Today’s text
John 13:1-5
Before the festival of the Passover, Jesus, knowing that his hour had come to pass from this world to the Father, having loved those who were his in the world, loved them to the end. They were at supper, and the devil had already put it into the mind of Judas Iscariot son of Simon, to betray him. Jesus knew that the Father had put everything into his hands, and that he had come from God and was returning to God, and he got up from table, removed his outer garments and, taking a towel, wrapped it round his waist; he then poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel he was wearing.
Reflection
Jesus knows. The end is near.
The time has come to leave friends he has loved so well.
He knows one he has loved will betray him to those who will destroy him.
He knows he is to die, to suffer, be denounced and destroyed.
He knows he is to glorify God and return to the One whom he calls as Father.
Knowing this, he takes a towel, ties it about his waist, pours water in a basin and
washes the feet of those he loves and loves to the end.
I don’t wonder why. I know.
I see him, kneeling at the feet of human souls he has known and loved.
Much is said of this act of humility. No Jewish slave could be compelled to wash feet even though a slave.
But what moves my heart and the heart of a cynical world is Jesus’ desire.
He knows he will soon leave them.
He knows he soon will no longer be able to touch their flesh, see their smiles or witness their uncomprehending brows.
He knows they will turn from him, every last one, running from him in shame.
Yet knowing this, he wants to touch them, to love them, to wipe the dust from between their toes, to feel his hand on the leathery soles of their worn feet.
He wants to look them in the eye and touch them on more time.
So he kneels before each one after the other, intimately touching, revealing to each the love in which they are held, showing that all he is, all he has done and all he is about to do is for them, for each one, personally.
Watching the water roll from each foot, Jesus dries them with the towel, absorbed,attentive to the task of loving.
Why?
Because he wants to.
He loves his own … and me, to the end.
Three things I don’t understand. No four, I say, are too wonderful for me:
The way of a mother with a child;
The way of the waves on the lake;
The dust of stars in the night sky, and
The desire of God to love us to the end,
to the everlastingness of eternity.
Jesus kneels at the disciples feet, and we see all the way from Mill Street to the
depths of eternity. We see into the incomprehensible heart of God.
We see past our fears and despair to the one truth that is more true than all that troubles and disfigures our lives. More true than fear. More true than cancer. More true than loneliness. More true than our highest joy in happiest moments.
We see the length and breadth, the height and depth of the eternal wonder of God who has loved us since the birth of time when all the morning stars sang together for joy at the delight in which God has always held you.
The desire of God is to give the fullness of divine life and love to you, to me.
Such is clear as Jesus washes feet and the holy intention of God’s self-giving is unmistakable for all with faith to see and receive.
Jesus washes feet, and we see the love God cannot and will not hold inside.
A love that is ever for you.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Thursday, April 09, 2009
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Today’s text
John 13:12-17
When [Jesus] had washed their feet and put on his outer garments again he went back to the table. 'Do you understand', he said, 'what I have done to you? You call me Master and Lord, and rightly; so I am. If I, then, the Lord and Master, have washed your feet, you must wash each other's feet. I have given you an example so that you may copy what I have done to you. 'In all truth I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, no messenger is greater than the one who sent him. 'Now that you know this, blessed are you if you behave accordingly.'
Reflection
‘Blessed are you.’ It’s music to my ears.
Blessed is no ordinary word, no mere best wishes. It bears the weight of the All-Holy and All-Loving.
To be blessed is to share in the substance of divinity, to participate in the reality of who and what God is. It is intuitively to know that the impulses of one’s own flesh and blood, nerve and muscle, translate the secrets of eternity into sensate knowing.
Touch and feeling, intuition and insight can fill with knowledge of the One who is beyond all knowing
This is all invitation to pick up our respective towels and wash feet where we are, to serve, to give ourselves fully to the tasks of loving.
In the giving, we will be blessed. In the serving, we will know God, not because we serve or are good, but in the very acts of loving service we will touch and taste the heart of the Unknowable God.
That Holy One will be known to us in a dark but savory knowing, a knowing that no words can say, a knowing beyond reducible concept, a knowing akin to knowing one’s own breath. Only closer.
And when we know, we will know what it is to be blessed.
I long for your blessing. I long to taste and touch the mystery of Love Unknowable. My frustrated soul fades to gray depression and immobile self-absorption without the consolation of such blessing.
So what do you do, Jesus? You point me to my daily-ness, to the tasks that need be done, the people who need to be loved and blessed themselves, to a world where souls hurt and fear, get sick and lose battles, laugh and long.
You say nothing, Jesus. You just point in the direction of blessing.
May I know you amid the mess this day. And may my mind find words to say.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 13:12-17
When [Jesus] had washed their feet and put on his outer garments again he went back to the table. 'Do you understand', he said, 'what I have done to you? You call me Master and Lord, and rightly; so I am. If I, then, the Lord and Master, have washed your feet, you must wash each other's feet. I have given you an example so that you may copy what I have done to you. 'In all truth I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, no messenger is greater than the one who sent him. 'Now that you know this, blessed are you if you behave accordingly.'
Reflection
‘Blessed are you.’ It’s music to my ears.
Blessed is no ordinary word, no mere best wishes. It bears the weight of the All-Holy and All-Loving.
To be blessed is to share in the substance of divinity, to participate in the reality of who and what God is. It is intuitively to know that the impulses of one’s own flesh and blood, nerve and muscle, translate the secrets of eternity into sensate knowing.
Touch and feeling, intuition and insight can fill with knowledge of the One who is beyond all knowing
This is all invitation to pick up our respective towels and wash feet where we are, to serve, to give ourselves fully to the tasks of loving.
In the giving, we will be blessed. In the serving, we will know God, not because we serve or are good, but in the very acts of loving service we will touch and taste the heart of the Unknowable God.
That Holy One will be known to us in a dark but savory knowing, a knowing that no words can say, a knowing beyond reducible concept, a knowing akin to knowing one’s own breath. Only closer.
And when we know, we will know what it is to be blessed.
I long for your blessing. I long to taste and touch the mystery of Love Unknowable. My frustrated soul fades to gray depression and immobile self-absorption without the consolation of such blessing.
So what do you do, Jesus? You point me to my daily-ness, to the tasks that need be done, the people who need to be loved and blessed themselves, to a world where souls hurt and fear, get sick and lose battles, laugh and long.
You say nothing, Jesus. You just point in the direction of blessing.
May I know you amid the mess this day. And may my mind find words to say.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, April 06, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Today’s text
John 13:1-5
Before the festival of the Passover, Jesus, knowing that his hour had come to pass from this world to the Father, having loved those who were his in the world, loved them to the end. They were at supper, and the devil had already put it into the mind of Judas Iscariot son of Simon, to betray him. Jesus knew that the Father had put everything into his hands, and that he had come from God and was returning to God, and he got up from table, removed his outer garments and, taking a towel, wrapped it round his waist; he then poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel he was wearing.
Reflection
Some acts play better in silence. Words are not needed. A whispering soundtrack would distract from the simplicity of scene and the echo of one’s own beating heart.
And what do we see, Jesus?
You … a towel about your waist … pouring water in a bowel … kneeling on the floor … washing feet.
It’s an unlikely posture for a messiah, the incarnation of the most high, holy God, or I suppose for anyone of that day who possessed the slightest self-respect.
But I have seen mothers in this posture, many times, wiping off shoes, wiping feet lest they track across a clean kitchen floor.
I have seen paintings that exude an inexhaustible tenderness, showing a mother wash her little girl’s feet. One moved me to tears. Still does. The gentle solicitude of the mother for her child is so great it breaks the heart.
The mother’s heart pours out in tender hands, touching her child, and in her enduring gaze at the child’s feet in her hands. She does not look into the child’s eyes, but at her feet, as if gazing into her eyes would break the tender spell of a sacramental moment.
