Sunday, March 10, 2013

 Today’s text

Ephesians 4:2-4

With all humility and gentleness, and with patience, support each other in love. Take every care to preserve the unity of the Spirit by the peace that binds you together. There is one Body, one Spirit, just as one hope is the goal of your calling by God. 

Reflection

Paul Tillich and my friend, Lauren, couldn’t be more different. Tillich was one of the most influential theologians of the 20^th century. His works are still read, especially in seminaries and graduate schools, and will affect the thought of pastors, novelists, poets and scholars for decades to come.

Lauren is a wonderful young woman who has struggled with muscular dystrophy ever since suffering strokes while she was still in her mother’s womb. One of her hands is twisted and crabbed, fingers malformed. The other works slowly, awkwardly. The same is true of her legs and feet.

Her strength is waning these days, but Lauren soldiers on. Last year she graduated from a two-year program at a local community college and now works for an agency that provides resources for people like her. After talking with her last Friday, I want to visit her office.

Lauren tells me everyone who works there has one disability or another. They are all different, she says, and every hour of the day they make allowances for what the people around them cannot do, or need help doing, or what they can do but slowly …  with many pauses for rest or to secure their balance.

They all “get it,” Lauren tells me. They know what it is to struggle with one challenge or another, and they extend grace to each other’s needs …  and the dignity of allowing each other to do what they can in their own way.

Tears formed as I listened to Lauren and thought how wonderful it must be for her to work in this world where people “get her,” a place of grace and mutual respect. She is seen as the person of care, hope and good humor that she is, as she begins to make a life for herself against odds greater than most of us face.

Listening to her transported me more than 30 years back to a seminary classroom where I first learned to love and (partially) to understand Tillich.

He wrote powerfully of spiritual community near the end of his Systematic Theology, and most students knew, of course, that he was talking about the church as the creation of the Spirit of Christ in the world.

But our thoughts were far too narrow. We did not clearly envision Lauren and her work place. We couldn’t then grasp the sacrament of human community and care in all its beauty, as the Spirit of Christ freely creates the wonder of spiritual community far beyond the boundaries of church buildings.

Tears are an interesting thing. They appear when something deep within us is wounded, touched by love or set free to live and breathe. Lauren’s words do not flow like water in a stream. She stumbles and often works hard to say what is clear in her mind. Her words come out in threes and fours, a pause then several more.

Still, her description of the spiritual community as it exists in her office was as eloquent and powerful as Tillich’s words--and far more concrete. She brought me to tears of joy for her.

She also awakened a desire to live, love and laugh in such a community. My soul longs to breathe freely, revealing its beauty and brokenness among souls who, with all humility, gentleness and patience, support each other in love. Who doesn’t want this grace?

But my tears revealed one more blessed truth. Listening to Lauren, I realized so clearly that I already know and have this grace.

There are many days when I experience this depth of spiritual community among a people who struggle to live the love of Christ. Often, we fail. But there days we succeed almost as well as Lauren and her colleagues.

Pr. David L. Miller

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Today’s text

Luke 15:27-31

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 always with me and all that is mine is yours.

Reflection

You are always with me. Don’t you know? Didn’t you realize that all I am and have … is yours? Always was; always will be.

This is the singular reality of your life, but on average days we live the unreality of separateness, not knowing, not feeling, unaware that our souls are always connected with the Soul of the Universe.

But moments come when we feel and know.

Some call it a sense of oceanic awareness. We feel we are part of everything. We belong to everything, intimately connected with all that is. We are engulfed in a sea of love that surrounds all that is.

All that is, all creation and all we are is inside this sea, a part of the sea; yet each thing has distinct identity. Distinct, yes, but nothing is ever separate or apart from this embracing reality. Everything belongs.

This sea is the infinitely Abundant Source of all that is and holds all creation in an embrace of love that knows us entirely and loves us completely.

What words shall I use to capture what I know of you, Holy One, when such moments of blessing wash over me? What can I say? I struggle and strain, casting one metaphor after another to tell what you reveal of yourself.

I know only that peace settles on the soul, the heart slows, breath deepens, stress evaporates, and I find myself in an infinite sea of love.

