Today’s text
Luke 16:1-6, 8
Then was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.’ Then the manager said to himself, ‘What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me in their homes.’ So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He answered, ‘A hundred jugs of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take you bill, sit quickly, and make it fifty.’ … And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly ….”
Prayer
We should thank you for this difficult story, Holy One, though it is hard to do. Most of us wouldn’t miss it had faithful scribes not preserved it for us to trip over. The tripping is good for us, or so we tell ourselves.
Jesus, your words invite us to take you seriously when our understanding is dark, and our minds find no familiar foot holds to leverage comprehension and buttress faith. We walk into this difficult story and enter a dense darkness that vision and understanding cannot penetrate.
And there you invite us beyond well-worn ways we have trod so often we walk them in our sleep. It is little wonder that souls who have loved you so dearly talk of dark nights and clouds of unknowing, of the hidden God and the negative way beyond where sign posts of sight and sound mark the journey.
The journey into you, Jesus, leads, sooner or later, into the darkness where we walk by naked faith or not at all. There come times when we do not see the way ahead and the way behind is closed to us, when the only choice is to freeze in fear or put one foot ahead of the other in hope that your light and gracious presence will again become sensible to our flesh.
The night can endure for an evening … or for years; it is a darkness of soul some of your great ones endured for decades. I doubt I have the faith for that, but I am glad for them. Their witness invites me deeper into your mystery. They light candles of hope in my soul.
There are days when I know that I know nothing and that nothing is my truest knowledge of you, and humble silence is greatest praise of your unspeakability. But today I will speak.
Praise the Holy and blessed Trinity. Give praise all creation, all the souls of earth lost in the darkness of your understanding. Shout out your praise for the darkness you enter is the embrace of Eternal Wonder.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Friday, September 28, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 16:1-6, 8
The Jesus said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.’ Then the manager said to himself, ‘What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me in their homes.’ So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He answered, ‘A hundred jugs of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take you bill, sit quickly, and make it fifty.’ … And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly ….”
Prayer
Tell me, Jesus, what is the point of comparison here? My mind reels and collapses upon itself in a ruined heap. Shall I look at the dishonest manager or at the master—or both? But then the message moves in such different ways that comprehension escapes me.
The manager is a scoundrel, but he acts with energy and passion when crisis comes. Do you then tell me to act as decisively in response to your words, your presence, your kingdom coming to upset the tidiness of my life?
Or do I look at the master who not only refuses to punish but praises the scoundrel--and imagine that normal standards of justice and order are abolished in your kingdom? I know and believe this, but your words so jar and disorient me that I am left wondering: Is there is anything in my life that must not come unhinged and unglued if I am to belong to you, once and for all, fully and whole?
Or is this your challenge and call to my soul? Must I surrender all that I am, my possessions, my will—my understanding of how life is? Is this strange tale, so resistant to common explanations, a call to acknowledge that you are God and I am not, and that I really know and understand nothing?
In your words, Jesus, I hear your holy prerogative to define reality—to shape who and what I am to be—though I may understand nothing of it and remain utterly in the dark about what you are doing and where you are leading. If so, grant me such faith to surrender all to you, knowing that it is your grace that leads even when all I see contradicts it.
Awaken in me a faith willing to endure the darkness of all understanding.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 16:1-6, 8
The Jesus said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.’ Then the manager said to himself, ‘What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me in their homes.’ So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He answered, ‘A hundred jugs of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take you bill, sit quickly, and make it fifty.’ … And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly ….”
Prayer
Tell me, Jesus, what is the point of comparison here? My mind reels and collapses upon itself in a ruined heap. Shall I look at the dishonest manager or at the master—or both? But then the message moves in such different ways that comprehension escapes me.
The manager is a scoundrel, but he acts with energy and passion when crisis comes. Do you then tell me to act as decisively in response to your words, your presence, your kingdom coming to upset the tidiness of my life?
Or do I look at the master who not only refuses to punish but praises the scoundrel--and imagine that normal standards of justice and order are abolished in your kingdom? I know and believe this, but your words so jar and disorient me that I am left wondering: Is there is anything in my life that must not come unhinged and unglued if I am to belong to you, once and for all, fully and whole?
Or is this your challenge and call to my soul? Must I surrender all that I am, my possessions, my will—my understanding of how life is? Is this strange tale, so resistant to common explanations, a call to acknowledge that you are God and I am not, and that I really know and understand nothing?
In your words, Jesus, I hear your holy prerogative to define reality—to shape who and what I am to be—though I may understand nothing of it and remain utterly in the dark about what you are doing and where you are leading. If so, grant me such faith to surrender all to you, knowing that it is your grace that leads even when all I see contradicts it.
Awaken in me a faith willing to endure the darkness of all understanding.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 16:1-6, 8
Then Jesus said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.’ Then the manager said to himself, ‘What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me in their homes.’ So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He answered, ‘A hundred jugs of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take you bill, sit quickly, and make it fifty.’ … And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly ….”
