Today’s text
Luke 14:33
“So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.”
Prayer
This should be a somber song, Jesus, but I hear your words and smile, and I wonder: Do you, too, wear a wry grin as you speak them? You should.
I am possessed by desires and needs, wants and compulsions all of which leave me in anxious bondage. I wake in the wee hours wondering: how will I get my work done? How can I redeem my clumsy failures of speech and leadership? Why did say that” How could I forget this? Is there anything in me worth sharing?
I cannot keep this melancholy soul afloat when night demons cackle. They stir a restless sea of anxiety over status and ego, affirmation and failure, revealing again that I am possessed by what some lost part of me imagines is required to justify this life.
And you come along, Jesus, telling me to give it all up. Little wonder that your words make me smile. You invite me to drop what is in my hands that I may embrace you, and find, finally, the day break of love eternal before which my melancholy flies and night demons flee.
May this smile give you praise all the day long.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Thursday, September 13, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 14:28-30
“For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, “This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.”
Prayer
You trick us, Jesus, and your words are not fair. How can we count the cost of following you? We cannot read the future. Our eyes are too weak to penetrate time. The cost of serving you can never be counted in advance.
We have no advance warning system to alert us how breathtakingly difficult life can become. We possess no cup capable of measuring our sweat or tears in advance. We do not know what scenes we will be forced to watch or what suffering our mortal bodies will bear before we are done. Already I carry a host of images that break my heart, and I know there are more to come. Just what? Who can know?
Perhaps that is blessing. If we knew … could we live … now?
But I fear my questions miss the mark. It doesn’t seem to matter to you how hard or how much struggle will test our strength. For, there is no bait and switch with you, Jesus. You ask for all, for my life, from the beginning, so does it matter what is to come? Either I enter the struggle to give all--whatever comes--or I refuse it.
I entered that struggle long ago. That foundation was laid by loving souls who moved me to love you. Now, in the midst of life, I don’t know if I am a capable of finishing what they started decades past. I understand the weakness of human resolve all too well--and trust it thoroughly, especially my own.
I know neither the future nor my own strength, Jesus. But I do know you. And it is you, not me, who completes the tower. So take my fear and weakness, my uncertainty and questions, and melt them all in the heat of your love. That will be enough for me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 14:28-30
“For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, “This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.”
Prayer
You trick us, Jesus, and your words are not fair. How can we count the cost of following you? We cannot read the future. Our eyes are too weak to penetrate time. The cost of serving you can never be counted in advance.
We have no advance warning system to alert us how breathtakingly difficult life can become. We possess no cup capable of measuring our sweat or tears in advance. We do not know what scenes we will be forced to watch or what suffering our mortal bodies will bear before we are done. Already I carry a host of images that break my heart, and I know there are more to come. Just what? Who can know?
Perhaps that is blessing. If we knew … could we live … now?
But I fear my questions miss the mark. It doesn’t seem to matter to you how hard or how much struggle will test our strength. For, there is no bait and switch with you, Jesus. You ask for all, for my life, from the beginning, so does it matter what is to come? Either I enter the struggle to give all--whatever comes--or I refuse it.
I entered that struggle long ago. That foundation was laid by loving souls who moved me to love you. Now, in the midst of life, I don’t know if I am a capable of finishing what they started decades past. I understand the weakness of human resolve all too well--and trust it thoroughly, especially my own.
I know neither the future nor my own strength, Jesus. But I do know you. And it is you, not me, who completes the tower. So take my fear and weakness, my uncertainty and questions, and melt them all in the heat of your love. That will be enough for me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 14:27
“Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”
Prayer
What is this cross I am to carry, Jesus? Do I know; will I ever? And why do I feel care slipping from my soul?
I have never believed that you call us to soul killing labor or lonely isolation that drains us of the spark of joy. Surely, struggle marks our life in you, since your ways are not ours. And it takes a lifetime of struggle to know them; even then we know next to nothing.
But I have long thought that even the crosses we carry, in their own way, stir faith, hope and love in us--and joy, that joy in giving and serving we know in moments when we are truly alive and vibrant. Such life is your desire for us.
I hunger for this buoyancy because joy slips through my fingers and my heart languors. But I wonder: is this yearning for elusive joy an avoidance of the labor to which you call me? Or is it a holy whisper telling me I am going the wrong way--that the cross that drains care from my soul is not mine to bear? I just don’t know.
All I know is that I need you, your presence, your nearness, your tenderness, your help my brother. Without you, I can carry nothing, certainly not the cross of divine love for the world that you bore in and out of troubled days.
Grant us clear vision of how we may best follow you, Jesus. And let our hearts drink the joy of your nearness, especially when we lose our way and lonely questions close upon us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 14:27
“Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”
Prayer
What is this cross I am to carry, Jesus? Do I know; will I ever? And why do I feel care slipping from my soul?
I have never believed that you call us to soul killing labor or lonely isolation that drains us of the spark of joy. Surely, struggle marks our life in you, since your ways are not ours. And it takes a lifetime of struggle to know them; even then we know next to nothing.
But I have long thought that even the crosses we carry, in their own way, stir faith, hope and love in us--and joy, that joy in giving and serving we know in moments when we are truly alive and vibrant. Such life is your desire for us.
I hunger for this buoyancy because joy slips through my fingers and my heart languors. But I wonder: is this yearning for elusive joy an avoidance of the labor to which you call me? Or is it a holy whisper telling me I am going the wrong way--that the cross that drains care from my soul is not mine to bear? I just don’t know.
All I know is that I need you, your presence, your nearness, your tenderness, your help my brother. Without you, I can carry nothing, certainly not the cross of divine love for the world that you bore in and out of troubled days.