I know … I am always with you. There is no escaping you, no getting lost; no place I go where you are not, no moment when the sea is unwilling to flood the soul with this sublime awareness that I may always know … you.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

 Today’s text

Luke 15:27-31

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

Moments come and go. They arrive and immediately flee, but some leave their mark.

You never know when such moments will appear, whether they will come amid success or stress or when you are taking a brain break over a cup of coffee. Like yesterday.

Nothing was happening. Indiscernible music played in the background. There was no one around the coffee shop to interrupt me. I was as unknown to them as they to me. The top pulled off the cup, dark aroma and steam rise in the late afternoon light.

And it hits me. I have everything I need here. This awareness is not about material needs but fullness of heart, assurance of life, peace.

My in-most heart, the depth of my being reaches out in whispered words and tears to Something so far beyond me I cannot name it, yet which is part of me, deep within.

Awareness of complete oneness with this Mystery floods every sense, and I know … I share in the fullness of this Great Mystery. We are one with no separation, although I know this Great Mystery infinitely transcends everything I know or can know.

There is no need for mind and soul to grasp or possess what comes in this moment. You don’t need to grasp what is freely given, what is already yours.

There is no need for anything, to be or do anything. There is only being, my being dwelling in ecstatic peace with You in this fleeting moment that tells me the truth of every moment.

All you have and are is mine. I know this, although no words are spoken. There is only awareness of this as the first and final truth of my life--and the wordless joy of ecstatic tears.

Now, the morning comes once more. The moment of total awareness has passed, but it has left its mark and lingers in mind and heart.

I know it will come and fill me again, teaching me what I need to live and die in peace. But just for today, don’t let me lose the moment of total knowing what you most want me to know.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, March 1, 2013

Today’s text

Luke 13:1-5

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. Or those eighteen on whom the tower at Siloam fell, killing them all? Do you suppose that they were more guilty than all the other people living in Jerusalem? They were not, I tell you. No; but unless you repent you will all perish as they did.' 

Reflection

An ancient view of the universe plays at the back of mind. The good thrive; the evil come to ruin. We reap what sow.

It’s a neat formula except it doesn’t always fit the facts. Someone steals at work. He gets caught and gets fired. He had it coming. A man abuses his body with too much food and heavy drinking, and his organs fail from excess. What goes around comes around.

But there are so many other times when this neat formula doesn’t apply. The careful and virtuous suffer outrageous fates, die young, fall victim to sudden disease, abuse, accidents or financial downturns not of their own making. They didn’t deserve it.

For some, this undermines faith in God. The good should be rewarded. Those who are less good … not so much. The mean and nasty … let them get what they gave. Divine justice seems to require at least this much.

And when evil times and grief fall heavily on those who “don’t deserve it,” this means God isn’t just, doesn’t care … or isn’t there. The faith of more than a few has foundered on this point.

But life cannot be reduced to formulas. It must be lived in all its wild unpredictability. And God cannot be boxed in by our logic. Both life and God remain wonderfully, terribly and wildly free from us and our formulas about the way things should be.

Sounds like bad news, threatening news. But it’s the best news of all, though challenging. 

You, Holy One, invite us to throw our formulas to the wind and see life as you see it.

Get over yourself and your need to force everything to make sense. Receive life as a great mystery and adventure you can neither predict nor much control.

Instead of judging who is deserving and who isn’t, instead of seeing through your shoulds and oughts, see the grace of each day, the need and humanity even of those you consider undeserving.

See without the need to make things fit the way things should be. See people in their imperfection and peculiarities without judging or blaming.

See the unpredictability of life, the surprises pleasant and painful. See it all as an arena where love plays and invites you to dance to its music so you might be as free as God and as gracious.

When for a moment you see this way, you will have begun to live.

Pr. David L. Miller

Wednesday February 27, 2013

Today’s text

Luke 13:1-5

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. Or those eighteen on whom the tower at Siloam fell, killing them all? Do you suppose that they were more guilty than all the other people living in Jerusalem? They were not, I tell you. No; but unless you repent you will all perish as they did.' 

Reflection

How shall I live? As I grow older the question becomes more urgent.

What shall I do with my precious, unpredictable life? How shall I spend the irreplaceable resource of time, which is always shorter than we want it to be?