No, that’s not you, Jesus. It’s a painting. But it leads me to see you, your eyes on your work, holding the dusty foot of one of your followers, intent on serving them, giving yourself, doing for them what your heart requires.
Yes, that is what most moves me.
Your brimming heart moving you to kneel, pour water and wash feet. A humble act, a caring devotion, gentleness in a rough world where every gentleness is a holy sacrament.
An almost final act, this is, revealing a love that bursts the bounds of the heart and demands to be given, shared, acted out in a way no words can express.
So you washed feet. And we see the love not even God can hold within.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 13:1-5
Before the festival of the Passover, Jesus, knowing that his hour had come to pass from this world to the Father, having loved those who were his in the world, loved them to the end. They were at supper, and the devil had already put it into the mind of Judas Iscariot son of Simon, to betray him. Jesus knew that the Father had put everything into his hands, and that he had come from God and was returning to God, and he got up from table, removed his outer garments and, taking a towel, wrapped it round his waist; he then poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel he was wearing.
Reflection
Some acts play better in silence. Words are not needed. A whispering soundtrack would distract from the simplicity of scene and the echo of one’s own beating heart.
And what do we see, Jesus?
You … a towel about your waist … pouring water in a bowel … kneeling on the floor … washing feet.
It’s an unlikely posture for a messiah, the incarnation of the most high, holy God, or I suppose for anyone of that day who possessed the slightest self-respect.
But I have seen mothers in this posture, many times, wiping off shoes, wiping feet lest they track across a clean kitchen floor.
I have seen paintings that exude an inexhaustible tenderness, showing a mother wash her little girl’s feet. One moved me to tears. Still does. The gentle solicitude of the mother for her child is so great it breaks the heart.
The mother’s heart pours out in tender hands, touching her child, and in her enduring gaze at the child’s feet in her hands. She does not look into the child’s eyes, but at her feet, as if gazing into her eyes would break the tender spell of a sacramental moment.
No, that’s not you, Jesus. It’s a painting. But it leads me to see you, your eyes on your work, holding the dusty foot of one of your followers, intent on serving them, giving yourself, doing for them what your heart requires.
Yes, that is what most moves me.
Your brimming heart moving you to kneel, pour water and wash feet. A humble act, a caring devotion, gentleness in a rough world where every gentleness is a holy sacrament.
An almost final act, this is, revealing a love that bursts the bounds of the heart and demands to be given, shared, acted out in a way no words can express.
So you washed feet. And we see the love not even God can hold within.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, April 03, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
Today’s text
Mark 11:7-11
Then they took the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on its back, and he mounted it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of David our father! Hosanna in the highest heavens!' He entered Jerusalem and went into the Temple; and when he had surveyed it all, as it was late by now, he went out to Bethany with the Twelve.
Reflection
I want to linger here … and not go forward for a good while, for I know what comes next. A promising and happy entry into the city will not be well received by those whose control and privilege is threatened by you, Jesus.
Leaders who depend upon Roman largess for their comfort will not want an up-country prophet to blow into town and upset the tenuous order that allows them to live in anxious peace with occupiers from far away Rome.
They want things quiet so those legions don’t get twitchy and start sharpening their swords and swinging at things.
And your approach is politically dangerous, Jesus, regardless the humble donkey on which you ride and the peaceful greenery they wave at your entry into Jerusalem.
For the rabble crowd acclaims you son of David, a warrior king, who made the land safe from foreign occupiers, chasing out would be conquerors.
And it’s true: You come to upset the status quo. Anyone who comes in the Lord’s name is not utterly peaceful in intent.
To arrive in the Lord’s name means other lords get nervous. They begin talking to their troops about the necessity of breaking a few heads as a deterrent against forces that are a threat to the state, i.e. to them.
And you are a threat, Jesus. You are a threat to all the lords who pretend their power must be honored and their decisions must be followed. You are a threat to all the lords who rule the nations and our souls.
For you undermine the finality of their authority in the name of the One who is Lord and God. You reveal the way of the one Lord and call all others into question, insisting that we serve that One alone.
This is all quite upsetting, since we like some of the lords we serve instead of you. So we understand why your enemies opposed you and wanted to kill you.
But you remained true to the one Lord, whose rule is so different from those who muster swords to discourage or destroy perceived threats. You come humbly to bring the peace of God to the heart of our darkness that we may unlearn our anxious, warring ways.
So come, Lord Jesus. Let us see where you way leads. And though it leads to the cross, may we, as you, love the world, friend and enemy that your kingdom may come.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 11:7-11
Then they took the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on its back, and he mounted it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of David our father! Hosanna in the highest heavens!' He entered Jerusalem and went into the Temple; and when he had surveyed it all, as it was late by now, he went out to Bethany with the Twelve.
Reflection
I want to linger here … and not go forward for a good while, for I know what comes next. A promising and happy entry into the city will not be well received by those whose control and privilege is threatened by you, Jesus.
Leaders who depend upon Roman largess for their comfort will not want an up-country prophet to blow into town and upset the tenuous order that allows them to live in anxious peace with occupiers from far away Rome.
They want things quiet so those legions don’t get twitchy and start sharpening their swords and swinging at things.
And your approach is politically dangerous, Jesus, regardless the humble donkey on which you ride and the peaceful greenery they wave at your entry into Jerusalem.
For the rabble crowd acclaims you son of David, a warrior king, who made the land safe from foreign occupiers, chasing out would be conquerors.
And it’s true: You come to upset the status quo. Anyone who comes in the Lord’s name is not utterly peaceful in intent.
To arrive in the Lord’s name means other lords get nervous. They begin talking to their troops about the necessity of breaking a few heads as a deterrent against forces that are a threat to the state, i.e. to them.
And you are a threat, Jesus. You are a threat to all the lords who pretend their power must be honored and their decisions must be followed. You are a threat to all the lords who rule the nations and our souls.
For you undermine the finality of their authority in the name of the One who is Lord and God. You reveal the way of the one Lord and call all others into question, insisting that we serve that One alone.
This is all quite upsetting, since we like some of the lords we serve instead of you. So we understand why your enemies opposed you and wanted to kill you.
But you remained true to the one Lord, whose rule is so different from those who muster swords to discourage or destroy perceived threats. You come humbly to bring the peace of God to the heart of our darkness that we may unlearn our anxious, warring ways.
So come, Lord Jesus. Let us see where you way leads. And though it leads to the cross, may we, as you, love the world, friend and enemy that your kingdom may come.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Today’s text
Mark 11:7-11
Then they took the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on its back, and he mounted it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of David our father! Hosanna in the highest heavens!' He entered Jerusalem and went into the Temple; and when he had surveyed it all, as it was late by now, he went out to Bethany with the Twelve.
Reflection
You come, Lord Jesus, arriving in Jerusalem in the Lord’s name, mounted on a donkey, and people wave branches, not swords or shields.
There are no signets of power or dominating force. You do not ride high, on a horse decked in armor, and the palm fronds and tree branches they wave are not clubs or weapons but emblems of praise and ecstatic welcome.
They throw their cloaks in the dirt path before you, their lowliness conferring great dignity upon you. But it is their words that most draw me, Jesus.
‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’
You come in the name of the most high holy mystery, the hidden wonder, the eternal God. That’s what they say, and you do nothing to deny it or dissuade them.
You just come, mounted on a beast of burden, while happy crowds wave signs of peace, hailing a new kind of kingdom (and king) and hoping that it just might be true. They have seen quite enough of the dominating and the kinds of kingdoms they bring.
But there is nothing of dominating force about you. Even the beast you ride can’t hurt a fly. You ride close to the ground, where people live and hope and die. And you come in the Lord’s name.
The Lord, the most high God, whom you represent, my Jesus, is apparently not interested lording over us, the small and dusty, who live close to the ground as we work out our little lives.
You come in peace, welcoming the joyous gestures of eager hearts who have learned that fullness of life and joy are not produced by the mighty and self-important. They are not brought by power or domination or great accomplishment.