Grant us clear vision of how we may best follow you, Jesus. And let our hearts drink the joy of your nearness, especially when we lose our way and lonely questions close upon us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, September 10, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 14:25-27
Now large crowds were traveling with [Jesus]; and he turned and said to them, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”
Prayer
You certainly know how to thin out a crowd, Jesus. Who can listen to this and want you? Many must have withdrawn from your side. Others, too enthralled with you to leave, surely scratched their skulls raw wondering if you meant it, and if so, how?
Is this a case of pedagogical exaggeration? I guess. But this takes the sting away too easily, glibly passing over the oddness I have always felt about you.
Loving you makes us odd, or at least it always has such effect on me. I hold fast the outrageous claim that you live, and live incarnate in the lives of all who love. I confess you as Lord of my and all life, believing that our lives do not belong to us but are to be lived faithfully in your service.
And I do this in a culture that celebrates the “cult of me,” worshiping king ego, sacrificing soul, substance even children to the fashionable whim of the moment with little thought of what endures. So much of it leaves me cold, a chill revealing the very good news that my heart belongs to a world that makes me strange in this one that so frequently lacks loving reverence for life.
So permit me to odd again, Jesus. For, I don’t find your words strange at all; arresting certainly, but beneath their surface flows the current of freedom carrying us to love what is Love and to find our home in what endures.
Fill our senses with the world of grace you bring, Jesus, that we may be the full expression your love intends in us. Freed and unhindered by the judgments of others, we will focus solely on what love and grace require. Strange it is, that any should find this odd.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 14:25-27
Now large crowds were traveling with [Jesus]; and he turned and said to them, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”
Prayer
You certainly know how to thin out a crowd, Jesus. Who can listen to this and want you? Many must have withdrawn from your side. Others, too enthralled with you to leave, surely scratched their skulls raw wondering if you meant it, and if so, how?
Is this a case of pedagogical exaggeration? I guess. But this takes the sting away too easily, glibly passing over the oddness I have always felt about you.
Loving you makes us odd, or at least it always has such effect on me. I hold fast the outrageous claim that you live, and live incarnate in the lives of all who love. I confess you as Lord of my and all life, believing that our lives do not belong to us but are to be lived faithfully in your service.
And I do this in a culture that celebrates the “cult of me,” worshiping king ego, sacrificing soul, substance even children to the fashionable whim of the moment with little thought of what endures. So much of it leaves me cold, a chill revealing the very good news that my heart belongs to a world that makes me strange in this one that so frequently lacks loving reverence for life.
So permit me to odd again, Jesus. For, I don’t find your words strange at all; arresting certainly, but beneath their surface flows the current of freedom carrying us to love what is Love and to find our home in what endures.
Fill our senses with the world of grace you bring, Jesus, that we may be the full expression your love intends in us. Freed and unhindered by the judgments of others, we will focus solely on what love and grace require. Strange it is, that any should find this odd.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, September 07, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 14:12-14
[Jesus] said to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
Prayer
You do want not us to miss a single joy, do you Jesus? You want us to share the ancient elation that bubbles in your depths, lest we miss the divine delight by which and for which we are made. You want us to taste the ecstasy of God’s own heart that we know the One from whom our beings spring fresh each morning.
So you welcome, no, you urge us toward the joy of the blessedness of God. The Loving Mystery delights to give life to those who possess nothing to repay the divine majesty for the gift of being. We possess and are nothing but for the generosity of the Joyous Spring of Life of whom you, Jesus, are the face.
With the gift of being filling our lungs, you invite us to share God’s delight by giving as God lives, living as God loves, loving as God is. You invite us to share in the being of Being Itself by giving with no expectation of return, but for the crazy liberating joy of this divine madness.
And it would be madness, but for the tears that unexpectedly appear in moments of such loving, revealing a fulfillment of soul beyond human expectation.
So invite us far beyond what is expected, Jesus. There we will know you in the joy and freedom of God you are eager to share. We need and want nothing more.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 14:12-14
[Jesus] said to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
Prayer
You do want not us to miss a single joy, do you Jesus? You want us to share the ancient elation that bubbles in your depths, lest we miss the divine delight by which and for which we are made. You want us to taste the ecstasy of God’s own heart that we know the One from whom our beings spring fresh each morning.
So you welcome, no, you urge us toward the joy of the blessedness of God. The Loving Mystery delights to give life to those who possess nothing to repay the divine majesty for the gift of being. We possess and are nothing but for the generosity of the Joyous Spring of Life of whom you, Jesus, are the face.
With the gift of being filling our lungs, you invite us to share God’s delight by giving as God lives, living as God loves, loving as God is. You invite us to share in the being of Being Itself by giving with no expectation of return, but for the crazy liberating joy of this divine madness.
And it would be madness, but for the tears that unexpectedly appear in moments of such loving, revealing a fulfillment of soul beyond human expectation.
So invite us far beyond what is expected, Jesus. There we will know you in the joy and freedom of God you are eager to share. We need and want nothing more.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 14:1,7-10
On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the Sabbath, they were watching him closely. …When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you many come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place.’ And then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend move up higher;’ then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you.”
Prayer
We are all beggars, aren’t we Jesus? We are all guests of a greater generosity which gives life and is Life. You are that generosity, the face of the ultimate hospitality that breathes life into all that lives. The only proper posture before you--and each other--is the humility of reality.
Only the humble recognize that our life, our being and presence on this planet, is the decision of a will not our own, the creation of a power we don’t manage, the residue of a Mystery whose joy is making life and movement and beauty.
The humble know that joy is not the power we possess or the status we hold in the eyes of others but the joy of just being at the banquet of life with you. You set the table that all may know your goodness, which we only sample at this end of the banquet table.
Soon enough, too soon, we graduate to that far end of the table where saints and martyrs, witnesses and faithful ones, dine with you face to face and tears have other meaning.
Until then, may our hearts savor the breath in our lungs, the gorgeous curves and sharp crevices of earth, the morning sun and autumnal shadows, the successes and set backs we meet, and more: the love shining in your face, Jesus. All this is banquet unending, and joy is just being there with you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 14:1,7-10
On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the Sabbath, they were watching him closely. …When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you many come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place.’ And then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend move up higher;’ then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you.”