Two tragedies focused the attention of people who came to Jesus. One was an act of brutality, a murder, the other an accident that killed hapless victims. Both incidents prove the fragility and unpredictability of our lives. We never know what might happen.

Never, which gives urgency to every decision, every action, every day.

Each one must count for something, each must express the wonder of our particular lives, the graces we have to beautify and bless this world while we can, doing the will of the Grace who made and loves us. Time must not be lost.

This urgency seldom sets in on modern souls until sudden threat or evil happens.

We fill our lives with commitments and activities, little questioning: Which is best, which express our deepest convictions and faith, which would we do if we knew this was our last day on God’s good earth?

You can live for decades like this until something unexpected happens. Someone we love gets dangerously sick, our diagnosis is what we feared or an accident touches our lives.

Urgency then enters the mind, and we ask what we want our lives to be. We repent, finally seeing life as a precious and fragile gift that must not be wasted or taken for granted.

Each moment must be lived as much as possible from our depths that we might be and share whatever wonder and beauty, grace and care that is in us--being the soul that the Soul of Grace always knew we could be.

Such repentance of life need and must not wait the day when we realize life is not under our control. It starts today, every day.

We wake and receive one more day, a joyous gift of grace from the Soul of Grace who wants only that we should live, truly live.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday February 26, 2013

Today’s text

Luke 13:1-5

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. Or those eighteen on whom the tower at Siloam fell, killing them all? Do you suppose that they were more guilty than all the other people living in Jerusalem? They were not, I tell you. No; but unless you repent you will all perish as they did.' 

Reflection

Tragedy strikes, evil happens to a person, and someone watching will assuredly come up with a reason why they deserved it. It’s called the just world hypothesis.

The human mind is hard-wired to seek explanations, and we want the world to be fair. We want to think people get what they deserve.

When something painful or tragic happens, the mind looks for reasons why they deserved it. They must have done something wrong. They must have brought this on themselves … somehow.

By blaming them we protect ourselves from the thought that such tragedy can happen to us.

Pointing fingers is an effective defense mechanism. Finding a reason, even connecting the fate of others with God’s will, keeps us from having to look at ourselves, at our faults and vulnerabilities as mortal human beings.

All this backfires when something evil or tragic happens to us or someone close to us. Unhelpful and uncomfortable questions quickly disturb when we are accustomed to thinking everything happens for a reason, that God’s will is somehow in what is happening.

“What have I done … what have we done to deserve this?”

Jesus has no time for any of this. He doesn’t appeal to some idea that God’s permissive will allows bad things to happen. He doesn’t point to some higher wisdom or hidden plan at work behind events that would explain everything … if we only knew what it was.

Nor does he say people suffer because they are worse sinners than everyone else.

He turns them … and us … back to ourselves and tells us to repent. Change your mind; change the way you see.

Don’t see people who deserve what is happening to them. See people who need the love and mercy of God. See people whom God treasures.

Look at yourselves, and see that you need God’s mercy and grace as anyone else.

Pr. David L. Miller 

Today’s text

Luke 13:34-35

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’ ”

Reflection

The tenderness and longing in Jesus words cannot be overestimated.

He imagines the city, its peoples and places, the broken bodies of those in need, and the lostness of those seeking a sign that God is near and has not forgotten.

He sees those who care nothing for knowledge of God yet wonder about the inner gnawing they cannot name.

He imagines the hungry and those burdened by poverty and the oppression of Roman occupation. He sees people who need leaders who will lift their spirits with God’s loving presence. He imagines the rulers and bureaucrats who care less about justice than about keeping Rome happy and protecting their privilege and pay.

Jesus sees their struggle for bread and their hunger for Spirit. They live aimlessly for want of the Love who comes and fills them; so that they feel their dignity and live truly human lives of grace, beauty and holy purpose.

He sees … and is moved. His words bear the fullness of God’s holy heart.

“If only … . If only you would come to me. If only you would taste the wonder that is in me. If only you would once be filled with the substance of Spirit I would awaken and pour into you.

“If only you knew me, you would know your dignity, your beauty and the purpose of God in you. If you knew me, no suffering or oppression would steal your dignity, your strength, your beauty or your hope.”

Jesus sees … and longs … for us.

