Today’s reading
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Do you experience joy, Holy One? You work for your good pleasure in me, in every fallen leaf on October days and in the restless energies of the universe. Each pulses with the life you breathe, conspiring to turn each leaf into nutrient and soil to seed a million tomorrows on this tiny, out-of-the-way planet. Does this bring joy to your divine heart?
Do you look at all the wonder you make, all in which you work, and take pleasure in it, inhaling joy even as I draw in the crisp, autumnal air until my lungs ache? I want only that my flesh should hold more of the ocean of life that envelops me as certainly as your embrace. I breathe in, drawing joy in every breath. And I want more. I want more.
Are you like that, wanting more, more life, more joy, more abundance, more of all in which you take pleasure? I like to think so. I like to think that my constant desire for more—more joy, more life, more love, more of you, is the presence of the Spirit you are. The restless desire for more is but a taste of your hunger to give life, to pour your joy into us that we may stand in awe-struck wonder at the unlikely fact that life is.
But perhaps not so unlikely. From the beginning, your one work has been to love the world—and me—into life, in spite of our determined resistance. Every act of creation, every body and soul Jesus healed, every soul you have released from bondage in this and every age speaks to me of your joy. Every time I cry to you and know again the love in which I was made, the love in which you hold me, voices your delight: “My pleasure is life and giving it. This is my joy.”
I want to share your joy, the good pleasure you surely must know in making beautiful things and loving them into life. I can imagine no greater privilege. Even as the sun rests low, invite me again into the eternal joy of your holy labor. Amen.
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Friday, October 20, 2006
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
“My beloved”... the words echo another day, long before, when you, my brother, Jesus, stood in the stream, and John the Baptist poured water over you. There you stood, a flesh and blood human being, immersed in the swirling muddy waters of mortal existence. You stood there, the flesh of God’s desire to stand among fallen and frazzled humanity, sharing our plight and confusion, our pain and pleasure, leaving nothing out, taking it all into the immensity of the your divine heart. You stood there, a perfect icon of the singular generosity of God.
There you stood in the mud, and the voice of the Loving Mystery spoke, calling you ‘beloved son.’ And here your servant, Paul, uses the same blessing to name others whom you also have loved since before the birth of time: “my beloved.”
Your grace and blessing is twofold. The first is the blessing of being named “beloved:” cherished, loved, wanted, delighted in. The second grace is greater: that of blessing another human soul with the name you give me and all whom you love: “my beloved.”
Tell me, what is the source of such grace and blessing, if not the boundless spring of your divine heart? You hold us in your belovedness. You call us “beloved.” You enlarge our sin-shriveled hearts, making them spacious and large, with room for others that we may share your joy. And that? The joy of sharing the holy sacrament of naming another hungry soul, “my beloved,” passing along the grace that you, O Loving Mystery, has pronounced over me, and over all this frazzled, fallen mess of a world, all of it, “my beloved.”
Today, let me never forget your name for me. Grant me the joy of sharing this, your singular grace, with another needy soul who is, indeed, beloved of God from all eternity. Amen.
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
“My beloved”... the words echo another day, long before, when you, my brother, Jesus, stood in the stream, and John the Baptist poured water over you. There you stood, a flesh and blood human being, immersed in the swirling muddy waters of mortal existence. You stood there, the flesh of God’s desire to stand among fallen and frazzled humanity, sharing our plight and confusion, our pain and pleasure, leaving nothing out, taking it all into the immensity of the your divine heart. You stood there, a perfect icon of the singular generosity of God.
There you stood in the mud, and the voice of the Loving Mystery spoke, calling you ‘beloved son.’ And here your servant, Paul, uses the same blessing to name others whom you also have loved since before the birth of time: “my beloved.”
Your grace and blessing is twofold. The first is the blessing of being named “beloved:” cherished, loved, wanted, delighted in. The second grace is greater: that of blessing another human soul with the name you give me and all whom you love: “my beloved.”
Tell me, what is the source of such grace and blessing, if not the boundless spring of your divine heart? You hold us in your belovedness. You call us “beloved.” You enlarge our sin-shriveled hearts, making them spacious and large, with room for others that we may share your joy. And that? The joy of sharing the holy sacrament of naming another hungry soul, “my beloved,” passing along the grace that you, O Loving Mystery, has pronounced over me, and over all this frazzled, fallen mess of a world, all of it, “my beloved.”
