Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Today’s text

Luke 17:7-10

[Jesus said,] “Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, ‘Come here at once and take your place at the table?’ Would you not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink?’ Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless slaves, we have done only what we ought to have done!’”

Prayer

The words of slaves fill me: “we have done only what we ought to have done.” I sink into the space they create, and peace floods my being. Why, Jesus?

I know; it’s simple: I crave their freedom.

In graced moments, I taste the sweet liberty of expecting nothing, no thanks or praise, no special recognition or reward. It matters not if any one notices or speaks words of respect or appreciation.

None are needed, for I have you. And it is sufficient to know you in the invisible graces of daily duty, even if all that comes is criticism.

This is a strange freedom, one that you alone grant, Jesus. It is the liberty of the flowers that bloom whether or not anyone stops to notice. They do what you fashioned them to do, content to strew your prodigal beauty along the way, unbothered by human passions for significance.

They reveal a way beyond the frustrated cravings of human souls for recognition or affirmation. I long to dwell in this land always, not just make occasional visits.

For there the rare clarity of air fresh and free fills my lungs, even as you fill my heart.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Today’s text

Luke 17:5-6

The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” The Lord replied, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, “be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”

Prayer

What do you mean, Jesus? I want to see your face. Do you say this as if your friends--and I--have no faith at all? Or is that a wry grin that flashes across your lips, suggesting that we should stop worrying, since we have what we need?

We read your word and encounter your otherness, often unable to make comfortable sense of you and what you are saying. But most often I cannot hear your heart because I am in the way. I read through eyes clouded with self-concern. I hear through my anxieties about my acceptability, my unlovliness, my intuitive awareness that I am not much.

And that’s just the problem, isn’t it Jesus? I am so busy seeing myself I fail to see you. I am so preoccupied with my paucity that I can’t perceive your immensity. You would soak me to the soul in your boundless ocean of love and grace were I not captive in this capsule of self.

My faith is small, but that is not your concern, is it? Nor is it the point. You would have me see you, know you, allowing my tiny heart to be loved into self-forgetfulness by your great heart. You care not a wit for the size of my faith but with joy and laughter would enlarge my heart to hold more of you, if only: if only I will look at you and not at myself.

So let me look, and looking see, and seeing love, and loving know … you, who are so much larger than my heart.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, October 08, 2007

Monday, October 8, 2007

Today’s text

Luke 17:5-6

The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” The Lord replied, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, “be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”

Prayer

The morning comes too early, Jesus. The restless night of tossing fogs my mind with fatigue. Each thought comes encased in cloud. It is Monday, and my body cries for sleep.

If I had faith as a grain of mustard seed, would sleep so easily evade me? Would I quietly rest when I lay my head on the pillow? Would my soul release its obsessive frets, assured that your abundance will amply supply no matter what awaits me? Would my sleep then be an act of worship, offering holy praise of your goodness?

Yet, I know, Holy One: I face nothing alone, for even such small faith as mine bears a treasure—You. What is faith but your presence, your Spirit, in the soul turning my eyes toward Home?

You, whom all the world cannot contain, dwell in this anxious soul. Even on my tired days, You grant such faith that I may hear it whisper, “I am enough for you. You have what you need to know me, to love me, to serve me, to rest in my immensity.”

So I will not pray, increase my faith, Dearest One. No, let me attend such faith as dwells in this soul that I may hear you and know that you are always sufficient to the day.

Pr. David L. Miller