But it is our longing for wholeness and peace, for grace and holy purpose that moves us to cry our, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.”

Longing for life, we open our hearts and allow ourselves to be drawn into the heart of Jesus. In him, we feel the holy longing of God for each of us, a yearning echoed in our longing for that Love that is so hungry to come and complete us.

Blessed is he who comes … .

Pr. David L. Miller

 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

Anyone who expects a smooth path hasn’t lived much. Everyone has stuff, stuff to carry, stuff that gets in the way, stuff we could do without.

To speak plainly, there is resistance to what God’s Spirit requires in every life. Some resistances are internal; many are the temptations and fears that keep us from truly being ourselves and fulfilling the hope of our hearts, living out who we are created to be.

Some resistances are external--the attitudes of others, the refusals of our gifts and ideas, the people and situations that don’t change or stand aside so we can move forward with the hopes we have, the missions of grace calling within us.

Years ago, I served as editor of our church’s national magazine. Coming into that office, I wanted to change the culture of the publication to make it easier for staff members to suggest and act on their ideas.

Everyone welcomed the idea, but change was hard. The gravity of established patterns and internalized habits kept us in familiar ruts. It took concerted effort over a long period of time to overcome internal and external resistance before much happened.

Resistance to the good, the true, the beautiful--to the work of God’s Spirit--is not hard to see or find. It is deeply rooted in human egoism, in the desire for comfort and human anxiety to hold onto what power and influence one has. Change is fearful.

Jesus brought the ultimate good and final grace of God’s kingdom. He healed and crossed the boundaries that excluded people from entering the inner circle of God’s love. He made the broken whole and drove out the forces that disfigure human life.

But he encountered resistance almost every step of the way. He was a threat to those in power because he acted with a power they didn’t have and could not understand, a power that was for others not over others, a power that was for all people … not just for a favored few.

So resistance came from those he threatened, from rulers and religious leaders who immediately knew he didn’t fit into their way of living and thinking--and that he didn’t much care about preserving their privileges.

Others resisted because it was just too good to be true. Can God’s kingdom, God’s rule really be for me? And if it is, am I willing to let it change me, how I think and feel, what I do and risk?

Resistance came, too, from within, even for Jesus, who was subject to the same human fears that we all have--fears of suffering, rejection, loneliness, and I suspect there were moments when he may have wondered if what he was doing was truly God’s will.

In each case, he retreated to prayer and then moved forward, having found in his prayer reinforcement of his identity as God’s beloved. He found the assurance needed to stay his course, to reveal God’s kingdom … to share the soul of God within him.

His way is the way to which we are called. Not an easy path, but the path the Spirit writes inside each human soul. Only in listening closely to the heart of God within can we find … again and again … the strength needed to walk the path of grace when resistance comes.

Pr. David L. Miller

 Today’s text

Genesis 15:1-6

After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, ‘Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.’ But Abram said, ‘O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?’ And Abram said, ‘You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.’ But the word of the Lord came to him, ‘This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.’ He brought him outside and said, ‘Look towards heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.’ Then he said to him, ‘So shall your descendants be.’ And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.

Reflection

An old man looks into the future and sees … nothing, no legacy, no promise, nothing that endures and no one who will carry his soul and hopes into the future.

He looks into the darkness of his heart, but you lead him into another darkness, Holy One. You lead him outside his tent and bend his neck the other way.

You turn his face from the ground to the stars and tell him to do the impossible … to count the billion points of light burning in the cold immensity of space. No, more.

“How many?” You ask. “How many? Go ahead and count. Tell me how many you see.

“That’s how many descendents you shall have. That’s how many blessings will come. That’s how many will know the blessing of my faithful promise.”

Go, look up. Look at the stars and imagine.

Imagine the power that fashioned and still creates them as they burst into being and flame out thousands of times each day. Imagine the yawning immensity of space.

See the unique beauty of each star, some a bare twinkle that seems to blink out if you don’t look hard. Others shine so brightly their refection glows in the night on lakes and rivers by which you stand.

Imagine and see.

See not the starts but their Infinite Source, the Promiser who says all things are possible with me. Imagine being addressed by this Greatness.