Prayer
That you should find anything praiseworthy in dishonest dealing defies our logic, Jesus. But this may be the first sign that we have understood you properly, though we are totally confused and understand nothing at all. For your ways are not ours. Your reign contradicts the protocols that order our lives. And we know we have truly heard you when our dizzy minds implode in the gravity of vertigo.
A dishonest manager uses wealth not his own to ingratiate himself. He makes friends by giving away another’s property so they will help him when soon he is unemployed. The holy reign of God is like this, Jesus?
All the manager understood was that his time was up; he had to act decisively to save himself--now. It was time to burn his bridges, knowing the future could never be like the past.
Is this what made him shrewd, Jesus? Is this why you praise this scoundrel, because he knew the time?
Maybe. But if so, then may I be as shrewd as he, knowing that your holy reign has appeared, breaking the old protocols which ordered my life, shattering them when your resurrection exploded death and left it in tatters. A new time has come, and the unconquerable love I see in you is the face of the future and truest beauty in the present.
Tune my ear to the melody of your future that I might sing the songs of tomorrow.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 16:1-6, 8
Then Jesus said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.’ Then the manager said to himself, ‘What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me in their homes.’ So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He answered, ‘A hundred jugs of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take you bill, sit quickly, and make it fifty.’ … And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly ….”
Prayer
That you should find anything praiseworthy in dishonest dealing defies our logic, Jesus. But this may be the first sign that we have understood you properly, though we are totally confused and understand nothing at all. For your ways are not ours. Your reign contradicts the protocols that order our lives. And we know we have truly heard you when our dizzy minds implode in the gravity of vertigo.
A dishonest manager uses wealth not his own to ingratiate himself. He makes friends by giving away another’s property so they will help him when soon he is unemployed. The holy reign of God is like this, Jesus?
All the manager understood was that his time was up; he had to act decisively to save himself--now. It was time to burn his bridges, knowing the future could never be like the past.
Is this what made him shrewd, Jesus? Is this why you praise this scoundrel, because he knew the time?
Maybe. But if so, then may I be as shrewd as he, knowing that your holy reign has appeared, breaking the old protocols which ordered my life, shattering them when your resurrection exploded death and left it in tatters. A new time has come, and the unconquerable love I see in you is the face of the future and truest beauty in the present.
Tune my ear to the melody of your future that I might sing the songs of tomorrow.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, September 24, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 16:1-6, 8
The Jesus said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.’ Then the manager said to himself, ‘What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me in their homes.’ So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He answered, ‘A hundred jugs of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take you bill, sit quickly, and make it fifty.’ … And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly ….”
Prayer
So quickly I identify with the dishonest steward, Jesus. The reason is as immediate and inescapable as my own body. I am well familiar with the rush of anxiety streaming through his veins as I scramble to fulfill what of this ministry I am capable, much of the time carefully calculating what is required for survival.
Yet my love of you does not wane, and it will not. I dwell in the knowing smile that crosses your face as I survey the jumbled clamor of my service. I bump and jolt along from one emergency to the next, one tight deadline to an impossible one, one improvisation to another, one struggling heart to the pains of others, and so it goes.
On I go, with little more than my wits, a smattering of knowledge and a smidgen of experience--and your love that refuses to let me go. You smile on my efforts even as I have smiled at the stumbling first steps of my grandsons. I understand them. My lurching about in your service, Jesus, is little different from their maturing efforts, only they learn more quickly than I do.
But if you can show kindness to the despicable who shrewdly seek to serve your glory—even while protecting themselves, then may your face continue to shine on me. And grant assurance that even my jumbled efforts please and serve the intention of love in which you hold all that is.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 16:1-6, 8
The Jesus said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.’ Then the manager said to himself, ‘What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me in their homes.’ So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He answered, ‘A hundred jugs of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take you bill, sit quickly, and make it fifty.’ … And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly ….”
Prayer
So quickly I identify with the dishonest steward, Jesus. The reason is as immediate and inescapable as my own body. I am well familiar with the rush of anxiety streaming through his veins as I scramble to fulfill what of this ministry I am capable, much of the time carefully calculating what is required for survival.
Yet my love of you does not wane, and it will not. I dwell in the knowing smile that crosses your face as I survey the jumbled clamor of my service. I bump and jolt along from one emergency to the next, one tight deadline to an impossible one, one improvisation to another, one struggling heart to the pains of others, and so it goes.
On I go, with little more than my wits, a smattering of knowledge and a smidgen of experience--and your love that refuses to let me go. You smile on my efforts even as I have smiled at the stumbling first steps of my grandsons. I understand them. My lurching about in your service, Jesus, is little different from their maturing efforts, only they learn more quickly than I do.
But if you can show kindness to the despicable who shrewdly seek to serve your glory—even while protecting themselves, then may your face continue to shine on me. And grant assurance that even my jumbled efforts please and serve the intention of love in which you hold all that is.
Pr. David L. Miller
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