Prayer
We are all beggars, aren’t we Jesus? We are all guests of a greater generosity which gives life and is Life. You are that generosity, the face of the ultimate hospitality that breathes life into all that lives. The only proper posture before you--and each other--is the humility of reality.
Only the humble recognize that our life, our being and presence on this planet, is the decision of a will not our own, the creation of a power we don’t manage, the residue of a Mystery whose joy is making life and movement and beauty.
The humble know that joy is not the power we possess or the status we hold in the eyes of others but the joy of just being at the banquet of life with you. You set the table that all may know your goodness, which we only sample at this end of the banquet table.
Soon enough, too soon, we graduate to that far end of the table where saints and martyrs, witnesses and faithful ones, dine with you face to face and tears have other meaning.
Until then, may our hearts savor the breath in our lungs, the gorgeous curves and sharp crevices of earth, the morning sun and autumnal shadows, the successes and set backs we meet, and more: the love shining in your face, Jesus. All this is banquet unending, and joy is just being there with you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 14:1,7-8
On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the Sabbath, they were watching him closely. …When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host ….”
Prayer
I love your freedom, Jesus. Your opponents watch you, yet you boldly walk into the places of their strength, unbowed by the fears of judgment and rejection that send me running from myself … and you.
With assurance you step into your future, knowing who you are and what are to do. You are ready, even eager to reveal the shape of a new age that reflects the healing purpose of the Loving Mystery who consumes you. Nothing else matters, and that passion will, indeed, consume all that you are. It will bring your destruction.
Hence, our fear, Jesus. We flee such perfect passion as your own, cutting our conscience lest you lead us to stand before others with nothing to commend us other than the promise of your nearness.
Yet, we are here, starting again, ready to learn and, we hope, to be captured by your word and Spirit and led into places unknown. And that makes us afraid. So we ask: Give us the freedom of soul to we who, so often, are enslaved by fears of judgment, rejection and futures our eyes cannot penetrate.
Fill us with the wild passion for God’s blessed reign that filled you. We know this will certainly lead us into fear and uncertainty, but we will also know you. And that will be enough for us, even as we walk into this new day on our continuing journey in you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 14:1,7-8
On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the Sabbath, they were watching him closely. …When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host ….”
Prayer
I love your freedom, Jesus. Your opponents watch you, yet you boldly walk into the places of their strength, unbowed by the fears of judgment and rejection that send me running from myself … and you.
With assurance you step into your future, knowing who you are and what are to do. You are ready, even eager to reveal the shape of a new age that reflects the healing purpose of the Loving Mystery who consumes you. Nothing else matters, and that passion will, indeed, consume all that you are. It will bring your destruction.
Hence, our fear, Jesus. We flee such perfect passion as your own, cutting our conscience lest you lead us to stand before others with nothing to commend us other than the promise of your nearness.
Yet, we are here, starting again, ready to learn and, we hope, to be captured by your word and Spirit and led into places unknown. And that makes us afraid. So we ask: Give us the freedom of soul to we who, so often, are enslaved by fears of judgment, rejection and futures our eyes cannot penetrate.
Fill us with the wild passion for God’s blessed reign that filled you. We know this will certainly lead us into fear and uncertainty, but we will also know you. And that will be enough for us, even as we walk into this new day on our continuing journey in you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, August 31, 2007
Friday, August 31, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 13:14-16
But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured her on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the Sabbath day untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from bondage on the Sabbath day?”
Prayer
I want this day to be holy, blessed Friend. I want every day to be holy not just the sabbath. So come near to us, for there is no holiness without you.
Time and space, moments and years are made holy when they glisten with your presence. They are holy when, in blessed awareness, I stand in the presence of that which my mind cannot gather in, when I bask in this river of love and joy that overwhelms my senses and overflows the heart when I know your presence.
I have tasted your holiness, Jesus. And I know: Holiness is not marked by good order. It startles and surprises. It wears unsuspected and unsuspecting faces. It does not prefer convention. Nor does it appear on my time table or when we have carefully observed the protocols with which we try to ensure decency and respect. It has nothing to do with rules and regulations or with the moral and intellectual accomplishments of which we are unduly proud.
Holiness is revealed solely in who you are and the healing of life that blossoms in the warmth of your nearness.
You are holy, my Jesus, you alone, in the blessed Trinity of whose beauty you are the face. Days and moments, time and space share in your holiness as they are filled with your healing love. Divine love and the joyous freedom it unleashes are the marks of true sanctity; anything else is an imposter to be cast out.
So let your nearness wash over us, Jesus, that we may bask in that holiness of life and love that heals our hearts and the heart of a wounded world.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 13:14-16
But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured her on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the Sabbath day untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from bondage on the Sabbath day?”
Prayer
I want this day to be holy, blessed Friend. I want every day to be holy not just the sabbath. So come near to us, for there is no holiness without you.
Time and space, moments and years are made holy when they glisten with your presence. They are holy when, in blessed awareness, I stand in the presence of that which my mind cannot gather in, when I bask in this river of love and joy that overwhelms my senses and overflows the heart when I know your presence.
I have tasted your holiness, Jesus. And I know: Holiness is not marked by good order. It startles and surprises. It wears unsuspected and unsuspecting faces. It does not prefer convention. Nor does it appear on my time table or when we have carefully observed the protocols with which we try to ensure decency and respect. It has nothing to do with rules and regulations or with the moral and intellectual accomplishments of which we are unduly proud.
Holiness is revealed solely in who you are and the healing of life that blossoms in the warmth of your nearness.
You are holy, my Jesus, you alone, in the blessed Trinity of whose beauty you are the face. Days and moments, time and space share in your holiness as they are filled with your healing love. Divine love and the joyous freedom it unleashes are the marks of true sanctity; anything else is an imposter to be cast out.
