Thursday, October 22, 2015

Mark 10:46-49

 They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’

Mercy

Have mercy on us. Open our eyes that we may see ourselves, our society, our nation and neighborhood. But this is a fearful thing. Do we really want to see our privilege and wealth, how entitled we are, a fact of which most are oblivious?

Have we lost sight of holiness and beauty? Can we feel the wonder of true human communion and know it as communion in the Love you are, a communion you happily create among us when we stop letting our lives run us and truly look at each other?

Can we again know and feel that these lives we are given are for something beyond ourselves? Can we still know the joy of being blessed, broken and given away in love for purposes far more holy than our own comfort?

Can we be truly human again, images of the Christ?

Days come when I lose hope for our society, for the neighborhood in which I live, for lives so caught up in the rush of western culture that they fail to see they no longer make choices but are driven, automatons of a society that knows nothing higher than self-seeking.

I know … it’s not so bad. Glimmers of hope and beauty often appear in the acts and eyes of those who are not entirely absorbed in the soup of our societal obsessions with more and more, faster and faster, me and more me.

Some are not blind but see beauty and wonder … and the pain of a world not so privileged as we. Some have suffered greatly, opening their broken hearts to see and bring solace and seek justice.

Some are filled with joy that escapes me when the world is heavy on my heart and anything I do seems fruitless. Their joy bears fruit, bearing the rest of us up on discouraging days. So does this time, this prayer of exploring the darkness of heart that sometimes comes.

Morning clouds clear even as I write. For I hear you whisper, “Take heart. I will open your eyes to see and know … me.”

This is all I need. Truly.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, October 19, 2015

Mark 10:50-52

So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way. 

Seeing

Morning wakes my eyes again.

Wake now this heart to feel,

To know the grace of morning,

Fresh hours of hope, eyes of heart

Open again to see, truly, the sparkle

In your eye when again I see you …

and know the Love that is always.

Blind … then he sees, first, you

And what is there? Not sorrow

Certainly. A smile more divine

Than any before? A furrowed

Brow of concentration? Maybe.

But I will opt for the smile

I carry within wherever I go.

I know … it brought you joy

To sight his eyes again, so take

Now your joy from me, opening

The eyes of this morning heart

Sluggish yet from sleep. Open

My eyes to see again the face I

Carry deep within.

You, shining, sparkling eyes

That speak only Love, quieting

Every longing, awash with tears

Of knowing what is known

Nowhere but in the Love

Who shines in the face I carry

That carries me.

Thank you … again

For Love that is Life, for

Opening morning eyes to see

Your face, your joy in sighting

Me that I might see what I must

See to know and live, truly …

With peace amid the noise.

Pr. David L. Miller

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Isaiah 9:2

The people who walked in darkness
   have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—
   on them light has shined. 

Just when

Just when clouds of darkness

within and around

choke out the sun.

Just when you wonder

whether light can illumine

again the heart’s inner room.

Just when hope grows lame

and you doubt Life

 again can live in your limbs.

Just when night demons haunt

and taunt the small hours and

emptiness aches the hollow heart.

Just then …

a place, a grace, a face,

a wanted smile, the smallest word

pierces the night.

Just then … exquisite beauty

shines, warming the cold heart

as hope springs skyward.

Just then life revives and

Becomes Life one more,

lifting limp limbs to praise.

Just then … you know ...

Life and Love live

always, and always will

to pierce the dreary clouds

of night, casting demons of doubt

to the hell from which they came,

Just then the empty ache flees,

filled now and knowing

the Light and Love who is …

Always.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, September 28, 2015

 Psalm 8:1-4

O Lord, our Sovereign,
   how majestic is your name in all the earth! 

You have set your glory above the heavens. 
   Out of the mouths of babes and infants
you have founded a bulwark because of your foes,
   to silence the enemy and the avenger. 

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
   the moon and the stars that you have established; 
what are human beings that you are mindful of them,
   mortals that you care for them? 

Copper moon

I understand little of the science that governs the course of moons and planets. My grace is wonder and memory, which leads to praise.

So I will praise the Maker of copper moons who turns our eyes from tiny screens to embrace a better light. For a few hours in the night we were awakened again, as human once more and, I hope, as humble as our most ancient relatives who gazed in awe at skylight.