They are the gift of the One who comes gently, humbly, revealing the divine heart of peace and seeking the peace of our hearts.
Blessed are you, Jesus. You come in the name of the Lord.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 11:7-11
Then they took the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on its back, and he mounted it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of David our father! Hosanna in the highest heavens!' He entered Jerusalem and went into the Temple; and when he had surveyed it all, as it was late by now, he went out to Bethany with the Twelve.
Reflection
You come, Lord Jesus, arriving in Jerusalem in the Lord’s name, mounted on a donkey, and people wave branches, not swords or shields.
There are no signets of power or dominating force. You do not ride high, on a horse decked in armor, and the palm fronds and tree branches they wave are not clubs or weapons but emblems of praise and ecstatic welcome.
They throw their cloaks in the dirt path before you, their lowliness conferring great dignity upon you. But it is their words that most draw me, Jesus.
‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’
You come in the name of the most high holy mystery, the hidden wonder, the eternal God. That’s what they say, and you do nothing to deny it or dissuade them.
You just come, mounted on a beast of burden, while happy crowds wave signs of peace, hailing a new kind of kingdom (and king) and hoping that it just might be true. They have seen quite enough of the dominating and the kinds of kingdoms they bring.
But there is nothing of dominating force about you. Even the beast you ride can’t hurt a fly. You ride close to the ground, where people live and hope and die. And you come in the Lord’s name.
The Lord, the most high God, whom you represent, my Jesus, is apparently not interested lording over us, the small and dusty, who live close to the ground as we work out our little lives.
You come in peace, welcoming the joyous gestures of eager hearts who have learned that fullness of life and joy are not produced by the mighty and self-important. They are not brought by power or domination or great accomplishment.
They are the gift of the One who comes gently, humbly, revealing the divine heart of peace and seeking the peace of our hearts.
Blessed are you, Jesus. You come in the name of the Lord.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Today’s text
Mark 11:1-6
When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, close by the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, 'Go to the village facing you, and as you enter it you will at once find a tethered colt that no one has yet ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone says to you, "What are you doing?" say, "The Master needs it and will send it back here at once." They went off and found a colt tethered near a door in the open street. As they untied it, some men standing there said, 'What are you doing, untying that colt?' They gave the answer Jesus had told them, and the men let them go.
Reflection
‘The master needs it.’
Sometimes you seem so large, Jesus. You speak and what you say is done. You make a request and soon receive what you ask.
You were always in possession of yourself, knowing what you wanted and what kind of statement you desired to make with each action. Even here, you make a command and your will is carried out. Your words open the door to your desire with simple immediacy.
Everything you have I seem to lack. I have little control over myself, and my emotions scurry about like scared chickens, running in every direction at once. Every direction, that is, but the one I most need at this and every moment.
I need my heart to stay on you with the same single-mindedness with which you sought to reveal the holy kingdom of God.
But what here do you invite us to know, other than your single-minded focus?
For no reason, I think of the colt, new, never ridden that will carry your weight into the city where people of no particular importance will welcome you with glad shouts.
I wish the beast had human consciousness to know that it carried the only human soul as gentle as first daylight, a soul through which flows the substance of God into this world.
Gentle beast, you carried the center of universe, the secret of eternity, the face of the Everlasting Mystery. But you know nothing; you just bear the weight of your burden without complaint or urgency, trudging slowly toward the city with the wonder of God on your back.
You knew nothing, but I am a little jealous. I would have loved to have felt Jesus’ weight leaning on me, his hand patting my back, urging me onward.
Sounds silly. But it’s true. Perhaps it is just a prayer to know and feel you near.
And I dare to believe that if I bear my load quietly and listen closely I just may be blessed to feel the weight of your presence.
Call it the hope of the beast.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 11:1-6
When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, close by the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, 'Go to the village facing you, and as you enter it you will at once find a tethered colt that no one has yet ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone says to you, "What are you doing?" say, "The Master needs it and will send it back here at once." They went off and found a colt tethered near a door in the open street. As they untied it, some men standing there said, 'What are you doing, untying that colt?' They gave the answer Jesus had told them, and the men let them go.
Reflection
‘The master needs it.’
Sometimes you seem so large, Jesus. You speak and what you say is done. You make a request and soon receive what you ask.
You were always in possession of yourself, knowing what you wanted and what kind of statement you desired to make with each action. Even here, you make a command and your will is carried out. Your words open the door to your desire with simple immediacy.
Everything you have I seem to lack. I have little control over myself, and my emotions scurry about like scared chickens, running in every direction at once. Every direction, that is, but the one I most need at this and every moment.
I need my heart to stay on you with the same single-mindedness with which you sought to reveal the holy kingdom of God.
But what here do you invite us to know, other than your single-minded focus?
For no reason, I think of the colt, new, never ridden that will carry your weight into the city where people of no particular importance will welcome you with glad shouts.
I wish the beast had human consciousness to know that it carried the only human soul as gentle as first daylight, a soul through which flows the substance of God into this world.
Gentle beast, you carried the center of universe, the secret of eternity, the face of the Everlasting Mystery. But you know nothing; you just bear the weight of your burden without complaint or urgency, trudging slowly toward the city with the wonder of God on your back.
You knew nothing, but I am a little jealous. I would have loved to have felt Jesus’ weight leaning on me, his hand patting my back, urging me onward.
Sounds silly. But it’s true. Perhaps it is just a prayer to know and feel you near.
And I dare to believe that if I bear my load quietly and listen closely I just may be blessed to feel the weight of your presence.
Call it the hope of the beast.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, March 27, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Today’s text
John 12:26-28
[Jesus said] Whoever serves me, must follow me, and my servant will be with me wherever I am. If anyone serves me, my Father will honor him. Now my soul is troubled. What shall I say: Father, save me from this hour? But it is for this very reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name! A voice came from heaven, 'I have glorified it, and I will again glorify it.'
Reflection
Yes, you do glorify your name, even in us, and we have so little to do with it.
You call us to follow you into the tiny details of living. There, you urge us to give our hands and attention to small tasks of caring that make common life possible: making meals, getting the paper work done, looking after family members, cleaning up the mess on the floor, talking to an angry or distressed friend or colleague whose trouble always appears at the most inconvenient times.
Often, we feel more is being asked of us than is right or fair--and much more than is comfortable for our schedules and desire for a little peace and quiet.
But in the midst of our days, if we are blessed, we may notice that we are giving and loving a couple of inches beyond our natural capabilities or intentions.
You take us beyond ourselves through the little commitments you move us to make, commitments to be helpful and human. Through them, you make us more human than we had intended.
You move us to give ourselves beyond what we prefer. And there you are glorified. For you are the giving that knows no ending, and you draw us to give as you give, to love as you love, surprising us that some inkling of holiness should appear in us through our grudging surrender to tasks that must done, though we prefer that someone else would do them.
When we open our lives but a crack to you, you insist on sanctifying us in spite of ourselves. Or maybe that is just the way it works for me. But I don’t think so. Even my brother, Jesus, was troubled by the way of cross. He, too, wanted another way.
But it is the challenges of our lives that move us beyond ourselves to glorify you by becoming part of the great giving of life and love that you are, O Holy Mystery.
So glorify your name … in us. We will resist it. But there is a beauty you insist that we bear. And it is your own.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 12:26-28
[Jesus said] Whoever serves me, must follow me, and my servant will be with me wherever I am. If anyone serves me, my Father will honor him. Now my soul is troubled. What shall I say: Father, save me from this hour? But it is for this very reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name! A voice came from heaven, 'I have glorified it, and I will again glorify it.'
Reflection
Yes, you do glorify your name, even in us, and we have so little to do with it.
You call us to follow you into the tiny details of living. There, you urge us to give our hands and attention to small tasks of caring that make common life possible: making meals, getting the paper work done, looking after family members, cleaning up the mess on the floor, talking to an angry or distressed friend or colleague whose trouble always appears at the most inconvenient times.
