Tuesday, January 19, 2016

1 Cor. 12:14-19

Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot were to say, ‘Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body’, that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear were to say, ‘Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body’, that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose.

Written in our flesh

There is no need to look for signs of God’s intention for our lives. It is written deep in our flesh, in our desires, in the gifts and graces that are part of us, so close we may need the help of others to see and know what God is saying to us and through us.

We hear the voice of the Holy One as we listen to our lives and become aware of what we are made for.

We each are a word spoken by God into a particular time and place, a particular family and society, each of us packed with power and possibilities intended to build up not tear down.

It is not only the church that is a body with many parts, each with its own appointed function. The church is an image of the world itself as a body. For the world, too, has many parts intended to function in harmony with other parts that the body, and each part within, may live … and live in generous harmony with all the other parts.

Our call, the call of each blessed thing, each person, is to be that which we are, to be who we are. Holiness is being the word God speaks as we are breathed into existence.

There are those who work with computers or software or who find joy and purpose in accounting or sales work or in any number of things that might deaden me. But if this is where they find joy and purpose, they have discovered their place in the body.

Their joy and sense of purpose reveals they are living in harmony with the word they are, the word of God deep in their being.

What is God saying to and through you; what brings joy in the doing and giving? God is speaking there, breathing the word you are, a gift of grace that builds the whole body that is the world.

 Pr. David L. Miller

Saturday, Jan. 16, 2016

John 2:1-9a

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ And Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.’ His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ Now standing there were six stone water-jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, ‘Fill the jars with water.’ And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, ‘Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.’ So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine he did not know where it had come from … .

Earth crammed with heaven

I like this story. I think it should be read to customers in the wine aisles at Binny's.

It must have been some party. Jesus comes to a wedding and makes 180 gallons of wine; that’s 900 bottles of wine for you and me, which is just enough to supply a first century Jewish wedding, most of which lasted about a week.

I recall my first visit to Namibia in southern Africa. I got to my host’s home the day he returned 200 miles from a wedding. He drove there; others walked or hitched rides. “How was it?” I asked.

“Wonderful,” he answered. “It was a six cow wedding.”

“Six cows?” Yes, he said. “That’s how many it took to feed the guests for more than a week.”

I have never been to a six cow wedding, but I have been to some wonderful wedding celebrations.

Weddings are times for joy to breathe, for feet to dance and for hearts to put away their fears. Two people are joined as one, and we gather to celebrate the love that brings people together. We let go of our worries, drink and dance, and feel the joy that comes from knowing that life goes on and the future still holds hope.

Jesus shows up to do more than give his blessing to marriage. Marriage is a sign of what he is, a sign that opens our eyes to the world that is always more than it appears to be.

Jesus is the sign of the marriage of heaven with earth. In Jesus the heart of God is married, united with human flesh. Heaven and earth, God and creation are not two, not separated, but are inseparably joined.

God can no longer be thought of as just ‘out there,’ and heaven is no longer something ‘after this.’ God is here and the stuff of heaven is present in the messiness of our lives and experiences.

The poet Elizabeth Barret Browning captures this well:

“Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes … .

This opens our eyes to see that the world is the hiding place and the revelation of God. God comes disguised as our life. And if we take off our running shoes and look at it for a while, we may see that even hard times and difficult moments are shot through with beauty and grace, love and hope. And wherever there is love and hope, grace and beauty, Christ is real and present.

“I am with you always,” Jesus says, and he means exactly this … always, in the best and worst of it.

The life of any one of us is messier than those looking on can imagine. But our lives, however messy and mixed-up, are laced with the grace of friendship, the laughter of shared moments and beauty that lift us beyond the troubles of any given moment.

Earth is crammed with heaven. The Holy Presence fills common everyday moments. God can find us anywhere at any time and make us glad to be alive through the colors of a sunset or the smile of a friend.

I sit looking out the window and a patch of blue appears amid the gray of a January sky, and I am filled with the wonder of light, the beauty of a single moment that is afire with God.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, Jan. 12, 2015

John 2:1-9

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ And Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.’ His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ Now standing there were six stone water-jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, ‘Fill the jars with water.’ And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, ‘Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.’ So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from … .

Today …

Today, wind-blown snow

sweeps streets and drives,

drifting and lifting sleep-deprived

bodies from warm beds too early

to clear the drifts

that the day might happen.

Today, they world as I sit

in candlelight, knowing guilt

that my hands are not so worthily

employed, looking for words

that will warm this worried heart

wondering if voices outside me

are as suspicion as my own

that taunts. ‘You can’t. It’s too much.’

Today, I read of a marriage feast,

hungry to feel the marriage of

heart and heaven, two becoming one,

union of Heart and heart, releasing

tears of joy , chasing off the dread

cold of winter soul.