So let your nearness wash over us, Jesus, that we may bask in that holiness of life and love that heals our hearts and the heart of a wounded world.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 13:11-13
And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God.
Prayer
It is time again, Jesus, time to buckle our belts and leave summer’s languor, entering again the rigors of autumnal disciplines. We are seldom if ever ready for the change that sweeps too quickly over us, a wave of reality bearing us back to the duties from which we’d (at least) tried to distance ourselves for rest and Sabbath. Occasionally, we were successful, and we promise ourselves that we will do better next year. Right.
Now, we gather ourselves and begin again a new year, a new semester. There are new faces to learn and the challenge of knowing and trying to love each of them as best we can, while feeding the ravenous desire for paper of various bureaucracies which pretend to know us better than they do.
But only you know us, Jesus. And you know there are and will be days, too many to number, when we will desperately need you to touch us that we may stand straight and praise you. Praising you is born of the strength and startled joy that you alone bring to us.
We know your touch, for you have touched us body and soul in the past. We know what it is to be liberated from the ailments of heart and mind that weigh us to earth so that our hearts do not soar. And soaring is your will for us. Of that I am convinced.
So touch us again with the presence of that love we know no where else. Feed us with word and blessed sacrament; surround us with hands and limbs that are sacraments of your holy and surprising grace. We crave your touch. We don’t want a single moment when we experience separation from you.
Call our names, touch our hearts that we, too, may straighten to praise your unfailing mercies and live filled with the joy you intend for us and for all. That will be our best praise of the wonder you are.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 13:11-13
And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God.
Prayer
It is time again, Jesus, time to buckle our belts and leave summer’s languor, entering again the rigors of autumnal disciplines. We are seldom if ever ready for the change that sweeps too quickly over us, a wave of reality bearing us back to the duties from which we’d (at least) tried to distance ourselves for rest and Sabbath. Occasionally, we were successful, and we promise ourselves that we will do better next year. Right.
Now, we gather ourselves and begin again a new year, a new semester. There are new faces to learn and the challenge of knowing and trying to love each of them as best we can, while feeding the ravenous desire for paper of various bureaucracies which pretend to know us better than they do.
But only you know us, Jesus. And you know there are and will be days, too many to number, when we will desperately need you to touch us that we may stand straight and praise you. Praising you is born of the strength and startled joy that you alone bring to us.
We know your touch, for you have touched us body and soul in the past. We know what it is to be liberated from the ailments of heart and mind that weigh us to earth so that our hearts do not soar. And soaring is your will for us. Of that I am convinced.
So touch us again with the presence of that love we know no where else. Feed us with word and blessed sacrament; surround us with hands and limbs that are sacraments of your holy and surprising grace. We crave your touch. We don’t want a single moment when we experience separation from you.
Call our names, touch our hearts that we, too, may straighten to praise your unfailing mercies and live filled with the joy you intend for us and for all. That will be our best praise of the wonder you are.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
August 28, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 13:11-12
And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.”
Prayer
More than once, Jesus, I have wanted to say these words, more than a thousand times. So many that I lost track decades ago. I remember children in bereft countries and circumstances wasting, wasting away, in slow grinding want and dusty deprivation. I remember bedsides at which I have kept vigil, especially the stained white tissues twisted taut in the hands of the beloved who also waited alongside.
We needed to hear those words. We needed to speak them to each other. We needed to know that there was someone who could say them to us when we could not. Because we could not.
I lack whatever gift of faith and holiness, whatever empowerment from on high is required to fill the words with the power that never returns empty. So I refused to risk arrogance and mockery and remained as silent as the mute witnesses of suffering whom I have accompanied.
Or did I? For, I said your words of promised presence and freedom again and again. So often, in fact, that together we came to believe what we could not yet see.
Older now, I grow more bold or foolish. Words of forgiveness and absolution come quick to the tongue. Words born of the Spirit of freedom race to release captives, to assure and to bless, to love and reveal your divine nearness to souls who struggle to see and know you here. I know my words are more powerful than I’d imagined. I know words are so powerful that their only proper use is to bless and set free.
So it seems, Jesus, that you have set me free from my ailment. May I do the same.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 13:11-12
And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.”
Prayer
More than once, Jesus, I have wanted to say these words, more than a thousand times. So many that I lost track decades ago. I remember children in bereft countries and circumstances wasting, wasting away, in slow grinding want and dusty deprivation. I remember bedsides at which I have kept vigil, especially the stained white tissues twisted taut in the hands of the beloved who also waited alongside.
We needed to hear those words. We needed to speak them to each other. We needed to know that there was someone who could say them to us when we could not. Because we could not.
I lack whatever gift of faith and holiness, whatever empowerment from on high is required to fill the words with the power that never returns empty. So I refused to risk arrogance and mockery and remained as silent as the mute witnesses of suffering whom I have accompanied.
Or did I? For, I said your words of promised presence and freedom again and again. So often, in fact, that together we came to believe what we could not yet see.
Older now, I grow more bold or foolish. Words of forgiveness and absolution come quick to the tongue. Words born of the Spirit of freedom race to release captives, to assure and to bless, to love and reveal your divine nearness to souls who struggle to see and know you here. I know my words are more powerful than I’d imagined. I know words are so powerful that their only proper use is to bless and set free.
So it seems, Jesus, that you have set me free from my ailment. May I do the same.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, August 27, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 13:10-11
Now [Jesus] was teaching in one of the synagogues on the Sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over was quite unable to stand up straight.
Prayer
I see her Jesus. I would rather look at you watching her to see what passes across of your face, to notice the set of your brow, the color of your eyes, to record whatever emotion moves you. I look at you, but you let me see nothing of what I want, only a blank face I cannot read, and the message seems clear: “Look at her. If you would see me, look at her.”