Often, we feel more is being asked of us than is right or fair--and much more than is comfortable for our schedules and desire for a little peace and quiet.
But in the midst of our days, if we are blessed, we may notice that we are giving and loving a couple of inches beyond our natural capabilities or intentions.
You take us beyond ourselves through the little commitments you move us to make, commitments to be helpful and human. Through them, you make us more human than we had intended.
You move us to give ourselves beyond what we prefer. And there you are glorified. For you are the giving that knows no ending, and you draw us to give as you give, to love as you love, surprising us that some inkling of holiness should appear in us through our grudging surrender to tasks that must done, though we prefer that someone else would do them.
When we open our lives but a crack to you, you insist on sanctifying us in spite of ourselves. Or maybe that is just the way it works for me. But I don’t think so. Even my brother, Jesus, was troubled by the way of cross. He, too, wanted another way.
But it is the challenges of our lives that move us beyond ourselves to glorify you by becoming part of the great giving of life and love that you are, O Holy Mystery.
So glorify your name … in us. We will resist it. But there is a beauty you insist that we bear. And it is your own.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Today’s text
John 3:18-21
And the judgment is this: though the light has come into the world people have preferred darkness to the light because their deeds were evil. And indeed, everybody who does wrong hates the light and avoids it, to prevent his actions from being shown up; but whoever does the truth comes out into the light, so that what he is doing may plainly appear as done in God.
Reflection
What is the light we flee, Jesus? Or the darkness we prefer?
You appear in the world as a gift of love from the Holy Mystery who can’t stand to watch the world destroy itself. God loves and that love appears most fully, in pristine clarity, in you who welcome and forgive and reveal the darkness of our souls.
For it is the light of holiness, the glow of ultimate goodness that reveals how curved in we are upon ourselves, seeing little of and caring less for that which does not directly touch our flesh.
You love and you love to the end of your breath Jesus, giving yourself for the friends you gather. In this light so much of who we are and what we do appears as the pettiness that it is.
But you mince no words: You call it darkness. And on a deep level we prefer our darkness. Maybe it is easier. Maybe we have been so self-centric for so long it is hard to imagine even the possibility of changing, let alone actually doing so.
Maybe we see our lives as little fortresses that must be tended and carefully protected; hence we protect and tend our little gardens, hiding beyond high walls of ego defenses, making sure we are well, but avoiding the vulnerability of loving relationships for which you made us.
And maybe we just don’t think anyone or anything can be trusted with anything as precious as ‘my life.’
Whatever words capture the truth, it is true that we dwell in darkness and self-protection, avoiding the voices in our soul that beg us to open our hearts and give, and love and be vulnerable.
Being exposed to that much light is scary.
Still, you invite us into the light, there to know of ourselves what you know: that we are loved, completely, and in that love we could truly live, if we could only creep from our darkness.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:18-21
And the judgment is this: though the light has come into the world people have preferred darkness to the light because their deeds were evil. And indeed, everybody who does wrong hates the light and avoids it, to prevent his actions from being shown up; but whoever does the truth comes out into the light, so that what he is doing may plainly appear as done in God.
Reflection
What is the light we flee, Jesus? Or the darkness we prefer?
You appear in the world as a gift of love from the Holy Mystery who can’t stand to watch the world destroy itself. God loves and that love appears most fully, in pristine clarity, in you who welcome and forgive and reveal the darkness of our souls.
For it is the light of holiness, the glow of ultimate goodness that reveals how curved in we are upon ourselves, seeing little of and caring less for that which does not directly touch our flesh.
You love and you love to the end of your breath Jesus, giving yourself for the friends you gather. In this light so much of who we are and what we do appears as the pettiness that it is.
But you mince no words: You call it darkness. And on a deep level we prefer our darkness. Maybe it is easier. Maybe we have been so self-centric for so long it is hard to imagine even the possibility of changing, let alone actually doing so.
Maybe we see our lives as little fortresses that must be tended and carefully protected; hence we protect and tend our little gardens, hiding beyond high walls of ego defenses, making sure we are well, but avoiding the vulnerability of loving relationships for which you made us.
And maybe we just don’t think anyone or anything can be trusted with anything as precious as ‘my life.’
Whatever words capture the truth, it is true that we dwell in darkness and self-protection, avoiding the voices in our soul that beg us to open our hearts and give, and love and be vulnerable.
Being exposed to that much light is scary.
Still, you invite us into the light, there to know of ourselves what you know: that we are loved, completely, and in that love we could truly live, if we could only creep from our darkness.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Today’s text
John 3:15-18
For this is how God loved the world: he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. For God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but so that through him the world might be saved. No one who believes in him will be judged; but whoever does not believe is judged already, because that person does not believe in the Name of God's only Son.
Reflection
No one who believes shall be judged. And yet we judge ourselves and each other all the time.
But you, O God, do not judge me. You do not hold me up to the light and look closely at the lines and creases of my life, the imperfections that we both know are there.
This is not your way. Those who believe into Jesus dwell in an unfailing environment of grace, a bubble of blessing in which you seek to envelop our every pore.
Our lives know the ordinary bumps and bruises of living amid the unruliness of chance, of human emotion and action, of sickness and health. Sometimes those bumps are not ordinary at all, but truly frightening and destructive, or they fall heavy on our hearts.
Yet even then, we dwell in the land of the Son. We may struggle and fail, we may hold little strength or power; heaviness of spirit may grind us down, and circumstances may whisper that we have no worth. But we can look into the eyes of all this and more. And shout: ‘no judgment!’
None.
You judge us worthy of love and care, worth dieing for, treasured to the end of our days and to the eternity of time.
Our life’s struggle is to surrender our judgments of ourselves to your judgment--and to dismiss others judgments of our value altogether.
For you do no judge us based on our human frailties and wrong doing. You see us dwelling in the air of Christ’s love, struggling, yes, to breathe in the fresh, lightness of non-judgment.
Teach us to breathe the freshness of this air that our judgments and condemnations, our self-loathing and hatreds may end. We would walk unencumbered into the lightness of being you intend.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:15-18
For this is how God loved the world: he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. For God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but so that through him the world might be saved. No one who believes in him will be judged; but whoever does not believe is judged already, because that person does not believe in the Name of God's only Son.
Reflection
No one who believes shall be judged. And yet we judge ourselves and each other all the time.
But you, O God, do not judge me. You do not hold me up to the light and look closely at the lines and creases of my life, the imperfections that we both know are there.
This is not your way. Those who believe into Jesus dwell in an unfailing environment of grace, a bubble of blessing in which you seek to envelop our every pore.
Our lives know the ordinary bumps and bruises of living amid the unruliness of chance, of human emotion and action, of sickness and health. Sometimes those bumps are not ordinary at all, but truly frightening and destructive, or they fall heavy on our hearts.
Yet even then, we dwell in the land of the Son. We may struggle and fail, we may hold little strength or power; heaviness of spirit may grind us down, and circumstances may whisper that we have no worth. But we can look into the eyes of all this and more. And shout: ‘no judgment!’
None.
You judge us worthy of love and care, worth dieing for, treasured to the end of our days and to the eternity of time.
Our life’s struggle is to surrender our judgments of ourselves to your judgment--and to dismiss others judgments of our value altogether.
For you do no judge us based on our human frailties and wrong doing. You see us dwelling in the air of Christ’s love, struggling, yes, to breathe in the fresh, lightness of non-judgment.
Teach us to breathe the freshness of this air that our judgments and condemnations, our self-loathing and hatreds may end. We would walk unencumbered into the lightness of being you intend.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, March 16, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Today’s text
John 3:14-17
[Jesus said] as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so must the Son of man be lifted up so that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him. For this is how God loved the world: he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.
Reflection
Everyone who believes … will have life. But this belief is not merely affirming statements about Jesus, who he is or what he does.
It is a believing into, a believing into what he does and gives. Believing into Jesus is a movement of heart, mind and body.