Imagine your face in the loving and gentle hands of this One who lifts your head from the ground to the stars that you may see, hope and know the staggering love who holds your life.

Imagine it all, and know: This is not your imagination. It is your reality.

Pr. David L. Miller

Today’s text

Deuteronomy 26:1-9

When you have come into the land that the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance to possess, and you possess it, and settle in it, you shall take some of the first of all the fruit of the ground, which you harvest from the land that the Lord your God is giving you, and you shall put it in a basket … . When the priest takes the basket from your hand and sets it down before the altar of the Lord your God, you shall make this response before the Lord your God: ‘A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt … and brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.

Reflection

You shall remember, for remembering restores and reinforces identity. It tells you who you are, where you have come and what you shall do.

When Israel came into the promised land the first fruits every year were to be offered to God as an offering that they might remember what had happened to their ancestors and how they came to be in this good and gracious place.

They brought offerings not because God needed to be fed but because they needed to offer themselves in thanks, a way of celebrating and reliving the goodness of God and of the life they lived, lest they forget who they are.

Those who forget begin to live in ways that contradict their inner being, their character. They get lost, allowing others to choose how they see and act.

The ways and opinions of those around them assume the role of their own conscience, and they no longer act according to their own purpose

The central question of living as a child of God is to remember and ask, “Who am I? Who are we, and what does this mean for how we should live and act?”

Like the ancient people of faith, we need to remember are people who have received many rich blessings. We receive life as gift. We didn’t make ourselves or fashion creation.

In this good land, we receive a way of living that is the envy of most of the world.

No less than the people of Israel, we are chosen, wanted and loved by God who writes our names on the palms of his hands.

The Holy One claims us in our baptism, fills our empty hands and hearts with the bread of life and pours unmerited forgiveness and constant love into our being through every beauty, every gift and every love we know--each a sacrament of the love of God who seeks to touch us each day and make us truly alive.

Who are we? We are a people gifted, a people bound to greet each day with two words. “Thank you.”

When we don’t we begin our days this way we begin to forget, and consequences soon come.

Our joy and gratitude for life is diminished. We are more likely to be saddened when life challenges. We are weaker.

Who are we? We are a people bound to celebrate the love of the God who seeks us at every hand. We are a people who can bask in the knowledge that there is nothing in all creation that can stop the constant loving of God … for us.

This makes a people bound for joy, for strength, for hope, a generous people who have received much and share generously.

That’s who we are. When we remember the days are beautiful, laced with gratitude and our hope is boundless.

Remember, … and live.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Today’s text

Psalm 126:1-2

When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,
   we were like those who dream.
Then our mouth was filled with laughter,
   and our tongue with shouts of joy.

Reflection

Sometimes our reality outstrips our hopes and expectations. Sometimes what comes to us exceeds what we thought was possible. So it was for your people, Holy One, when they returned from exile, home to Zion, the city of their sweetest dreams.

Their longings were fulfilled, and they breathed the fresh air of the home to which they never expected to return.

Their story is my story, our story, for we live so much of our lives in exile, far from home.

You made us for this earth, to tend and till, care and nurture with our hands and hearts, giving all that we are to the life of this precious planet and the lives therein.

This is home, this is life, this is our place of being. Joy comes as we give our hearts away in care and nurture of what you have made and given us. Heaven is not our home … this is. This is where you placed us to live, to grow and love.

Yet, this is not quite home.

We do our work, care for homes and families, jobs and community, striving to do and be all we can be, all the while hoping and craving something more, fearing it will never come, distressed that we may never reach it.

A sense of exile disturbs the soul.

We long for unity in love with the Love who made us. We seek the More beyond whom no more is or can be.

We try to still our restless longings with success or money, fun and ever-more crowded schedules, but these never fully satisfy the soul’s desire for more. We will always want more.

Except, … there are moments when we feel ourselves inside the More you are, Holy One, and we enter a home that exceeds every expectation of joy and peace we have ever had.

Moments come, faces appear, grace and beauty find us, touch us, fill us, carry us away into the Heart that is the home our hearts seek.

Every biblical story about God’s exiled, wandering people hungry for home, every story, myth and fairy tale that speaks of separation from home, from lost love or from a promised land not yet found--all of this speaks our soul’s unsatisfied longing to enter the heart of God.

