Drawn forward

 As you go, proclaim the good news, “’The kingdom of heaven has come near.’” (Matthew 10:7)

Thoughts and images flash into consciousness, one after another, often passing away as quickly as they appear. But some return and linger, seeming to bear a message we need to hear.

One moment, one image keeps drawing me back to a small, side chapel in a Spanish cathedral where I gazed at a black Jesus hanging on a knotted, wooden cross. His body twisted, tortured and lifeless, his humanity stripped away, the suffering and sadness the world inflicts and endures hangs there, emblemized in this one man.

Seeing it again, alive in my mind, a flood of images races through me even on these bright, summer days while walking Bailey, my daughter’s dog: Places I’ve been. Things I’ve said and done that cause me shame. People I have known whom I have blessed or disappointed. Places and moments of human suffering I will never forget.

And amid this flood of graces and joys I hardly deserve, and moments I’d erase if I could, there hangs this Jesus, suffering the worst the world can give, yet still loving, forgiving and blessing, even his torturers.

If there is anything truly divine in human history, truly transcendent, it is this moment ... and this tortured man whose love didn’t break, fail or dissolve into hatred when hatred poured its fury on his flesh.

This image, this Love draws me not into the past but ahead, into the future of what we each might become as we savor the moment of Love’s great victory over all that is not love, knowing this Love is for us, drawing us close to heal and transform us into its image for the sake of a broken world.

The kingdom of heaven is the wonder of Love transforming time. It is the transcendent Love in Jesus pulling us beyond what we are, beyond what has been, into the future of what Love will do.

Most of us are drawn into God’s future kicking and screaming, resisting Love’s holy gravity because of fear, ego, envy, pride, old angers and the conviction that loving is foolish and naïve, instead of the only thing that can save us from ourselves and each other.

But Love is patient and never ends, tugging at our hearts, restless in our souls, drawing us near to feel its transcendent power. It just keeps coming.

David L. Miller

The first word

 Whatever house you enter, first say, “Peace to this house!” And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide ... Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, “The kingdom of God has come near to you.” (Luke 10:5-7a, 8b-9)

For decades, I have closed notes and emails with a single word, “Peace.” It always was and remains a prayer for myself and for what I want to prevail between myself and the person to whom I am writing. I sometimes use the grace of this blessing and hope as my parting word in conversation.

It’s a good final word, but perhaps an even better first word. It is the word Jesus placed in the minds of those he sent into a world every bit as conflicted, dangerous and cynical as our riven era.

“First, say peace,” he told them. Some will welcome you. Some will not. Don’t worry about them so much, he counseled. Stay and share blessings with those who welcome you, for the kingdom of God’s peace will appear around their tables.

And you will feel it. No, Jesus doesn’t explicitly say that, but I know it to be true.

I have known its truth around tables and while sharing meals sitting in the dust of every continent where I traveled and reported. I’ve felt it in the presence of souls so much more loving and alive than my own. And I know it to be true in common moments of human sharing, even an evening ago as my beloved, Dixie, and I sat at a table over wine and cheese with our friends from Germany. Their son fast asleep upstairs, we talked, just talked, sharing bits and pieces of what had happened during the three years an ocean separated us.

In the midst of conversation about families and children, DIY projects and pitfalls, the kingdom of God’s hospitality settled over us. We felt it, surely, knowing God’s presence as the Love who swept us into its flow, breathing life into our mortal flesh, lifting us into the peace of eternity as heaven came to earth and hovered around the Formica of a kitchen table, making us glad to be alive.

Who knew it could be so? Jesus knew. He sent his friends and followers into a frightening world filled with foreign dominators and injustice, giving them only a first word, a word to speak and be, Peace.

He knew what we can still discover by entering each moment, each encounter with a word of peace, a gesture of grace, knowing the kingdom of God’s love is closer and more wonderful than we imagine.

We don’t make it happen. We just open ourselves to the possibility with a single word, Peace. The rest is all gift, a gift God is breathlessly eager to give. 

David L. Miller