We give ourselves over to a way of seeing and being, Jesus’ way. He is lifted up like Moses’ snake in the desert, a fearful symbol of death and destruction. Surely no one wants to be bitten by the snake or end up as Jesus on a cross, an instrument of execution.
But we are invited to ‘believe into’ this way, to see in Jesus’ destruction God’s ultimate sign of love and life. Giving ourselves to it means cleaving to this sign, holding it fast even when it seems we are being torn apart by destructive forces in our lives.
It is hoping against every whisper of hopelessness that as Jesus rose from destruction to new life, we too shall find life out of the ashes of every trial and terror, every destruction and loss, even that of life itself.
Believing in Jesus is living trust that the one who is lifted up on the cross now lives to lift us from each valley into the fullness of God’s love and life.
We look at the sign of the cross and make it on ourselves, knowing Jesus way is and always will be our own.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:14-17
[Jesus said] as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so must the Son of man be lifted up so that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him. For this is how God loved the world: he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.
Reflection
Everyone who believes … will have life. But this belief is not merely affirming statements about Jesus, who he is or what he does.
It is a believing into, a believing into what he does and gives. Believing into Jesus is a movement of heart, mind and body.
We give ourselves over to a way of seeing and being, Jesus’ way. He is lifted up like Moses’ snake in the desert, a fearful symbol of death and destruction. Surely no one wants to be bitten by the snake or end up as Jesus on a cross, an instrument of execution.
But we are invited to ‘believe into’ this way, to see in Jesus’ destruction God’s ultimate sign of love and life. Giving ourselves to it means cleaving to this sign, holding it fast even when it seems we are being torn apart by destructive forces in our lives.
It is hoping against every whisper of hopelessness that as Jesus rose from destruction to new life, we too shall find life out of the ashes of every trial and terror, every destruction and loss, even that of life itself.
Believing in Jesus is living trust that the one who is lifted up on the cross now lives to lift us from each valley into the fullness of God’s love and life.
We look at the sign of the cross and make it on ourselves, knowing Jesus way is and always will be our own.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, March 13, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Today’s text
John 2:18-22
The Jews intervened and said, 'What sign can you show us that you should act like this?' Jesus answered, 'Destroy this Temple, and in three days I will raise it up.' The Jews replied, 'It has taken forty-six years to build this Temple: are you going to raise it up again in three days?' But he was speaking of the Temple that was his body, and when Jesus rose from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this, and they believed the scripture and what he had said.
Reflection
They remembered, and so should we.
We should remember that the life Jesus bears, the life we bear, cannot be confined to a tomb. It bursts free from every prison, even that of death, to illumine life with the color of eternity.
It has always been so.
The body, our flesh, is no prison to be escaped but has become the temple of the Holy, the place of divine meeting.
Our ears and eyes can behold the beauty of holiness and the holiness of the One who is Beauty itself in the joy of children and the generosity of hearts that are truly human.
Jesus shows the way. He dwelt in constant intimacy with the Life that was in him, the Life that is before all time, the Life that is the breathing presence of God. His words and hands moved at the impulses of the One in whose heart he abided without a moment’s separation.
And Jesus invites us into this way, the way of abiding, of resting and knowing the Heart who offers eager to welcome to each of us. Come home to the Love who has always known and ever wanted you.
Come home and rest in the Life that seeks to breathe in you, through you, and move your soul into a grand spaciousness where you know true freedom and the tension in your chest is no more.
The Life who is God dwelt in Jesus, and in all who know and love his way. Temples of the Eternal One are they … are we, bearing that Life that does not die.
Remember.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 2:18-22
The Jews intervened and said, 'What sign can you show us that you should act like this?' Jesus answered, 'Destroy this Temple, and in three days I will raise it up.' The Jews replied, 'It has taken forty-six years to build this Temple: are you going to raise it up again in three days?' But he was speaking of the Temple that was his body, and when Jesus rose from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this, and they believed the scripture and what he had said.
Reflection
They remembered, and so should we.
We should remember that the life Jesus bears, the life we bear, cannot be confined to a tomb. It bursts free from every prison, even that of death, to illumine life with the color of eternity.
It has always been so.
The body, our flesh, is no prison to be escaped but has become the temple of the Holy, the place of divine meeting.
Our ears and eyes can behold the beauty of holiness and the holiness of the One who is Beauty itself in the joy of children and the generosity of hearts that are truly human.
Jesus shows the way. He dwelt in constant intimacy with the Life that was in him, the Life that is before all time, the Life that is the breathing presence of God. His words and hands moved at the impulses of the One in whose heart he abided without a moment’s separation.
And Jesus invites us into this way, the way of abiding, of resting and knowing the Heart who offers eager to welcome to each of us. Come home to the Love who has always known and ever wanted you.
Come home and rest in the Life that seeks to breathe in you, through you, and move your soul into a grand spaciousness where you know true freedom and the tension in your chest is no more.
The Life who is God dwelt in Jesus, and in all who know and love his way. Temples of the Eternal One are they … are we, bearing that Life that does not die.
Remember.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Today’s text
John 2:18-21
The Jews intervened and said, 'What sign can you show us that you should act like this?' Jesus answered, 'Destroy this Temple, and in three days I will raise it up.' The Jews replied, 'It has taken forty-six years to build this Temple: are you going to raise it up again in three days?' But he was speaking of the Temple that was his body.
Reflection
And here is the change Jesus brings. No more is relationship with God one more version of let’s make a deal. No more do we engage in the commerce of something for something, giving to get.
Nor shall we imagine the Holy One is attached to any one place or people or activity, as if the Holy Mystery who is God can be nailed down or confined by human constraints, definitions and desires.
The mystery of God is known in the body of Jesus, dwelling there, being known, felt and see there. And if there, then in our bodies, too.
His human body is a temple, the place of God’s abiding, the point of divine meeting where we may encounter the One who infinitely transcends every body, but can be known in any and all of them.
Jesus body bore the eternal life who is God, a life that raised him up from the dead dust of the grave, all of him, his body, his whole person.
The Life he bore can not be destroyed, for the God who creates universes and human souls out of star dust can not be contained by a trifle like physical death.
It raises up all who bear this life. Their bodies (our bodies) are temples of divine dwelling, the dwelling of the Most High.
So there is always hope, always. And beauty can abound even in the most unlikely souls.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 2:18-21
The Jews intervened and said, 'What sign can you show us that you should act like this?' Jesus answered, 'Destroy this Temple, and in three days I will raise it up.' The Jews replied, 'It has taken forty-six years to build this Temple: are you going to raise it up again in three days?' But he was speaking of the Temple that was his body.
Reflection
And here is the change Jesus brings. No more is relationship with God one more version of let’s make a deal. No more do we engage in the commerce of something for something, giving to get.
Nor shall we imagine the Holy One is attached to any one place or people or activity, as if the Holy Mystery who is God can be nailed down or confined by human constraints, definitions and desires.
The mystery of God is known in the body of Jesus, dwelling there, being known, felt and see there. And if there, then in our bodies, too.
His human body is a temple, the place of God’s abiding, the point of divine meeting where we may encounter the One who infinitely transcends every body, but can be known in any and all of them.
Jesus body bore the eternal life who is God, a life that raised him up from the dead dust of the grave, all of him, his body, his whole person.
The Life he bore can not be destroyed, for the God who creates universes and human souls out of star dust can not be contained by a trifle like physical death.
It raises up all who bear this life. Their bodies (our bodies) are temples of divine dwelling, the dwelling of the Most High.
So there is always hope, always. And beauty can abound even in the most unlikely souls.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Today’s text
John 2:13-16
When the time of the Jewish Passover was near Jesus went up to Jerusalem, and in the Temple he found people selling cattle and sheep and doves, and the money changers sitting there. Making a whip out of cord, he drove them all out of the Temple, sheep and cattle as well, scattered the money changers' coins, knocked their tables over and said to the dove sellers, 'Take all this out of here and stop using my Father's house as a market.'