But even in this life, moments come when our longings are stilled, when dreams are fulfilled, when reality exceeds hope and expectation, and our souls are released in joy.

And God’s dream for us comes true.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, February 11, 2013

 Today’s text

Psalm 32:10-11

Many are the heartaches
  of those separated from Love;
Steadfast love abides with those
  who surrender their lives into
     the hands of the Beloved.
Be glad and rejoice,
  all you who walk along the path of truth!
And shout for you, all you upright,
  of heart.

Reflection

Late Sunday afternoon. The day is soon spent, but well-spent among your people, listening and loving, praying and singing.

Once more, I witnessed tears welling in the eyes of those facing threats to life and health, and I was hugged by grinning children who know they are safe and treasured, their smiles a reminder of that grace we sought in this sanctuary.

Sought and found, my Lord.

Dispersed from our Sunday gathering, we retire to living rooms and feel the weariness of winter as an anemic February sun fades into shades of gray.

Monday will soon be here, and our flagging energy seems unequal to the task.

So I retreat to this quiet place where I listen in my heart for your Heart, seeking that inner point of soul where the energy of your ceaseless loving flows into me.

I surrender my weariness into your accepting arms and rest. That is all I want, but I receive more.

A surge of joy and surprising energy lifts my heart and chases off Sunday afternoon lethargy. Weariness is replaced by a smile of knowing that there is enough for me here in this place and in this soul, enough for all of us.

I feel connected. There is no separation from your love. The influx of your constant loving stirs my body to a strength for life that shall always be there for me, for you always are loving.

You are steadfast. So little do we understand this.

Nothing in our lives is steadfast and sure, certainly not our physical resources on Sunday afternoons. Everything we know … and touch … and are … withers and wanes, sooner or later. All that rises falls. Every flower fades. It’s only a matter of time.

But not you. You are Steadfast Love.

You are a ceasless stream of grace that never runs dry; a boundless love that is always enough for us, stirring that joy that lifts the soul and makes us strong.

We come in weakness to you, Holy Love, seeking solace for the fatigue that weighs our souls and shoulders. Feeling far from you, our hearts grow cold, cynical and small.

But you never cease to pour the warm stream of your divine blood into our veins that we may return to the joy and love and beauty we each are, vessels of your life.

We want too little, Lord. I came to this place after moping about on a lazy afternoon, wanting only to be held and comforted. But you filled me with gladness and joy, the flow of your constant loving.

That is who you are … Steadfast Love.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, February 8, 2013

Today’s text

Psalm 32:6-7

Let all who are faithful
   offer prayer to you;
at a time of distress, the rush of mighty waters
   shall not reach them.
You are a hiding-place for me;
   you preserve me from trouble;
   you surround me with glad cries of deliverance.

Reflection

I can never bypass the simple fact, O Lord, that you seek my joy.

You come to me again and again to gladden my heart, deliver me from my fears, raise me when I am down and rescue me from the distress that seizes my soul.

You preserve me from all that prevents my heart and life from shining like the sun, hiding me in the heart of your love where I know what I most need to know.

This winter morning you fill me once more with the grace of gladness.

Night has gone. Dawn is breaking. The world wakes, and I receive another day, another chance to face the sun and feel the rain, another day to taste and share grace in this crazy world, another chance to laugh with the lives around me, another day to melt the tears of the troubled, another chance to find my way and to let you, Lord, find me in the midst of it all.

I am here, alive in a world where love shines in the eyes of those who assure me of the worth and beauty of my life, awakening my soul to the splendor of all life

I have another day to be thankful for what is, for who I am and for all I get to see and do and feel each day.

Thankfulness is powerful. It delivers my heart from sadness. It lifts me above the rushing waters that wash away peace of mind. It cleanses the soul of self-doubt, nagging fears and the obsession with troubling thoughts.

So I will ride the wings of gratitude into the joy and strength I need to live this day well, thanking you once more for all I have, all you give me each day.

But it is not such things, such blessings that most rescue my soul from being lost amid the weight and troubles of life.

It is you, knowing you, knowing the love you are, feeling the desire in your heart for me, becoming aware once more that you long for me to live with joy, free from all that drains the delight of living and loving from my face.

