too, were the circles of conversation that continued longer than normal in the narthex last Sunday. Serious exchanges and laughter spiced the air. People shared news of illnesses and treatment, of family visits and children’s activities, of hopes and anxieties for the coming week.
Connections were savored and nurtured, and we were happier and more human for it. In some not-so-hidden way, the kingdom of God’s delight was real.
Pr. David L. Miller
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