But looking at the woman, bent and stooped, she grows transparent. I look not at but through her to faces, broken bodies and spirits I have known only too well, souls for whom I have cared and about whom I have written, including my own dear father, resting now in the immense mercy of your eternity.
Bless him this day, my brother. Bless all the broken ones like him, so ground down by life they cry to the lonely darkness for some presence, some Presence to whisper that they are not alone. I have seen their faces, and I know the terror of abandonment magnifies their sorrow beyond human endurance.
Bear them whole in your own divine heart that they may ever know they are in you. Whisper again that they are embraced in your all-enveloping love despite the sorrow that endures until broken by the morning light you alone bring to our souls, making us alive again.
Open our eyes to see them that we may be the whisper of your eternal morning amid their darkness. For in seeing them, we see you and know again your heart, broken for the love of them all, and of me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 13:10-11
Now [Jesus] was teaching in one of the synagogues on the Sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over was quite unable to stand up straight.
Prayer
I see her Jesus. I would rather look at you watching her to see what passes across of your face, to notice the set of your brow, the color of your eyes, to record whatever emotion moves you. I look at you, but you let me see nothing of what I want, only a blank face I cannot read, and the message seems clear: “Look at her. If you would see me, look at her.”
But looking at the woman, bent and stooped, she grows transparent. I look not at but through her to faces, broken bodies and spirits I have known only too well, souls for whom I have cared and about whom I have written, including my own dear father, resting now in the immense mercy of your eternity.
Bless him this day, my brother. Bless all the broken ones like him, so ground down by life they cry to the lonely darkness for some presence, some Presence to whisper that they are not alone. I have seen their faces, and I know the terror of abandonment magnifies their sorrow beyond human endurance.
Bear them whole in your own divine heart that they may ever know they are in you. Whisper again that they are embraced in your all-enveloping love despite the sorrow that endures until broken by the morning light you alone bring to our souls, making us alive again.
Open our eyes to see them that we may be the whisper of your eternal morning amid their darkness. For in seeing them, we see you and know again your heart, broken for the love of them all, and of me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 12:49-51
[Jesus] also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, ‘It is going to rain;’ and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat;’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?
Prayer
The day begins. The time is now, the only time of which I can be sure. The past rushes in agitating minor anxieties about the future, which soon will rush into the present like a swollen stream; stopping for no one, its inexorable current flows quickly by, into the past, receding into the mists of memory, leaving me again with now.
The time is now. It is always now. It is all I have. And so are you, Jesus. You are now, always, and we always have you near.
So I know the time: the time is to breathe you into my lungs that breathing out I may issue a love eternal into every now that you give me.
For you are now, and you are here, and you are eternity’s great mystery as close as my breath.
So let it be.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 12:49-51
[Jesus] also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, ‘It is going to rain;’ and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat;’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?
Prayer
The day begins. The time is now, the only time of which I can be sure. The past rushes in agitating minor anxieties about the future, which soon will rush into the present like a swollen stream; stopping for no one, its inexorable current flows quickly by, into the past, receding into the mists of memory, leaving me again with now.
The time is now. It is always now. It is all I have. And so are you, Jesus. You are now, always, and we always have you near.
So I know the time: the time is to breathe you into my lungs that breathing out I may issue a love eternal into every now that you give me.
For you are now, and you are here, and you are eternity’s great mystery as close as my breath.
So let it be.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 12:49-51
[Jesus] also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, ‘It is going to rain;’ and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat;’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?"
Prayer
What time is it Jesus? It is the time of your presence, the time of your in-breaking, the time when the sturdy links that inexorably bind past to present and future in continuous flow fail to hold time together. They pull apart and clatter on the floor, freeing mind and soul for a future no past can predict or control.
This is now, every now, eternally now, where ever you are present now. And you are the Eternal always present. Your nearness bears an invitation to leave what we have been and known for a mysterious future we cannot make, hold or guarantee. We can only let it unfold or refuse it altogether.
Your nearness is a constantly open door to realities undreamed, Jesus, except by that mysterious love-struck intuition whose only words are tears of awareness that there is a something more the soul must have. And, joy! That hovering awareness knows also a Giver who is pleased to pour that liquid grace into the dark corridors of soul that long for the light of day. My soul, Jesus.
With more of this life behind me than ahead, I awaken hungry for a future unlike any past I have known or lived. Freed, I would be, from the half-life I have lived, caged by my firm grasp of an empty self that is not love. And I have the audacity or naiveté to believe, more than ever, that such life is a breath away, and the secret is surrender to that hovering awareness of Spirit that is the now of your nearness, inviting me to freedom. Eternity begins now.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 12:49-51
[Jesus] also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, ‘It is going to rain;’ and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat;’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?"
Prayer
What time is it Jesus? It is the time of your presence, the time of your in-breaking, the time when the sturdy links that inexorably bind past to present and future in continuous flow fail to hold time together. They pull apart and clatter on the floor, freeing mind and soul for a future no past can predict or control.
This is now, every now, eternally now, where ever you are present now. And you are the Eternal always present. Your nearness bears an invitation to leave what we have been and known for a mysterious future we cannot make, hold or guarantee. We can only let it unfold or refuse it altogether.
Your nearness is a constantly open door to realities undreamed, Jesus, except by that mysterious love-struck intuition whose only words are tears of awareness that there is a something more the soul must have. And, joy! That hovering awareness knows also a Giver who is pleased to pour that liquid grace into the dark corridors of soul that long for the light of day. My soul, Jesus.
With more of this life behind me than ahead, I awaken hungry for a future unlike any past I have known or lived. Freed, I would be, from the half-life I have lived, caged by my firm grasp of an empty self that is not love. And I have the audacity or naiveté to believe, more than ever, that such life is a breath away, and the secret is surrender to that hovering awareness of Spirit that is the now of your nearness, inviting me to freedom. Eternity begins now.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 12:49-51
“From now on, five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”
Prayer
No! Don’t separate me from my family, Jesus. Don’t cut me off from my children, my grandchildren, my beloved. For I crave the presence of their faces. They are a most holy gift for which I thank you with my tears.