Reflection
Today, we would send Jesus to an anger-management class. At least that would have been part of his sentence for disrupting trade.
The temple was, indeed, a place of trade. People bought and sold birds and animals intended for sacrifice in the temple precincts as those coming to the temple sought atonement with God for their sins.
The system of sacrifice had long since been established by divine decree. Jesus was interfering in holy work, or so it seemed to those in charge and, likely, many others.
We can imagine there was underhanded dealing and overcharging happening, and that is why Jesus flew off the handle. He was objecting to dishonesty and injustice, taking advantage of those who came to make sacrifice and find peace.
But something more appears is at work. He was about to affect a sweeping change in how people thought about worship … and God.
Worship required no sacrifice to change God’s mind or to give God something (a sacrifice) so that God will give us something (forgiveness, a blessing). God is no deal maker, and that’s what people do in markets, or at least in the temple marketplace: they make deals.
Something for something.
God gives the blessings of life to all and the grace of forgiven life, free and full, freely, for nothing, to any who seek and hunger for God’s gifts.
No sacrifice is required, no giving up of something to get something. God is not in the deal-making business.
God gives out of an infinite abundance of love and unending generosity. No deals necessary or wanted. The desire and attempt to make deals with God reveal that we don’t get it.
We don’t get God, who is as unlike our deal-making ways as night is from day.
No need to pay God off, for the Holy One is a deep river of generosity flowing from an ever-abundant source to the hearts of all who can simply receive.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 2:13-16
When the time of the Jewish Passover was near Jesus went up to Jerusalem, and in the Temple he found people selling cattle and sheep and doves, and the money changers sitting there. Making a whip out of cord, he drove them all out of the Temple, sheep and cattle as well, scattered the money changers' coins, knocked their tables over and said to the dove sellers, 'Take all this out of here and stop using my Father's house as a market.'
Reflection
Today, we would send Jesus to an anger-management class. At least that would have been part of his sentence for disrupting trade.
The temple was, indeed, a place of trade. People bought and sold birds and animals intended for sacrifice in the temple precincts as those coming to the temple sought atonement with God for their sins.
The system of sacrifice had long since been established by divine decree. Jesus was interfering in holy work, or so it seemed to those in charge and, likely, many others.
We can imagine there was underhanded dealing and overcharging happening, and that is why Jesus flew off the handle. He was objecting to dishonesty and injustice, taking advantage of those who came to make sacrifice and find peace.
But something more appears is at work. He was about to affect a sweeping change in how people thought about worship … and God.
Worship required no sacrifice to change God’s mind or to give God something (a sacrifice) so that God will give us something (forgiveness, a blessing). God is no deal maker, and that’s what people do in markets, or at least in the temple marketplace: they make deals.
Something for something.
God gives the blessings of life to all and the grace of forgiven life, free and full, freely, for nothing, to any who seek and hunger for God’s gifts.
No sacrifice is required, no giving up of something to get something. God is not in the deal-making business.
God gives out of an infinite abundance of love and unending generosity. No deals necessary or wanted. The desire and attempt to make deals with God reveal that we don’t get it.
We don’t get God, who is as unlike our deal-making ways as night is from day.
No need to pay God off, for the Holy One is a deep river of generosity flowing from an ever-abundant source to the hearts of all who can simply receive.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, March 06, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
Today’s text
Mark 8:34-38
[Jesus] called the people and his disciples to him and said, 'If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross and follow me. Anyone who wants to save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. What gain, then, is it for anyone to win the whole world and forfeit his life? And indeed what can anyone offer in exchange for his life? For if anyone in this sinful and adulterous generation is ashamed of me and of my words, the Son of man will also be ashamed of him when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.
Reflection
I am not ashamed of you, Jesus, for you are the way of life, and I hunger for you fully to become my way, my walk and my journey.
You surrendered yourself to the holy purpose of God, the rule of compassion that you promised will appear and fill all that is.
Your soul was completely identified with God’s purpose in the world. Neither your heart nor mind turned right of left from this singular focus.
This is the way of life and freedom. This is how you free us from ourselves, our preoccupations with self and ease. You unite us with God’s purpose, first filling our lungs with the breath of your compassion that we know the mystery of your love.
Only then we can discover by fits and starts, almost in spite of ourselves, that our greatest joy and freedom is found in losing ourselves in your purpose, in giving ourselves to some expression of the work of your kingdom.
Only we must discover what it is to which our heart longs to be given. Just what is that brings joy and freedom to our souls when we surrender ourselves to it?
Where does a new self arise in us, liberated from self-loathing and condemnation, free from preoccupation with our performance, joyous, playful and far from the awful solemnity that weighs down the self and image we so carefully protect?
Given-ness to your labor, to those you love, is freedom. Only there do we discover the joy of true life, for those who loses their life for, Jesus, will find it.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 8:34-38
[Jesus] called the people and his disciples to him and said, 'If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross and follow me. Anyone who wants to save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. What gain, then, is it for anyone to win the whole world and forfeit his life? And indeed what can anyone offer in exchange for his life? For if anyone in this sinful and adulterous generation is ashamed of me and of my words, the Son of man will also be ashamed of him when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.
Reflection
I am not ashamed of you, Jesus, for you are the way of life, and I hunger for you fully to become my way, my walk and my journey.
You surrendered yourself to the holy purpose of God, the rule of compassion that you promised will appear and fill all that is.
Your soul was completely identified with God’s purpose in the world. Neither your heart nor mind turned right of left from this singular focus.
This is the way of life and freedom. This is how you free us from ourselves, our preoccupations with self and ease. You unite us with God’s purpose, first filling our lungs with the breath of your compassion that we know the mystery of your love.
Only then we can discover by fits and starts, almost in spite of ourselves, that our greatest joy and freedom is found in losing ourselves in your purpose, in giving ourselves to some expression of the work of your kingdom.
Only we must discover what it is to which our heart longs to be given. Just what is that brings joy and freedom to our souls when we surrender ourselves to it?
Where does a new self arise in us, liberated from self-loathing and condemnation, free from preoccupation with our performance, joyous, playful and far from the awful solemnity that weighs down the self and image we so carefully protect?
Given-ness to your labor, to those you love, is freedom. Only there do we discover the joy of true life, for those who loses their life for, Jesus, will find it.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Today’s text
Mark 8:34-35
[Jesus]He called the people and his disciples to him and said, 'If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross and follow me. Anyone who wants to save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.'
Reflection
Saving is losing and losing is saving. Life is meant to be given away. To give it away is to enter the adventure of living beyond ourselves and entering the world where God is near to the heart.
God is near always. But we know God’s nearness more acutely as we enter the life of giving up the self we so energetically protect to become the self we are in the heart of God.
That self emerges and rises from its hiding place deep in the soul when we know there is nothing to defend, when we recognize that our lives rest in unutterly love.
Then we know the self we have been is not the true self, the free self that God loves out of us. Looking back on what we have been, it all seems like illusion, a poor facsimile of the life for which God intends us.
In losing the self we think we are, the self we protect and pretend to be, we are free to be and ever more become that which the seed of God grows in us. That seed, planted in the depth of our hearts, springs to life when we turn from the illusion we pretend to be. It grows when again we feel the faintest rays of that Love who has long wanted us to arise from sleep.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 8:34-35
[Jesus]He called the people and his disciples to him and said, 'If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross and follow me. Anyone who wants to save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.'
Reflection
Saving is losing and losing is saving. Life is meant to be given away. To give it away is to enter the adventure of living beyond ourselves and entering the world where God is near to the heart.
God is near always. But we know God’s nearness more acutely as we enter the life of giving up the self we so energetically protect to become the self we are in the heart of God.
That self emerges and rises from its hiding place deep in the soul when we know there is nothing to defend, when we recognize that our lives rest in unutterly love.
Then we know the self we have been is not the true self, the free self that God loves out of us. Looking back on what we have been, it all seems like illusion, a poor facsimile of the life for which God intends us.