It is knowing and feeling your desire that fills me with the grace of gladness and allows me to give my heart and mind away as freely as you give your love to me.

So I come … once more … to this quiet morning place where I feel your desire for me … and in me, hoping that the lightness of being will fill me again with gratitude for another day to know you.

I just want to know you. It is all I really need.

Pr. David L. Miller

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Today’s text

Psalm 32:1-5

Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven,
   whose sin is covered.
Happy are those to whom the Lord imputes no iniquity,
   and in whose spirit there is no deceit.
While I kept silence, my body wasted away
   through my groaning all day long.
For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;
   my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.
          Selah
Then I acknowledged my sin to you,
   and I did not hide my iniquity;
I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord’,
   and you forgave the guilt of my sin.
          Selah

Reflection

Shall I hide from you, O God? I can no more hide from you than I can hide from myself. Less.

My secrets haunt me in the night, accusing me until I acknowledge who and what I am. Until then, there is no sleep. The hours are lost, and energy flags. Morning comes, and fatigue remains for neither body nor soul can rest in peace without a clear mind and an honest heart.

The heart withers, its strength fades for want of integrity, not for lack of perfection.

Perfection does not belong to the human realm. It is not within our grasp. We can move toward greater dignity and humanity, but purity of heart and completion of what we are as human souls lies beyond earthly existence.

But it is not our imperfection, our betrayals or sins that most haunt the soul or disturb us in the night.

It is our resistance to be honest about who and what we are, our refusals to align our lives and actions with the deepest convictions of our hearts, so that the face we show the world is not the face we see in the mirror.

There may be no greater fear that that of being known, of revealing who we are, what we have done and the contradictions and confusion we feel inside. We are each a mystery to ourselves, never quite understanding why we do or say some of the things that come out of us.

Certainly, sin dwells in our mortal bodies, seeming to have a life of its own that we can little control.

But our sin and wrongdoing, our failures to be the people God intends us to be need not be a burden for us, nor a distress in the night.

Failures and sin, our imperfection and offenses are either a barrier or a bridge.

They are either prevent us from knowing and feeling the grace of God that always welcomes us, or they are the bridge over which we walk into arms of mercy and compassion.

They are dead weight that burdens our souls, or they are wings on which we fly into grace that sets our hearts free to live, to love, to blessedly be ourselves.

The difference is our willingness--or not--to speak our hearts to the heart of Mercy.

The choice is always ours, and our happiness rests on your choice … to hide or to fly into the arms of Mercy.

Pr. David L. Miller

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Today’s text

Psalm 63:5-8

My soul is satisfied as with a rich feast,
   and my mouth praises you with joyful lips
when I think of you on my bed,
   and meditate on you in the watches of the night;
for you have been my help,
   and in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy.
My soul clings to you;
   your right hand upholds me.

Reflection

In the darkness of early morning, I chant my thanks to you, hoping my praise will carry me into the sweetest joy of my life.

I hunger once more to feel your presence around me, for I have known you in the darkness and in the light and on nights when I called out for the peace only you can bring.

So I call to you again even as I cling to moments I felt myself inside your love, held as in a cocoon, sheltered so close there was no separation between my heart and yours.

I remember chanting into the darkness as I lied in a borrowed bed in Pennsylvania. Covers pulled over my head, sleep would not come for the joy of having spoken from the depth of my heart, telling what I had seen and known of you as I traveled to places far and near.

“Thank you,” I repeated. “Thank you,” over and over. “Thank you for letting me see and know and praise you.”

Wherever I traveled in those days I went looking for you, not just for stories to tell or adventures to share, but you.

Sharing the grace amid the pain of those places carried me into your heart, so that your love surrounded me. I knew you as close as my breath, as warm and inviting as the covers pulled over my head.

I would tell my stories, no, your stories, stories of your life amid the life of this broken but beloved world. Gratitude would fill me that you should allow me to see and tell … and in the telling to know you more deeply.

I went looking for you, and you found me. I told stories, and you found my heart in every one, moving me to chant my thanks into the darkness.

Now, the morning comes once more, and I thirst to know you as fully as in those moments of sharing and telling. In knowing you, my soul swells with joy, and I savor the sweet satisfaction of soul you bring.