Our families have far too much division already, Jesus. We want … we need our relationships to be sacramental of the great Loving Mystery you are, bearing the welcome and love we crave. We wander the earth looking for soft places to land where we may be what we are without worry or pretense, no longer wondering if we shall ever know home. God knows, that journey has been long in my life, and in some ways it continues still.
And here you are, stirring up trouble, right where we most need and have reason to expect the comfort of arms that welcome and hearts that interlock with our own. Do you really need to do this? Is it necessary?
It seems so, Jesus. You have been an undeniable breaking point through the centuries, tearing at families and moving the misguided to take up arms in your name without a clue of the irony they commit.
But I keep coming back to you, Jesus. Despite the division, despite the fact that you are the distance I feel between myself and friends and family members who may never accept or grasp the deep places and commitments where you dwell in this soul of mine.
I pray for them to know the joy of knowing you, but my prayers echo and my careful words of witness fall flat, failing to speak the wonder you are and the beauty of the kingdom you desire. How I can I explain this attraction to them when I have such trouble understanding it myself?
Keep calling to me Jesus that I may never be alien to you, counted among those who do not know you. For knowing you is life. May I live as an emblem of your life even when divisions come and distance troubles.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 12:49-51
“From now on, five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”
Prayer
No! Don’t separate me from my family, Jesus. Don’t cut me off from my children, my grandchildren, my beloved. For I crave the presence of their faces. They are a most holy gift for which I thank you with my tears.
Our families have far too much division already, Jesus. We want … we need our relationships to be sacramental of the great Loving Mystery you are, bearing the welcome and love we crave. We wander the earth looking for soft places to land where we may be what we are without worry or pretense, no longer wondering if we shall ever know home. God knows, that journey has been long in my life, and in some ways it continues still.
And here you are, stirring up trouble, right where we most need and have reason to expect the comfort of arms that welcome and hearts that interlock with our own. Do you really need to do this? Is it necessary?
It seems so, Jesus. You have been an undeniable breaking point through the centuries, tearing at families and moving the misguided to take up arms in your name without a clue of the irony they commit.
But I keep coming back to you, Jesus. Despite the division, despite the fact that you are the distance I feel between myself and friends and family members who may never accept or grasp the deep places and commitments where you dwell in this soul of mine.
I pray for them to know the joy of knowing you, but my prayers echo and my careful words of witness fall flat, failing to speak the wonder you are and the beauty of the kingdom you desire. How I can I explain this attraction to them when I have such trouble understanding it myself?
Keep calling to me Jesus that I may never be alien to you, counted among those who do not know you. For knowing you is life. May I live as an emblem of your life even when divisions come and distance troubles.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, August 20, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 12:49-51
“I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.”
Prayer
The sorrow in these words weaves the texture of your life, Jesus--and ours, if we love you. Did you want the fire you ignited? Did you long for the conflict? Do you come to us itching for a fight? Or is conflict simply unavoidable when unalloyed life and love without limit appears amid the conditions of our bondage?
For we dwell in bondage to our sin and sloth, greed and apathy, while others around your earth scratch for food. Each day they search for a single moment when their life is something other than an intolerable burden. So there is bondage all around.
But your name is freedom. You are liberation from the oppressions of body and spirit that prevent each from supping the sacramental pleasures of earth, eating and drinking, justice and peace, the joy of life graced with your unlimited loving nearness.
This is your desire. The fire you cast is born of that holy desire burning in the heart of God, which you bear. And the divine heart bears you--and us--into conflicts we’d rather avoid. But we cannot avoid them, not if we are to stand with you, Jesus. For you stand as the holy emblem of the desire of God in the face of all that denies or limits the fullness God intends for every child of earth, and earth itself. And you invite us into your struggle.
I have little strength and often no stomach to go where your divine heart takes me, Jesus. So free me from my fear that I might be wholly yours. There is nothing else I really want.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 12:49-51
“I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.”
Prayer
The sorrow in these words weaves the texture of your life, Jesus--and ours, if we love you. Did you want the fire you ignited? Did you long for the conflict? Do you come to us itching for a fight? Or is conflict simply unavoidable when unalloyed life and love without limit appears amid the conditions of our bondage?
For we dwell in bondage to our sin and sloth, greed and apathy, while others around your earth scratch for food. Each day they search for a single moment when their life is something other than an intolerable burden. So there is bondage all around.
But your name is freedom. You are liberation from the oppressions of body and spirit that prevent each from supping the sacramental pleasures of earth, eating and drinking, justice and peace, the joy of life graced with your unlimited loving nearness.
This is your desire. The fire you cast is born of that holy desire burning in the heart of God, which you bear. And the divine heart bears you--and us--into conflicts we’d rather avoid. But we cannot avoid them, not if we are to stand with you, Jesus. For you stand as the holy emblem of the desire of God in the face of all that denies or limits the fullness God intends for every child of earth, and earth itself. And you invite us into your struggle.
I have little strength and often no stomach to go where your divine heart takes me, Jesus. So free me from my fear that I might be wholly yours. There is nothing else I really want.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 12:35-37
“Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when me comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them.”
Prayer
You offer no threat in these words, dear Friend, only invitation and promise. You come, that’s the promise. You come; that’s your promise. You come and are eager to bless, giving yourself in holy and humble service to we who hold our breath for your arrival.
You are always coming, Jesus. You come to a virgin’s womb. You come to the unknown and unheralded. You come to the hungry and lost. You come to your friends and your enemies. And you come from your tomb, risen and new, so that your coming transcends time and space. You come to every time and place at once, past, future and now to me in this quiet space. You come and always will.