In losing the self we think we are, the self we protect and pretend to be, we are free to be and ever more become that which the seed of God grows in us. That seed, planted in the depth of our hearts, springs to life when we turn from the illusion we pretend to be. It grows when again we feel the faintest rays of that Love who has long wanted us to arise from sleep.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Today’s text
Mark 8:31-34
Then [Jesus]began to teach them that the Son of man was destined to suffer grievously, and to be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, and to be put to death, and after three days to rise again; and he said all this quite openly. Then, taking him aside, Peter tried to rebuke him. But, turning and seeing his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said to him, 'Get behind me, Satan! You are thinking not as God thinks, but as human beings do.' He called the people and his disciples to him and said, 'If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross and follow me.
Reflection
And how do human beings think? With that, Jesus, we are quite familiar, though we seldom take a step back to gain a long look at ourselves.
Truth is, most of our life is the search for the smoothest way through our days, not the most committed or principled. We seek what makes our lives simplest and protect the kingdom of our egos, refusing the invitation of deepest self to meet the One who awaits us there.
I find myself speaking of my ministry, as if it such a thing existed. It is your ministry in which I serve, your kingdom, your will, your face that is to be revealed in me.
And how do the joy of your grace and the sacrifice of your love come to expression in me? What do you make arise from deepest heart when I rest in your presence?
To what greater purpose of your kingdom am I so given that I seek that way, not that which is easy or smooth?
None, too often.
We lose our way, Jesus. We live far from the garden of our heart, forgetting what your grace seeks to grow in the good soil of our soul. Just so, we forget who we are and the cross your grace grows in our hearts.
For the cross grows there, in the heart, from the seed of your gracious love implanted. The cross is the fruit of your love, grown from the seed of your merciful presence. It grows in us, until we see just what it is you would give your world through us.
And we bear that cross, losing ourselves for a purpose worthy of those made in your holy image, the image of a coursing love, eternally flowing from depths we cannot see.
Dearest Friend, open our eyes to see your purpose growing in us. Teach us to nurture your seed and be guided by what grows.
Then we shall think as you think.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 8:31-34
Then [Jesus]began to teach them that the Son of man was destined to suffer grievously, and to be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, and to be put to death, and after three days to rise again; and he said all this quite openly. Then, taking him aside, Peter tried to rebuke him. But, turning and seeing his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said to him, 'Get behind me, Satan! You are thinking not as God thinks, but as human beings do.' He called the people and his disciples to him and said, 'If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross and follow me.
Reflection
And how do human beings think? With that, Jesus, we are quite familiar, though we seldom take a step back to gain a long look at ourselves.
Truth is, most of our life is the search for the smoothest way through our days, not the most committed or principled. We seek what makes our lives simplest and protect the kingdom of our egos, refusing the invitation of deepest self to meet the One who awaits us there.
I find myself speaking of my ministry, as if it such a thing existed. It is your ministry in which I serve, your kingdom, your will, your face that is to be revealed in me.
And how do the joy of your grace and the sacrifice of your love come to expression in me? What do you make arise from deepest heart when I rest in your presence?
To what greater purpose of your kingdom am I so given that I seek that way, not that which is easy or smooth?
None, too often.
We lose our way, Jesus. We live far from the garden of our heart, forgetting what your grace seeks to grow in the good soil of our soul. Just so, we forget who we are and the cross your grace grows in our hearts.
For the cross grows there, in the heart, from the seed of your gracious love implanted. The cross is the fruit of your love, grown from the seed of your merciful presence. It grows in us, until we see just what it is you would give your world through us.
And we bear that cross, losing ourselves for a purpose worthy of those made in your holy image, the image of a coursing love, eternally flowing from depths we cannot see.
Dearest Friend, open our eyes to see your purpose growing in us. Teach us to nurture your seed and be guided by what grows.
Then we shall think as you think.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, March 02, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Today’s text
Mark 8:31-33
Then [Jesus] began to teach them that the Son of man was destined to suffer grievously, and to be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, and to be put to death, and after three days to rise again; and he said all this quite openly. Then, taking him aside, Peter tried to rebuke him. But, turning and seeing his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said to him, 'Get behind me, Satan! You are thinking not as God thinks, but as human beings do.'
Reflection
And how does God think? And how could we possibly know or understand?
Our lives are a mystery. Life, itself, is a mystery, cloaked in utter darkness and hidden in deepest recesses of time and consciousness.
Life comes to be. Generations rise and pass. Human souls suffer and prosper, often in utter disparity with any merit or deserving.
The gentle and good have as many problems and challenges as those who cannot see beyond the enlargement of their egos. But they all pass into the darkness at the end of our days no human eye can penetrate.
And you see it all, Lord of the Universe. You see them all rise and fall, and me, too, with all we love.
And what do you think? How do you see?
We have only this man, Jesus, whom generations confess is transparent to your face. He is your thought, your way of seeing. And he makes this human journey just as we do.
He avoids none of the usual human challenges. His vocation to love as you love brings him joy, yes, but many more troubles than he otherwise would have known.
And Jesus, when your friend urged you to avoid the trouble, you gave him the devil. This is not God’s thought, not the holy way.
The holy way is through every suffering, acceptance of every sacrifice born in the bosom of love. Suffering is not good of itself, but for the sake of the love, well that’s another matter.
For Love will decide everything. Love brings life from death.
And Love is God’s thought. Love is God’s way.
So let us think your thoughts and walk your way.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 8:31-33
Then [Jesus] began to teach them that the Son of man was destined to suffer grievously, and to be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, and to be put to death, and after three days to rise again; and he said all this quite openly. Then, taking him aside, Peter tried to rebuke him. But, turning and seeing his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said to him, 'Get behind me, Satan! You are thinking not as God thinks, but as human beings do.'
Reflection
And how does God think? And how could we possibly know or understand?
Our lives are a mystery. Life, itself, is a mystery, cloaked in utter darkness and hidden in deepest recesses of time and consciousness.
Life comes to be. Generations rise and pass. Human souls suffer and prosper, often in utter disparity with any merit or deserving.
The gentle and good have as many problems and challenges as those who cannot see beyond the enlargement of their egos. But they all pass into the darkness at the end of our days no human eye can penetrate.
And you see it all, Lord of the Universe. You see them all rise and fall, and me, too, with all we love.
And what do you think? How do you see?
We have only this man, Jesus, whom generations confess is transparent to your face. He is your thought, your way of seeing. And he makes this human journey just as we do.
He avoids none of the usual human challenges. His vocation to love as you love brings him joy, yes, but many more troubles than he otherwise would have known.
And Jesus, when your friend urged you to avoid the trouble, you gave him the devil. This is not God’s thought, not the holy way.
The holy way is through every suffering, acceptance of every sacrifice born in the bosom of love. Suffering is not good of itself, but for the sake of the love, well that’s another matter.
For Love will decide everything. Love brings life from death.
And Love is God’s thought. Love is God’s way.
So let us think your thoughts and walk your way.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Today’s text
Mark 1:14-15
After John had been arrested, Jesus went into Galilee. There he proclaimed the gospel from God saying, 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent, and believe the gospel.'
Reflection
Repent and believe. It sounds like our basic problem is believing, Jesus. Our most fundamental repenting is about who or what we believe.
And believing is no mere mental act. It is not working up the power to think something is true even if you are not sure.
Believing is an investment of self, a believing into. It is giving yourself to a truth, a reality, a claim beyond oneself.
We are all believers, all are given, all are surrendered to truth that may or not be so. But to be human is to give yourself to truth in the hope that truth is real, leading to a life that fulfills the gift of our humanity, heart, hand and mind.
Repent, you say. The kingdom, the rule of the Almighty One, the Living Source, the Fountain of Creation has come. God comes to rule. Believe it. Give yourself to this rule. Surrender to its claims. Put your hand to its purposes.