Today, I thirst for the wine

of holy union that life might

be celebration, as you intend,

not the drudgery of dreary doubt

about having and being enough.

Today, there is enough, not of me

but of you who are the wine that

fills the jars and spills over because

neither earth  nor heart is

big enough to hold you.

Today, snow sweeping and cold,

is the hour when you pour

abundance into a 24-hour vessel

inviting me to drink and know …

know … snow cold days are filled

with the wine of Life and Love.

Today comes that I might drink

until I know again that we

are not two but one; heaven

is not there or then, but here

and now where the wine

of heaven’s love comes

in days warm and cold,

easy and hard, to fill the heart

until it is drunk on the Love

that is always enough.

Today, move my heart

and feet to dance in winter’s

cold drunk on the Love that is,

that just is … Everywhere.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, Jan. 5, 2015

Mathew 3:13-17

Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented. And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’

My beloved

Christmas comes and goes as does my family—my mother, brothers, sister and of course, children and grandchildren.

They depart and what remains is awareness of the belovedness in which I hold them in my heart, especially my son, daughter and their children. They exhaust me, and I am glad when they depart and return to their lives so I can get some rest.

But I let them go with a smile. I wish I could see all they are doing, the way they are at their jobs, with colleagues and with their friends because I am proud of them. They make the world a more beautiful place by who they are and what they do.

I am well pleased with them because they love who they are, what they do and the children and friends that surround them. They live from their hearts, doing work and making decisions according to what they feel deep within. Yes, they struggle like everyone else with jobs, relationships and conflicting needs, but this only burnishes the glow and warmth that surrounds them within my heart.

When I am with them, when I see who they are and what they do, I want to proclaim to the world, “This one is mine, my daughter, my son, my grandchildren, my beloved. Look at them and see how wondrously alive they are; see their exquisite beauty and ecstatic joy. See it. It will make you more alive; at least that is what it does for me.

I hear something like this in the voice at Jesus baptism: Look at him. I am well pleased with him. He is my beloved. Look at him and see what I love, what I treasure, what I think most beautiful, what I want for this world … and for you.

Jesus lives in awareness of this divine belovedness. This is his identity, unshakable and true, which he lives and gives to all who will look at him and see.  

Pr. David L. Miller

Thursday, December 24, 2015

Luke 2:8-11

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.

To you

We live a time of fear. But these words are nonsense. Fear is our human condition, the inescapable result of being finite and mortal. We love our existence and know we will lose it, fearing the day will come too soon.  

We always want more … more life, more love, more joy, dreading the loss of what we know and love.

It is not surpassing that the shepherds hide their faces and cling to the ground when strange sights interrupt the night. They know the fear they face in the darkness, the ravenous predators creeping on their sheep.

It is to them that the message comes, “Do not be afraid.”

The message comes … to you who know bad things can and will happen, to you who bear deep wounds and fear their next arrival, to you who feel the ache of separation from the Love that calms your heart, to you … a savior comes.

The savior unites heaven and earth. Separation from the Love who is Life is abolished. The Life of God is joined with our mortality and flows through our souls stilling every fear.

So ignore the fevered voices of fright that fan panic and alarm. Turn from those who tell you to be afraid. Rejoice and laugh. Lift your glass high and toast the heavens for the time of fear is done—to you is born a savior.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, December 21, 2015

Luke 2:5-7

He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

Wrapped in mercy

I am not sure there is anything more beautiful to me than a mother cradling an infant. Maybe it is because part of me longs to be loved like that, and another part wants to be able to love … just like that.

Mary cradles Jesus and wraps him bands of cloth. Nothing unusual. I can sit in the mall and watch young mothers lift their babies from strollers, re-wrap blankets around them and hold a bottle to their lips.

Watching them, I know I am seeing much more than a mother doing the most natural thing in the world. I feel hopeful because I am seeing the world as it should be, but most often is not.

There may have been no place for Mary and her baby in the inn, but there is a place for them in my heart. I want the whole world to be a place where the each of our lives is held tenderly in arms that desire us to be at peace.

This is why Mary moves me. She brings forth the child who is God with us and then holds and loves him the way God loves and holds each of us.

The child in her arms is exactly that holding. Jesus is the God-man. In him, God receives our human nature, our joy and weakness and all we are, holding it all as a mother cradles her child. All we are is wrapped in mercy.

Jesus wraps our humanity in the warmth of God just as Mary wraps her child. It’s beautiful and tender, humanizing and hopeful. Is it any wonder that I love her more with each passing year? 

Pr. David L. Miller

Saurday, December, 19, 2015

Luke 1:38

Then Mary said, ‘Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.’ Then the angel departed from her.

Let it be

Artists for centuries sought to paint the exquisite beauty of this moment.