Your invitation is to light a lamp and keep our hearts and eyes open. For you appear at times and in guises we cannot predict: Maybe in the news that a faraway colleague has died that moves you to sudden tears and prayer. Maybe the guy who helps broken old folks into the clinic on 55th, or the vibrant voice on the phone that leaves you a little more alive. You often surprise me, Jesus, coming in word, a story, a face that glows with a grace transparent to the eternal.
You come. It does not matter how. What matters is opening heart and mind to receive you. For in receiving you, you serve us, giving life, healing heart and soul, feeding us with a bread that satisfies that hunger that finds fulfillment no where else.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 12:35-37
“Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when me comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them.”
Prayer
You offer no threat in these words, dear Friend, only invitation and promise. You come, that’s the promise. You come; that’s your promise. You come and are eager to bless, giving yourself in holy and humble service to we who hold our breath for your arrival.
You are always coming, Jesus. You come to a virgin’s womb. You come to the unknown and unheralded. You come to the hungry and lost. You come to your friends and your enemies. And you come from your tomb, risen and new, so that your coming transcends time and space. You come to every time and place at once, past, future and now to me in this quiet space. You come and always will.
Your invitation is to light a lamp and keep our hearts and eyes open. For you appear at times and in guises we cannot predict: Maybe in the news that a faraway colleague has died that moves you to sudden tears and prayer. Maybe the guy who helps broken old folks into the clinic on 55th, or the vibrant voice on the phone that leaves you a little more alive. You often surprise me, Jesus, coming in word, a story, a face that glows with a grace transparent to the eternal.
You come. It does not matter how. What matters is opening heart and mind to receive you. For in receiving you, you serve us, giving life, healing heart and soul, feeding us with a bread that satisfies that hunger that finds fulfillment no where else.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 12:32-34
“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven; where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, your heart will be also.”
Prayer
You are the unfailing treasure, Holy One. You are the One who never wears out and cannot be destroyed. It is you I need and would hold every moment in this purse, this soul of mine that holds also much of the detritus of ego-driven life.
If I could but hold you fast, touching your nearness, I would savor the thought of you at all times and in all things. You would fill me to overflowing with the unfailing fullness of your love. My words would be so different, more filled with grace, giving life in all circumstances, not just in rare moments.
But I am full of the cares of the day, decisions to make, deadlines to meet, disappointments with self and others, the drive to justify myself and to ferret out the “right thing” to do and say. There is a life to be lived and work to be done. It absorbs my consciousness, and I forget. I seek myself in all these things, not you, but I find no treasure there.
Turning turn from the heart-shattering awareness of your love, I devolve into something much less than the human soul I am when I am near and full of you.
Forgive me for fouling your earth with my pettiness. Don’t let me forget. Make my heart large and expansive like yours and fill it with your Fullness, which is truest treasure.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 12:32-34
“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven; where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, your heart will be also.”
Prayer
You are the unfailing treasure, Holy One. You are the One who never wears out and cannot be destroyed. It is you I need and would hold every moment in this purse, this soul of mine that holds also much of the detritus of ego-driven life.
If I could but hold you fast, touching your nearness, I would savor the thought of you at all times and in all things. You would fill me to overflowing with the unfailing fullness of your love. My words would be so different, more filled with grace, giving life in all circumstances, not just in rare moments.
But I am full of the cares of the day, decisions to make, deadlines to meet, disappointments with self and others, the drive to justify myself and to ferret out the “right thing” to do and say. There is a life to be lived and work to be done. It absorbs my consciousness, and I forget. I seek myself in all these things, not you, but I find no treasure there.
Turning turn from the heart-shattering awareness of your love, I devolve into something much less than the human soul I am when I am near and full of you.
Forgive me for fouling your earth with my pettiness. Don’t let me forget. Make my heart large and expansive like yours and fill it with your Fullness, which is truest treasure.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, August 13, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 12:32
“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”
Prayer
Do you smile when you say this, Jesus? Do joy and yearning fill you as you survey the faces before you? Do you look for a glimmer of understanding in their eyes? Do you wait to see if their minds will race and their hearts dance as it dawns on them that these are the happiest words ever spoken, the most joyous in all the world’s weary history?
Please know that my heart dances, Jesus, and I cannot sit still in my chair. For you bring news that is better than any that ever has been or will be. It is the Father’s good pleasure to give, and to give to me, and to give no small thing but the life of fullness and eternity, where every tear is wiped from every eye and death is no more, where all things are engulfed in your delight and fear dissolves in a bottomless sea of mercy: for all is well, and all is in you.
But I already knew this, my Beloved. I knew it is your joy to give, for you have woven that awareness into my soul, fashioned in your image and restored in your likeness. I find highest joy in blessing other souls with a word of care and hope, a word that awakens in them the awareness that they, too, are possessed by a love that renders them speechless. There is nothing better. It brings tears to my eyes.
To yours, too? Pardon me for speaking of you in such human terms. I know you are more, always more. I cannot comprehend you. But you let me taste your joy and know what brings you pleasure. And that alone is all I need to live in expectation and to die in hope.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 12:32
“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”
Prayer
Do you smile when you say this, Jesus? Do joy and yearning fill you as you survey the faces before you? Do you look for a glimmer of understanding in their eyes? Do you wait to see if their minds will race and their hearts dance as it dawns on them that these are the happiest words ever spoken, the most joyous in all the world’s weary history?
Please know that my heart dances, Jesus, and I cannot sit still in my chair. For you bring news that is better than any that ever has been or will be. It is the Father’s good pleasure to give, and to give to me, and to give no small thing but the life of fullness and eternity, where every tear is wiped from every eye and death is no more, where all things are engulfed in your delight and fear dissolves in a bottomless sea of mercy: for all is well, and all is in you.