But all this avoids the personal. For I know there are too many moments that reveal to me that I believe in what is not gospel. I believe that I must earn my keep, prove my worth. And in fatigue I come to the end of the day wondering if I am of any value at all. My soul feels its defeat.
Perhaps it’s only the fatigue talking. But at the root of the weariness is a truth that some part of me believes and to which that part is given. It believes--I believe--that I am my last performance. I am of value as my work has quality, and establishing my value must be done again and again.
It’s not an unusual belief. It is so common and average I am almost embarrassed. I expect more of myself. I should think I could be more unique. But I am not.
I am just one more soul in need of repentance, of turning from false truth that kills the soul to the gospel of your nearness, Holy One. For you are near, your kingdom comes. I believe that, and I would extend to myself the grace of it that I so eagerly claim and give to others.
Repent, my soul, and believe the gospel. God comes to rule you complete. My soul, you are measured by an infinite grace. Enter the circle of blessed rest. The Love who holds you longs to fill every dusty, unbelieving corner of your being.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 1:14-15
After John had been arrested, Jesus went into Galilee. There he proclaimed the gospel from God saying, 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent, and believe the gospel.'
Reflection
Repent and believe. It sounds like our basic problem is believing, Jesus. Our most fundamental repenting is about who or what we believe.
And believing is no mere mental act. It is not working up the power to think something is true even if you are not sure.
Believing is an investment of self, a believing into. It is giving yourself to a truth, a reality, a claim beyond oneself.
We are all believers, all are given, all are surrendered to truth that may or not be so. But to be human is to give yourself to truth in the hope that truth is real, leading to a life that fulfills the gift of our humanity, heart, hand and mind.
Repent, you say. The kingdom, the rule of the Almighty One, the Living Source, the Fountain of Creation has come. God comes to rule. Believe it. Give yourself to this rule. Surrender to its claims. Put your hand to its purposes.
But all this avoids the personal. For I know there are too many moments that reveal to me that I believe in what is not gospel. I believe that I must earn my keep, prove my worth. And in fatigue I come to the end of the day wondering if I am of any value at all. My soul feels its defeat.
Perhaps it’s only the fatigue talking. But at the root of the weariness is a truth that some part of me believes and to which that part is given. It believes--I believe--that I am my last performance. I am of value as my work has quality, and establishing my value must be done again and again.
It’s not an unusual belief. It is so common and average I am almost embarrassed. I expect more of myself. I should think I could be more unique. But I am not.
I am just one more soul in need of repentance, of turning from false truth that kills the soul to the gospel of your nearness, Holy One. For you are near, your kingdom comes. I believe that, and I would extend to myself the grace of it that I so eagerly claim and give to others.
Repent, my soul, and believe the gospel. God comes to rule you complete. My soul, you are measured by an infinite grace. Enter the circle of blessed rest. The Love who holds you longs to fill every dusty, unbelieving corner of your being.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
February 25, 2009
Today’s text
Mark 1:12-13
And at once the Spirit drove him into the desert, and he remained there for forty days, and was put to the test by Satan. He was with the wild animals, and the angels looked after him.
Reflection
Driven. I don’t like the sounds of that, but it speaks a truth of your life, Jesus, something that is true of every life.
We each are driven. Our drivers are usually not hard to discover.
Success, attractiveness, wealth, security, fear of failure, rejection or pain, the maintenance of a particular image, a comfortable life: these are common drivers.
Old voices that judged, cajoled or stung us also drive, pushing us in one direction or another. We obey them more often than not, trying to find a way to make them shut up, or we rebel against them in vain effort to show our independence from them. But even our rebellion reveals their power over us.
Sometimes are drivers are the hunger to protect and serve, to bless and heal, to give and love. Great developments of science, medicine and the arts are born of such drivenness, as are great acts of sacrifice for a child, a parent, a friend.
So drivenness isn’t all bad, just so long as it doesn’t destroy us and others in the process.
Or am I wrong, Jesus?
You were driven by the Spirit into the wilderness for testing, to get ready for the road ahead. That road led to your destruction. You were destroyed by your zeal, by the Spirit of God who drove you to love as God loves, to give as God gives, to surrender to a purpose that brought you human rejection and immense pain.
That scares us, Jesus. We know being driven by the Spirit of the All Loving One will take us beyond ourselves and well beyond our comfort. It will lead us to wonder if we are a little crazy for loving and following you. It will move us to love and care about people and places that we could easily ignore.
It will comfort and love us, while pushing us to be the love and comfort we receive. So we shy away, knowing we are not up to the challenge. It is easier to seek our own comfort.
But one way or the other, we are driven by something, something in our spirit, or something in yours, Jesus.
It’s a hard prayer, but still I must say it: Drive me beyond myself to love and care as you. Part of my heart shudders with fear at the thought; another part demands to be given away.
It’s that driver in me I can’t escape.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Today’s text
Mark 1:91-11
It was at this time that Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized in the Jordan by John. And at once, as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit, like a dove, descending on him. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on you.'
Reflection
You carried a secret, Jesus. You saw what you saw. The encircling dish of the heavens rip open, and the light of forever appears. A dove descends as a voice speaks.
“You are my beloved, my son, on whom my favor rests.”
That’s the secret you carried with you along all the dusty roads you walked. That’s the identity of which you were certain on the days when the powerful rejected you, denounced you and plotted your destruction.
Every challenge could be met by reference and remembrance of who you are: I am the beloved. I dwell in the circle of God’s eternal favor. My identity is nothing others say about me or do to me. The opinions and deeds of human hearts do not define me.
I am beloved of the Eternal Wonder. I dwell in the secret heart of Love Eternal. I am the unique living word of the One who is life.
And you carried on, Jesus, carried by the secret you cherished at the core of your being.
Everything starts and is empowered by your identity, an identity given to you, a gift of the God whose pleasure is to give gifts. You indwelt that gift, your heart never straying from the central truth of God’s blessing which never fades or fails.
I want this, and on my very best moments I taste it. These are not moments when I am good or wise, but moments when I simply know and rest in the identity of belovedness you share with me, this truth abiding into which you constantly welcome me.
Everything depends on resting in this identity: my peace and power, my hope and patience, my courage and love, my smile and joy. All that is best in this mortal body rises like the warm morning sun when I know I am what you say, not what others think or how I see my days and deeds.
I am what you say and give: beloved, chosen, favored, sharing in the identity that is your gift to give.
So let the day begin.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 1:91-11
It was at this time that Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized in the Jordan by John. And at once, as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit, like a dove, descending on him. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on you.'
Reflection
You carried a secret, Jesus. You saw what you saw. The encircling dish of the heavens rip open, and the light of forever appears. A dove descends as a voice speaks.
“You are my beloved, my son, on whom my favor rests.”
That’s the secret you carried with you along all the dusty roads you walked. That’s the identity of which you were certain on the days when the powerful rejected you, denounced you and plotted your destruction.
Every challenge could be met by reference and remembrance of who you are: I am the beloved. I dwell in the circle of God’s eternal favor. My identity is nothing others say about me or do to me. The opinions and deeds of human hearts do not define me.
I am beloved of the Eternal Wonder. I dwell in the secret heart of Love Eternal. I am the unique living word of the One who is life.
And you carried on, Jesus, carried by the secret you cherished at the core of your being.
Everything starts and is empowered by your identity, an identity given to you, a gift of the God whose pleasure is to give gifts. You indwelt that gift, your heart never straying from the central truth of God’s blessing which never fades or fails.
I want this, and on my very best moments I taste it. These are not moments when I am good or wise, but moments when I simply know and rest in the identity of belovedness you share with me, this truth abiding into which you constantly welcome me.
Everything depends on resting in this identity: my peace and power, my hope and patience, my courage and love, my smile and joy. All that is best in this mortal body rises like the warm morning sun when I know I am what you say, not what others think or how I see my days and deeds.
I am what you say and give: beloved, chosen, favored, sharing in the identity that is your gift to give.
So let the day begin.
Pr. David L. Miller
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