Their sensitive souls knew there is no greater beauty than that of a human soul surrendering to will of the Love who seeks it.

I like the portrayals that show Mary bowing before the angel Gabriel who also bows to her, each humbling themselves before the beauty standing before them … and to the mystery of God’s desire to use them to bring Christ to the world.

“Let it be to me according to you word.” Mary consents to the Love who seeks to live in her womb. There is no arrogance, no pride of privilege in her words, only the undiluted desire to be a vessel of Love’s will.

She does not yet know what this will cost her. But we know. Love’s will always means pain in a world that is not ordered by the Love who made it.

She loved a child whom she would never quite understand. She loved a son who would never truly belong to her but to the Loving Mystery who filled him.

But maybe she understood this, for she, too, had surrendered. And she learned that Love’s will takes you to places you do not want to go, doing things you thought beyond you.

But you do it for the joy, yes joy, of knowing Love live in you and through you to bring blessing to a world of hurt and to hearts that get lost in the maelstrom of living.

Mary consents to be the instrument of Love’s will in the world. A simple act of faith, trust that knows nothing of what will come but only that the One who is Love will be there in the dark and light.

Blessed are you, Mary, our sister. There are no words for your beauty. We can only stand before you in wonder. 

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, December 11, 2015

Isaiah 40:5

Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
   and all people shall see it together,
   for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’ 

You are the glory

Open the door of our souls, O Lord, and release the river of Love flowing from within that we may shine with your glory.

We see the glory of the Lord in snowscapes of winter, the grandeur of mountains and the yawning immensity of space littered with billions of galaxies. We are moved by sunlight broken into spectrums as it streams through window panes and plays on walls and floors.

The earth is alive with the glory of God, but the greatest glory of all is our own human souls made free by Love God is.

Isaiah, the prophet, saw the vision of a freed people on their way home from bondage, released to truly live again by the Love of the Eternal Mystery whose will and ways are embedded deep in the working out of history.

They made their way home across wilderness and wasteland. But with each step they realized they were already home … even though the miles stretched out before them.

They felt themselves being carried forward by the One Love who came to their aid, comforting their souls with the freedom that comes only when one is filled with the love who is Love.

With each step, they came to know the glory of God is a soul filled with the ecstatic freedom and gratitude Love releases in the human heart.

It makes your eyes shine with a light and glory more luminous than all the galaxies God ever imagined. 

Seeing it, you know: No other glory is quite so bright. 

Pr. David L. Miller

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Isaiah 40:4

Every valley shall be lifted up,
   and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
   and the rough places a plain. 

The holy way

There is a way home into the heart of God. I walked it last Monday night.

Filled with anxiety about the uncontrollable future, I went to a favorite place to pray. I prayed aloud, my voice echoing against the brick walls of the tiny chapel, and I was utterly honest, holding nothing back. 

I named my faults and uncertainties, my failures and fears, self-doubt and inner accusations. I surrendered the absurd delusion that I am or should be more or better or different from the needy, fallible human hearts I meet each day. 

I was humbled, knowing I but one more human soul who can no more control the future that he can erase the past.

I made no promises to God about doing better, for I cannot assure myself or anyone else that my efforts to live and love and serve will by any better or worse than they have been for years.

Mountains of pride fell to the chapel floor. And my valley of sadness and shame was revealed as a product of the arrogance that I should be something more than human.

I surrendered to my life and limitations as they are, releasing the mind’s ceaseless chatter about what could or should or might be, accepting life’s circumstances and situations as the reality I must live.

Ironically, surrender brought peace. It stirred hope. It calmed the anxiety. It released everything to the Holy One from came a calm I could not give myself.

Hope, it seems, is born as you abandon yourself to your human limitations and situation, and open yourself to what God may bring. 

This is the holy way, the way the heart opens to God and begins to feel the stirring of life that is Life and Love that never dies. 

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, Dec. 7, 2015

Isaiah 40:3

A voice cries out:
‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
   make straight in the desert a highway for our God. 

The voice of hope

Wilderness is not a dry rocky space where life is hard. It is not a trackless thicket, a forest where you cannot find your way.

It is where you get lost, where you lose yourself and you forget who you are, your truth and value.

Wilderness is the anxiety that grips you difficult days when you can find no peace from which to draw strength. It is living with complicated relationships, navigating conflict and wondering if you really see things as they are.

For the prophet Isaiah the wilderness was the wild, rough landscape separating his people, Israel, from Judea, their home. Exiled in Babylon, they flew across the wilderness on the wings of imagination to survey the ancient hills and see Jerusalem again, the place of Presence where the Holy One was known and worshiped.

This was home. But their homes were long abandoned and the ruined temple was a pile of scattered stones. And they were far away, lost and captive, fast losing their courage and the memory of what it felt like to know God’s presence filling their hearts. They ached to feel whole and beloved again.