But I already knew this, my Beloved. I knew it is your joy to give, for you have woven that awareness into my soul, fashioned in your image and restored in your likeness. I find highest joy in blessing other souls with a word of care and hope, a word that awakens in them the awareness that they, too, are possessed by a love that renders them speechless. There is nothing better. It brings tears to my eyes.
To yours, too? Pardon me for speaking of you in such human terms. I know you are more, always more. I cannot comprehend you. But you let me taste your joy and know what brings you pleasure. And that alone is all I need to live in expectation and to die in hope.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, August 10, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 12:16-21
Then [Jesus] told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do for I have no place to store my crops.’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink and be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”
Prayer
What is it to be rich toward you, Holy Mystery? Is it not to reverence you in all places as the fountain of all life and blessing? Shall I not live in gratitude and humility, in soul recognition that every breath I take is the effluence of your unspeakable generosity?
I feel the sun and see how it opens the roses in their beds after the night rain. They praise you in electric red and whispering yellow. I delight in the curve of my grandson’s playful smile, so like his mother. Tears rise at the goodness of being alive, of knowing love and loving. I am startled and moved by the beauty of other souls. I am enlarged by the thoughts I receive as a gift from minds better than my own.
I could go on, Holy One; you know I can. I haven’t yet spoken of the love I feel in Jesus’ words, protecting me from the poverty of soul that withers so many. But you have taught my heart. I am a guest at the holy table of life, and you are the host who delights in giving, and in giving to me. This, I know, and it is richness and freedom.
For I know, too, what it is to be poor, small of soul. In poverty, I feverishly grasp what I can for myself. Fearing scarcity, I accumulate and accomplish what I can. I play the fool, vainly believing that I can secure my life and heart so that I will have enough, enough wealth, enough reputation, enough friends, enough of whatever I fear wanting. The soul closes in upon itself and implodes, disheartened and disconnected from the Holy Source of all that’s needful.
But today, I am not poor but rich in the love and blessing with which you would fill me and all that is. So let me, as my brother Jesus, pour the wealth of your generosity into every encounter and work I do that I may praise you as well as my roses.
Pr. David L. Miller
Today’s text
Luke 12:16-21
Then [Jesus] told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do for I have no place to store my crops.’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink and be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”
Prayer
What is it to be rich toward you, Holy Mystery? Is it not to reverence you in all places as the fountain of all life and blessing? Shall I not live in gratitude and humility, in soul recognition that every breath I take is the effluence of your unspeakable generosity?
I feel the sun and see how it opens the roses in their beds after the night rain. They praise you in electric red and whispering yellow. I delight in the curve of my grandson’s playful smile, so like his mother. Tears rise at the goodness of being alive, of knowing love and loving. I am startled and moved by the beauty of other souls. I am enlarged by the thoughts I receive as a gift from minds better than my own.
I could go on, Holy One; you know I can. I haven’t yet spoken of the love I feel in Jesus’ words, protecting me from the poverty of soul that withers so many. But you have taught my heart. I am a guest at the holy table of life, and you are the host who delights in giving, and in giving to me. This, I know, and it is richness and freedom.
For I know, too, what it is to be poor, small of soul. In poverty, I feverishly grasp what I can for myself. Fearing scarcity, I accumulate and accomplish what I can. I play the fool, vainly believing that I can secure my life and heart so that I will have enough, enough wealth, enough reputation, enough friends, enough of whatever I fear wanting. The soul closes in upon itself and implodes, disheartened and disconnected from the Holy Source of all that’s needful.
But today, I am not poor but rich in the love and blessing with which you would fill me and all that is. So let me, as my brother Jesus, pour the wealth of your generosity into every encounter and work I do that I may praise you as well as my roses.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 12:13-15
Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge and arbitrator over you?” And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.
Prayer
There are many kinds of greed. I am certainly guilty of several varieties, most often I suppose the greed for reputation and status. I want to be considered smarter, wiser, better, more articulate, gracious and caring than I really am.
And isn’t that the crux of greed, to convince others we are more than we are, lest they see our smallness and discover the vulnerability, the uncertainty we hide? We clutch our fear and fragility and crouch behind the crumbling façade of accomplishment and accumulation that time, soon enough, erodes, exposing what we never needed to hide--our humanity.
For our vulnerability is always a secret grace, offering a paradoxical peace. The smallness we fear invites us to flee into the arms of other needy souls and the immensity of God’s grace, there to find that when we are weak we are strong.
We fly to God on the wings of our needs. The greeds that consume--for wealth or status, for reputation or even to accumulate books and relationships--impoverish the soul, leaving us more fearful and vulnerable. Greed isolates, refusing to walk the bridge of common human need into the receiving arms and unfailing grace of the One who always awaits us.
So let me be on guard for all kinds of greed, dearest Jesus. And may your grace flow through the open windows of my need.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 12:13-15
Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge and arbitrator over you?” And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.
Prayer
There are many kinds of greed. I am certainly guilty of several varieties, most often I suppose the greed for reputation and status. I want to be considered smarter, wiser, better, more articulate, gracious and caring than I really am.
And isn’t that the crux of greed, to convince others we are more than we are, lest they see our smallness and discover the vulnerability, the uncertainty we hide? We clutch our fear and fragility and crouch behind the crumbling façade of accomplishment and accumulation that time, soon enough, erodes, exposing what we never needed to hide--our humanity.
For our vulnerability is always a secret grace, offering a paradoxical peace. The smallness we fear invites us to flee into the arms of other needy souls and the immensity of God’s grace, there to find that when we are weak we are strong.
We fly to God on the wings of our needs. The greeds that consume--for wealth or status, for reputation or even to accumulate books and relationships--impoverish the soul, leaving us more fearful and vulnerable. Greed isolates, refusing to walk the bridge of common human need into the receiving arms and unfailing grace of the One who always awaits us.
So let me be on guard for all kinds of greed, dearest Jesus. And may your grace flow through the open windows of my need.
Pr. David L. Miller
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