Preachers with overheated imaginations said the red moon was a sign of apocalyptic events soon to shake the world. I will leave them to their idle speculations.

What shakes my heart is the privilege of being a human soul elevated to silence as Earth’s shadow paints the moon’s face and wisps of cloud filter the ever-changing hues.

One night long ago, I walked with Professor Holm as we left the library on a brilliant October evening. He stopped and looked up. “God probably has other children, up there, David,” he said and paused. “And they’re probably better than us.”

I don’t know why he said that to me or why I should remember it nearly 40 years later. Maybe he wanted me to keep myself and ambitions in proper cosmic perspective. Maybe he just wanted to share a moment of peace under an autumn sky.

Near the end of his days … maybe he was just grateful that he could soak in … once more … the miracle of the universe … and of his own life.

Maybe he knew what I now know: Gazing at copper moons saves us from ourselves.

We feel how great we are … and how very small … all at once, awakened to gratitude at being alive … and human … and here … for whatever time we have.

Praise to the One who speaks in copper moons. Thank you for making me human … once more.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, September 21, 2015

Luke 12:16-21

Then he 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 grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, 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 towards God.’

Treasures of God

Sunlight dances through birch limbs in the September breeze. Myriad leaves break brilliant rays into an ever-changing spectrum, bright and shadow on a canvas of patio bricks, each moment a new work of wonder, art of the Divine Draftsman.

It’s the play of grace on earth’s green face, leaves waiting for frost to reveal the beauty hidden within each one, awakening us, too, to know the wonder that fills us, the utter grace of seeing and rejoicing in the miracle of life all-surrounding.

My eyes see and my heart feels it all on a Sunday afternoon, warmed by Earth’s golden star whose solace soon fades as it sinks behind the neighbor’s oaks, departing for the night to visit other hearts, stirring a gentle cool breath on my cheeks that reminds that October is near.

These rare days dwindle. But it matters not … for each fills the inner reservoir with the heart’s most-needed knowing of the gift each day is, the Love who speaks and seeks the beloved in every leaf and shadow, every ray of September sun and the sudden cool of falling eventide, light fading, the day departing but kissing the soul once more with the promise, “I’ll be back. I will always come to find you. That’s the way Love is.”

You speak in all this, Holy One, and I barely have the ears to hear. But thank you … for what little I am able to hear. It is your Love that opens my ears. It is your Love within that allows the hearing of the Love you are everywhere … and certainly in this holy time when earth and sky sing your name … and birch leaves trace the shadow of your face.

For a moment, I am not a fool who imagines I own anything or that any part of this wonder can belong to anyone. It is all gift. And it is all Love. Thank you … just thank you for opening my eyes to the treasures of God.

Pr. David L. Miller

Saturday, September 19, 2015

Luke 12:15-21

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.’ Then he 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 grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, 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 towards God.’

Breathe the air

I just came from a time with men of the congregation who eat and talk on Saturday mornings. Right now the topic is what Martin Luther said, a treasure of faith and grace mixed with a bit of vitriol that sooner or later moves us to take something to heart and carry it with us as we go out the door.

I carry the prayer one member offered before we left: thanks for the trust that allows everyone to ask questions and say what they mean.

Our gathering table is free space engulfed in an ocean of fresh, clean air. The men are who they are here, no airs or egos competing for prominence, just guys talking.

Laughter is easy … and authentic. Who is more successful as society counts it is irrelevant. You are more likely to hear guys talking about their follies than their triumphs, an altogether humanizing experience in an atmosphere of acceptance.

Conversation complete, we go to noisy families or the ache of empty houses, to errands, chores or sporting events, carrying away an idea or two, maybe, but mostly the joy of being together with no demands to do or be or produce anything in particular.

The surprise is that doing and being nothing in particular makes us … or at least me … more alive than when I walked in the room. Why?

Perhaps it is the connection with others who come together trying to know something of the mystery of God and the mystery of our lives.

Perhaps it is the freedom of being human together … trying to live lives of faith and grace in the time and place in which we find ourselves not by choice but chance and the will of God.

