Little things

 August, 8, 2020

[A] bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!’ When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, ‘Get up and do not be afraid.’ And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. (Matthew 17:5-8)

Little things

My daughter’s yellow lab, Bailey, knows the meaning of life. Her most frequent pose is to roll from side to back and expose her stomach so the rest of us can fulfill the meaning of our lives, which is to rub her belly.

She knows that we exist for her comfort, and this little thing assures her that all is well with the world. Scratch her belly, and she’ll never forget you.

Small gestures speak volumes in her world, really, in any world. A nod, a glance, a whispered word or even slightest touch can shout great love and care in ways that only a beloved can see and understand.

So I am drawn to the moment Jesus walks to his frightened friend and touches them—on the head, I suppose, since they crouched on the ground hiding their eyes from what, to them, was a fearful vision.

It’s a little thing, so small one wonders why the story teller bothered to record it, especially in his account of a powerful vision where the voice of God is heard. But it is this touch, not the voice or the vision, that I find most, well, touching.

It exudes care, gentleness, affection, tenderness, understanding—things we crave as much or more than Bailey likes her belly rubs.

Jesus doesn’t walk by his frightened friends. He touches them and in doing so touches me, touches all of us with the Love our souls long have craved.

“Get up. Do not be afraid,” Jesus said to the disciples with him. I’m thankful for those words, but I can barely hear them over the sound of his silent touch, telling me exactly what I need to know.

Pr. David L. Miller

Morning light

Then Jesus called the crowd to him and said to them, ‘Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.’ (Matthew 15:10-11)

Morning light

Early morning sunlight gilds the front room even through the tightly drawn blinds. The blinds, though white, glow, afire and gilt as bullion as the new day streams between the slats, flooding floor and walls, assaulting heavy eyes that are not yet ready to receive the gift.

The gift, of course, is this day. Ready or not, it comes from the Infinite Source of every new day, a Source we no more understand than we understand the mystery of our own existence.

For this, too, is a gift from that Secret Source who gives existence to that which is not: ex nihilo, out of nothing life comes, in the language of ancient theologians no one has yet improved upon.

My life, your life, the profusion of plants and animals I blithely pass during each walk through the woods, all of it exists even though once it was nothing, even though once there was … nothing.

Everything that is, including the imponderable mystery that I as a human soul should exist, all of it is simply given, existence to that which was not. I suppose this means that the nature of that Source we call God is to give, to share, to grant the privilege of being to that which otherwise would not be.

Gratitude is the only logical response, except for sharing, of course. Our nature is a gift of the One whose nature it is to give and share that life may abound. We are given life that we may share it. That is the message in the morning light.  

Anything less defiles the divine purpose inscribed on every human soul. So, today, let us live the lessons of the light. Perhaps we, too, may glow, alive and afire as the birth of this day.

Pr. David L. Miller

Longing for home

Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. (Matthew 13:13-14)

Longing for Home

Were I a film maker, I would freeze this moment. I’d fix the camera on Jesus’ face as he stands on the rocky beach, his face panning the crowd.

I’d let it linger on his face, then close in on his eyes, letting the mystery he is unfold in our hearts until the compassion in his soul brings tears to our eyes.

Feeling this, we’d know the meaning of that indefinable longing that rises unexpected within us. It comes in moments when beauty or grace or love or even suffering awakens this yearning, an unquenchable craving for something we cannot quite name, except maybe … home.

Behind every desire lies this one, this pining for a Love that is more than love, a Beauty that is more than beauty, a Healing that is final because it is the answer to that longing we have carried all our lives.

Seeing Jesus’ eyes, I know that for which every soul aches. We yearn to feel whatever is in him in us, to know his soul within our own … at that unreachable place which is the source of our longing.

We crave unbroken oneness with this Love. Only this satisfies our souls. This is the home for which our hungry hearts hunt in every moment and circumstance whether we recognize it or not.

Just I so, I stand beside him for a while, watching as he surveys the crowd, waiting for the moment that the Love in him awakens that Love within my own needy soul.

The moment may not come right away. I may need to wait. The wait may be long, but it will come … and carry me home.

Pr. David L Miller