Today, let me never forget your name for me. Grant me the joy of sharing this, your singular grace, with another needy soul who is, indeed, beloved of God from all eternity. Amen.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Work out your salvation with fear and trembling. I hear the words, O Constant Compassion, but I have no fears, not where you are concerned. I know in you an immensity, a generosity of heart, a determined conviction of holy purpose to bring all you love into the all-encompassing embrace in which you hunger to hold all that is ... and me. I know this, and for this assurance I have only you to thank.
You aim to hold every moment of time and existence, drawing them into the immensity of your bosom, like a mother holding her infant beloved to her chest in a holy care that transcends her ability to speak. You shall hold all that is and has been to your breast, bringing healing to the nations and to our conflicted souls that we might know life abundant and eternal as you intend. Such is your purpose.
I have no fear about this, although I don’t like your timing. For we need the fullness of your eternal embrace now. Now. And that is where my fear is. My fear is about me and how I lose track of the one true thing I know: You, and your inexplicable love for this universe, for this world in all its fractured frenzy, and for me
I fear my own waywardness, my wandering heart, my impulsive ways, my occasional sloth, my self-seeking, self-justifying ways in which I fumble away the immensity of your love that is always at hand. I lose you each time I begin to believe that who I am is what I do, what I earn, what I produce, what status or influence I possess. Then the old voices arise to accuse and abuse, reminding me again that I count for little in this world. Perhaps they are right.
But it does not matter. For I hurl my anxious, accusing heart into the immensity of your embrace, claiming again the love in which you hold me and all things, and always will. And again I find assurance that you neither falter nor fail, O Constant Compassion. Let me so know you this day. Amen.
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Work out your salvation with fear and trembling. I hear the words, O Constant Compassion, but I have no fears, not where you are concerned. I know in you an immensity, a generosity of heart, a determined conviction of holy purpose to bring all you love into the all-encompassing embrace in which you hunger to hold all that is ... and me. I know this, and for this assurance I have only you to thank.
You aim to hold every moment of time and existence, drawing them into the immensity of your bosom, like a mother holding her infant beloved to her chest in a holy care that transcends her ability to speak. You shall hold all that is and has been to your breast, bringing healing to the nations and to our conflicted souls that we might know life abundant and eternal as you intend. Such is your purpose.
I have no fear about this, although I don’t like your timing. For we need the fullness of your eternal embrace now. Now. And that is where my fear is. My fear is about me and how I lose track of the one true thing I know: You, and your inexplicable love for this universe, for this world in all its fractured frenzy, and for me
I fear my own waywardness, my wandering heart, my impulsive ways, my occasional sloth, my self-seeking, self-justifying ways in which I fumble away the immensity of your love that is always at hand. I lose you each time I begin to believe that who I am is what I do, what I earn, what I produce, what status or influence I possess. Then the old voices arise to accuse and abuse, reminding me again that I count for little in this world. Perhaps they are right.
But it does not matter. For I hurl my anxious, accusing heart into the immensity of your embrace, claiming again the love in which you hold me and all things, and always will. And again I find assurance that you neither falter nor fail, O Constant Compassion. Let me so know you this day. Amen.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Who are you? Who are you who work at the secret center, weaving sinews of flesh and spirit into a rational soul, a breathing being so that I might somehow please you? Who are you, Secret Heart, who fashions in me a heart of flesh whose pleasure is your good pleasure? Who is this who molds in human flesh a heart after your own divine heart, one that lives to love?
It is morning. You wake me again from the little death of sleep because it is your joy to make breathing and beautiful beings come to life. Beauty, I have little, but what little I have is you. You have known me from the time I was not. You willed my existence. I am your desire. You wanted me and wanted that I should be particular expression of your good pleasure.
You knit me together in my mother’s womb. You have walked with me every moment. You bear in your immense mercy every wound, every bruise, every cry of body and soul, every blessed word I have heard, every gentle hand I have touched, every place I have been, every voice I have heard, every face I have met, laboring in the whole mess to make a human soul capable of loving and of loving you.
You are large, your heart all-expansive, all-encompassing, holding in redemptive mercy every moment of my life, every evil and wasted word I have spoken, every failure and misstep, every refusal to love and respond to your mercy, every blessing you have somehow wrung from my resistant heart, and every tear I have shed for the sheer joy of loving and being loved, tears that surely must make you smile.
All of it, all of it, and much more you used for your good pleasure. It brings you joy to labor at the secret center to make us live and live truly in love, the only life that is life. If there are words to give thanks for all of this, I don’t have them. Amen.