Whatever it is … being and feeling truly alive is not about abundance of possessions or the accumulation of accomplishments. It’s about life in community where the Love God is … is the air we breathe.

Like the air … Love is always here. Just breathe.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, September 18, 2015

Mark 9:35-37

He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’ Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, ‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.’

Welcome the child

To welcome a child is to welcome the presence Christ is within them and within oneself. For Christ is present in the need and desire to love and be loved, to know connection that shatters the fears and feeling of being separated, alone.

We are not made to be alone. We are each an image of the Great Love who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit, the Holy Circle in which gracious self-giving flows eternally from one divine person to the next.

This is the self that lies deep within each of us and certainly each child. It is closer to the surface in children for they have manufactured fewer layers of ego to protect their tender hearts.

They have greater access to the reaches of the inmost heart, receiving and loving naturally and freely. We who are older must overcome anxieties about sharing the love we feel and receiving the love we need.

In this giving and receiving we become what we are, souls made in the image of the Great Love. We share in the Holy Circle of Love God is, and it becomes larger in us and the world.

When we welcome a child we welcome the child Christ is within us.

We invite the holy child to grow in us, to become flesh in our flesh, to ring warm and true in our words and shine in our eyes.

When we welcome the child the world has one more face in whom the Face beyond all Faces shines … for all with eyes to see … a most exquisite beauty.

Pr. David L. Miller  

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Mark 9:33-35

Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, ‘What were you arguing about on the way?’ But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another about who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’

Just be

Jesus’ words invite freedom and relief, and I feel a bit of both when I imagine meeting whomever I will meet this day.

I can just be. There is no need to impress or be smart … or be anything other than myself. It’s enough to give what I can, share what I know and do the work that needs to be done.

A terrible task master is being laid to rest in me: ego.

No longer is it so important to be better than others or to be seen as someone more traveled or accomplished. I am what I am, and whatever I am is to be shared with those given me in this life.

It is the ego-self that drives one to pretend, to place a high value on how others see us and to strain to become more powerful or important. Anxious ego needs to still the anxiety that we are not as acceptable or good as those with whom we compare ourselves.

All such comparisons destroy our peace and keep us from discovering and knowing ourselves, our depth and heart, our true beauty.

Just be, you seem to say. Just be. Surrender the anxious desire to be first. Worry about nothing.

Another self, more beautiful than the one you polish up for the world to see, lies within you. Share what you have and who you are from the heart, and your heart will be full … of my heart … and peace.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, September 14, 2015

Monday, September 14, 2015

Mark 9:33-35

Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, ‘What were you arguing about on the way?’ But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another about who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’

Now I know

Choirs sang to me yesterday, a church full of people, too. It was my birthday, and they blessed me so richly tears flooded my eyes and gratitude my soul.

But I had already received my birthday gift even before they sang.

I went through years when Sunday worship brought little if any connection with God. The deep filling of my heart came in the quiet places of my life where I would meditate and listen in my soul for the Soul of the Universe.

And I heard you, Loving Mystery. But the assembled gathering of people to worship, sing and pray seldom penetrated my heart or opened my soul to the wonder you are.

Sometimes songs touched me, and I felt connected. Music has always been a great gift and blessing for me.

But most Sundays I was content to retreat by myself to a place where I would read a few lines of Scripture, meditate and be carried into awareness of the Holy Presence. Alone with God, I knew an exquisite grace in which I fell silent … and knew a Fullness of heart beyond words.

Such moments are still come for me. But a change has occurred.

Sunday, breaking the bread and distributing communion the flow of faces and open hands awakened waves of great love and joy that required me to blink hard to hold back the tears brought by the gracious beauty of this thing we do together.

We are bound in a Great Love, joined in a Great Giving of life and You, Holy One, are this Great Love, this Great Giving … this Great Beauty that so moves me.

Sharing the grace of these moments there is nowhere in the world I would rather be than in this sunlit room sharing the food of blessing with this people who blessed me, one-by-one, with the privilege of breaking bread and serving them the grace beyond all graces.

I still love my quiet spaces, the moments when my heart is full and my fingers find these keys. But now I know: Standing in the assembly, serving the Great Love we receive together, there is nothing greater.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, September 7, 2015

John 3:13-17

No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. ‘Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

Extraordinary

The cross on which Christ hung is ugly and brutal. I have never liked pictures of it and turn my eyes away whenever it appears on a TV or movie screen.