So I chant my thanks for the day, for the light, for one more chance to love and be loved, hoping my soul will be lifted into your presence.

And from the darkness of my soul comes that voice I know. “Go into the day,” you say. “I am there. Go, see, tell and share. I will find you amid the stories of your life, and you will know me in the telling. This is your way with me and my way in you.

“It is not my way with everyone, but I will come and satisfy the soul of all who hunger for me. They need only open their hearts to see the places I find them, the way that leads to joy, the place I shadow their lives.”

Just so, we know the way of joy … every morning.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Today’s text

Psalm 63:2-4

I have gazed on you in the sanctuary,

   seeing your power and your glory.

Because your faithful love is better than life itself,

   my lips will praise you.

So I will bless you as long as I live;
   I will lift up my hands and call on your name.

Reflection

I watched a girl stand and sing, eyes closed, thick black hair falling on her shoulders, framing Latina features.

She spread her arms at her side, lifting them slightly as we sang, “Glorious light of heavenly glory,” the evening hymn with which we put the day to bed, giving it back to you, Holy One.

She is 11, I later learned, a guest among us, but her age doesn’t matter, only her beauty.

Standing by her mother and sister, she sang, and I fell silent, feeling privileged to be in the same room with her, breathing the same air, caught up in the same song, lifted by the same love.

I am not worthy to stand near the sincerity of such a soul who, at tender age, loves you Lord, already finding her true home in a love better than life itself, a love that surely honors and savors her beauty.

I want to kneel at her feet and thank her for saving my weary soul on a cold February evening.

You are her beauty, Holy One, shining through the simplicity of the love that pours from her. I see her and know that your love seeks only one thing … to love us so that we shine with the glory of this girl who has no idea of her beauty, but most certainly knows you, its Source, and knows you better than I can.

You fill the hearts of children, Holy One, lifting them above us, their elders, so that they may teach us simplicity of heart.

Your glory shines in the simplicity of loving, trusting hearts, moving us to lift our arms and souls to praise you beyond our tortured questions and cynical doubts, beyond our fears of showing our hearts and looking foolish, beyond our minds’ futile attempts to understand and manage you, so that we may maintain the illusion that we are in control and do not really need you.

But I do. I need to see your glory in the sanctuary and be raised to life again and again by you, by your love, which is better than life … and stronger than death.

Pr. David L. Miller

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Today’s text

Psalm 63:1

O God, you are my God, I seek you,
   my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
   as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

Reflection

It is not water for which I pray, O Lord. It is for you.

You are the water of life, the freshening coolness I crave when the way is unclear, when my efforts teeter at the edge of failure and the goodness I would grasp slips through my fingers.

You are the comfort that moistens my withered heart and makes it large again. You make rivers of hope spring up in me, so that my heart expands and I know all is well, and everything will find its place.

Your gentle love quenches my parched heart, worried and wasted by fear and doubt, by the melancholy and pessimism that comes so easily to me.

You come with living water that cools my fevered mind and saves my heart from death. You wash away the sadness of this dry soul, restoring that smile of joy and anticipation, the smile of knowing that love abides and always will.

You lift my heart from gloomy despondence into lightness of being so that I rise into my better self, a soul of grace and joy as I know you in my depths.

There are moments I want to disappear. My heart gets so lost in sadness and disappointment. I despair of happiness and wonder if I have or can give anything of value.

I thirst, O Lord, for this confused heart to be known and to know the joy of communion with other souls who know and love you.

You find me each time my soul withers. You tilt back my head and pour waters of life and joy, hope and peace, love and lightness from your inexhaustible heart into my own, and I live once more.

Until the next time thirst chokes life from my heart. And it always does, sooner or later.

Still, I will not despair but live. I will not grow weary or faint. I will not sink beneath my sadness. I walk with joy into each new day knowing the cooling freshness of your love will find me each time I get lost.

Music of your gentle heart will reach my ear, beauty will appear before my tired eyes, smiles will shine on this heart of mine, and I will drink from that stream of life and love that never runs dry.

I will taste the wonder of your love that has always found me through the years, and with a full heart I will sing with joy, thanking you finding me … once more

Pr. David L. Miller