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
Who are you? Who are you who work at the secret center, weaving sinews of flesh and spirit into a rational soul, a breathing being so that I might somehow please you? Who are you, Secret Heart, who fashions in me a heart of flesh whose pleasure is your good pleasure? Who is this who molds in human flesh a heart after your own divine heart, one that lives to love?
It is morning. You wake me again from the little death of sleep because it is your joy to make breathing and beautiful beings come to life. Beauty, I have little, but what little I have is you. You have known me from the time I was not. You willed my existence. I am your desire. You wanted me and wanted that I should be particular expression of your good pleasure.
You knit me together in my mother’s womb. You have walked with me every moment. You bear in your immense mercy every wound, every bruise, every cry of body and soul, every blessed word I have heard, every gentle hand I have touched, every place I have been, every voice I have heard, every face I have met, laboring in the whole mess to make a human soul capable of loving and of loving you.
You are large, your heart all-expansive, all-encompassing, holding in redemptive mercy every moment of my life, every evil and wasted word I have spoken, every failure and misstep, every refusal to love and respond to your mercy, every blessing you have somehow wrung from my resistant heart, and every tear I have shed for the sheer joy of loving and being loved, tears that surely must make you smile.
All of it, all of it, and much more you used for your good pleasure. It brings you joy to labor at the secret center to make us live and live truly in love, the only life that is life. If there are words to give thanks for all of this, I don’t have them. Amen.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Monday, October 16, 2006
Today’s reading
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
I am not like you, dearest Holy Mystery. I am not simple. My heart is not pure, given to one thing alone. I am complex, a menagerie of conflicting voices and colliding desires that make any choice subject to capricious movements of heart and will.
But among the clamoring voices is your constant calling, inviting, drawing, coaxing me into the incandescent fire of your life. There you burn off that which is worthless, transforming me into the fire of the love whom you are. You labor in me. The thought of it should frighten me I suppose, but today there is no fear. I know only hope and tears that bless you for the wonder of living a life where you are, a life where you work to bring me to the fullness of of life you desire for me.
You labor in me: You who cast the nebulae into the cold darkness of space, who command Orion to illumine the night watches, who are the illimitable Source from whom all life streams from eternity into time, who are beyond human intellection and knowing, beyond light and darkness, beyond being and non being, beyond wonder and imagination, who are the impenetrable abyss no eye has see and no ear heard, you who quilt all life together in arrays of color and connection that dazzle the understanding: You, who are Unspeakable Wonder, labor in the crowded halls of my heart, clearing the room to bring fullness of salvation and simplicity so that all that matters is your love alone.
And I? I shall work and move with confidence, not doubt and second guessing. For you whose single work is life, labor also to abundant life for me, in me, through me. In the heart’s crowded halls, I shall listen for the voice of your desire for peace, for love, for life, for hope, knowing you are there, O Unspeakable Mystery. And should I mistake another's voice for your call, I shall yet know greater forgiveness, and your holy desire will yet be done despite my failings. So let me live. Amen.
Philippians 2:12-13
“Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you to will and work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).
Prayer
I am not like you, dearest Holy Mystery. I am not simple. My heart is not pure, given to one thing alone. I am complex, a menagerie of conflicting voices and colliding desires that make any choice subject to capricious movements of heart and will.
But among the clamoring voices is your constant calling, inviting, drawing, coaxing me into the incandescent fire of your life. There you burn off that which is worthless, transforming me into the fire of the love whom you are. You labor in me. The thought of it should frighten me I suppose, but today there is no fear. I know only hope and tears that bless you for the wonder of living a life where you are, a life where you work to bring me to the fullness of of life you desire for me.
You labor in me: You who cast the nebulae into the cold darkness of space, who command Orion to illumine the night watches, who are the illimitable Source from whom all life streams from eternity into time, who are beyond human intellection and knowing, beyond light and darkness, beyond being and non being, beyond wonder and imagination, who are the impenetrable abyss no eye has see and no ear heard, you who quilt all life together in arrays of color and connection that dazzle the understanding: You, who are Unspeakable Wonder, labor in the crowded halls of my heart, clearing the room to bring fullness of salvation and simplicity so that all that matters is your love alone.
And I? I shall work and move with confidence, not doubt and second guessing. For you whose single work is life, labor also to abundant life for me, in me, through me. In the heart’s crowded halls, I shall listen for the voice of your desire for peace, for love, for life, for hope, knowing you are there, O Unspeakable Mystery. And should I mistake another's voice for your call, I shall yet know greater forgiveness, and your holy desire will yet be done despite my failings. So let me live. Amen.
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