It is too much, too real, too awful, and yet it is your glory and ours, Holy One, the central symbol of who you are and what you are doing in us. And it is our ultimate hope.

Your divine heart is there for all to see, and I see there is no hatred in your heart. There is no desire for punishment or retribution to even out the scales of justice.

You don’t ask to be paid back for anything, not even for the messes we make of creation and the world through our hatreds, sins and wars.

It is your nature only to give, to pour out the goodness and love you are so that we may receive your grace … and live with free and open hearts.

You do not seek not to condemn or punish. You do not pay back evil for evil, pain for pain or hatred with more hatred.

The cross on which you are lifted marks your refusal to do what we do.

You pay back hatred with compassion. You pay back evil with forgiveness. You pay back rejection with welcome. You pay back condemnation with understanding and peace.

“Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.”

Who says that to their killers? Only you … and those rarest of souls in whom the Loving Mystery fully dwells.

The cross is our glory. It shines with the extraordinary compassion in which you hold us and all this troubled world. You do not seek your glory but our freedom.

“Come,” you say. “Come bask in the exquisite love that shines from the cross and become your true self, filled with the peace and compassion that only my cross reveals.”

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, September 4, 2015

Mark 7:31-35

Then he returned from the region of Tyre, and went by way of Sidon towards the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis.  They brought to him a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech; and they begged him to lay his hand on him. He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, ‘Ephphatha’, that is, ‘Be opened.’ And immediately his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. 

Your Voice

It’s morning, Holy One, and the first voice I want to hear is yours. Perhaps I am jealous of this man born deaf.

The first thing he heard, the first clear sound is your voice, the Voice of Love beyond all loves, the Voice of Eternity speaking the one truth needful for the day … every day.

Be open, you say, releasing his stopped ears to receive the sounds of each new day. But of course, this carries deeper meaning.

You speak to my heart … and every heart. “Be open. Hear my voice, the Voice of Love that must be heard that you may live. My voice penetrates to the core and opens your soul.

“When you hear the Voice of Love your soul will open and a stream of life and blessing will pour from your depths. Grace and peace will arise from places within you only I can touch, moving you to touch my broken world.

“When you hear my voice your heart will grow large with room for all you see. You will embrace all that is with the Love that I am  … in you.”

I will hear many sounds this day, Holy One, sounds of need and care, sounds of discord and division, sounds that fall gently on the ear and perhaps sounds I would like never to hear.

But first let me hear your voice that my heart may be open to all the sounds of this day … that I again may know and speak the Love you are … one more time.

Thank you for this life, this Love, for your voice.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, September 1, 2015

1 Peter 2:10

Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.

Belonging

I had not thought of water balloons as a sacrament until Sunday when excited children chased me around the parking lot at the congregational picnic. Wielding their wet weapons, they squealed as their projectiles exploded against my back, their mission accomplished.

Somewhere in the chaos, sodden shirt sticking to my skin, each fresh explosion brought bracing awareness of something I have seldom felt: I belong.

I belong. I belong here, to this place and these people even though for a long time I never thought I would … or could … or even wanted to belong. But I do.

I always fancied myself different from others. My temperament was and is moody, given to wide swings from depression to elation. From childhood even small events brought intense emotion while others glided through them as if they were nothing much.

This difference sometimes caused pain because I wanted acceptance I seldom found. I was different and knew it. This difference later became the source of insight and depth and even pride as I fancied that I was unique … a more sensitive human being. Maybe that’s true, maybe not.

True or not, it magnified separation from others whose approval and companionship I wanted but seldom received because I was too different. I didn’t fit, and I knew it. So I built an identity around not fitting in.

But water balloons have the power to wash away the illusion of our facades.

Underneath it all, I am just a man, a human soul like any other, needier than some, a little strange, and yes, more emotional than most, most men at least. I make no apologies for that.

In fact, I am thankful for it, thankful to be able to feel the water balloons telling me I need be nothing but what I am, for I belong to a people and place where grace is real and Love squeals with delight.

Pr. David L. Miller