The Bible does not tell us the identity of the voice who cries out, “prepare the way of the Lord.”

Whoever it is, this is the voice of hope. It speaks to ancient Israel … and you, making God’s message clear: “I will not forget you. You are always on my heart. I will come to you in your wilderness that you may come home and know the Love I am.”

Pr. David L. Miller

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Isaiah 9:3-5

You have multiplied the nation,
   you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you
   as with joy at the harvest,
   as people exult when dividing plunder. 

 For the yoke of their burden,
   and the bar across their shoulders,
   the rod of their oppressor,
   you have broken as on the day of Midian.
For all the boots of the tramping warriors
   and all the garments rolled in blood
   shall be burned as fuel for the fire. 

Hope of the hills

My mind wanders to ancient hills, Holy One. It takes flight and circles the globe, hovering over sandblasted hills in deserts and ancient lands where people have lifted their hands to pray and praise you for thousands of years.

I see their descendants there, still with open hands and wounded hearts, and I wonder: What does it feel like to stand in ancient churches and pray with Christians in Syria, Iraq and across the Middle East?

It has been too long since I had this privilege. Praying with them, I felt connected with an ancient hope and heritage, filled with respect and love for souls who have endured more than I can imagine.

I have not seen my church destroyed. I have not entered the sanctuary on Christmas Eve fearing bombs planted by those who hate me. I do not look around at empty pews missing the faces of those who fled for their lives … or died trying. I don’t know anyone who was tortured for saying the name, Jesus.

But I know and have seen the faith of such souls. The prophet’s words excite a hope in them we cannot imagine. They know the tramp of soldier’s boots and garments rolled in blood.

Their prayers burst from the urgency of fear, crying out in hope for God to come break the yoke of oppression and bring compassion to the nations.

Come, Lord Jesus. 

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, November 29, 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. 

Blessed darkness

Light streams through western windows, stained glass painting sunspots blue and gold across the church floor, whispering, “Come, sit here for a while …and know.” 

Know? Yes, know that light is the love of the One who is Love warming the winter heart until it glows, at peace and happy just to be alive, filled with praise for the joy of knowing you, Holy One. Thank you … for sunlit moments when I know you.

But days come when I feel lost and alone. All I am and ever have been seems but a wisp of smoke, dust in the wind, soon scattered and forgotten. Darkness hangs heavy on my heart, shutting out light and joy, old feelings I have known since I was too young to remember.

And yet, thank you … for the darkness. It is more friend than foe. For it brings me to my knees, aching for the Light of Love to appear in the depth of my soul and revive me once more. 

It drives me beyond myself to surrender in tears, there to find the Light who finds me, the Love who is always there, waiting for me, the  Presence who appears within when I release the contortions and confusion of my heart to you … who wants all of me.

You are always there, the Light in the land of darkness.

I feel your knowing smile, appearing even as I sink beneath waves of sadness. You know I will soon come home to the Light and Love you are. So thank you … for moments when darkness threatens; they always lead me back to you.

Pr. David L. Miller

Sunday, November, 29, 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. 

Morning praise

Pink rims the horizon as the day’s first rays light limbs once dead, now draped with the season’s white garland, shimmering the eye and heart. 

Winter falls, but not on our souls. For this day is bathed in light, and light lifts our hearts, awakening awareness of the goodness of life and all that lives.

We move our chairs to catch the rays and allow them to penetrate to our core, basking in this gift given from the generosity of you, Loving Mystery, who called it … and us … into being.

It is as if we know our hearts will die, cold and lost without the golden gift of morning that awakens our bodies and stirs our hearts to the beauty and goodness of life, a new day a, gift given that we might know the goodness of you, the Giver. 

Light is life. Without it there is no life, no growth, no glorious dazzle of daybreak pinks and purples on white snowfields delighting our senses and making us glad we are alive. 

You are Light, Holy One, the Light from whom all light flows to bathe this old rock we call home. In the light, we know the Light you are, and in the darkness we feel your absence, awakening longing for morning to brim eastward and wake our hopes again for love and life, for peace and the beauty to warm our hearts and stir praise in our hearts. 

Thank you, O Lord. Thank you for coming to the dark places to lift my soul. You are light, and you shine in every love and grace-filled moment. 

Chase away every darkness and fill us with hope for every tomorrow.

Pr. David L. Miller

Friday, Nov. 27, 2015

Psalm 25:14

The friendship of the Lord is for those who fear him,
   and he makes his covenant known to them. 

Rest

Worries of what will be

run night races ‘round

worn tracks of mind,

stealing sleep.

So I come here,

Dearest Friend, to

rest and hear your Voice

that breaks the race,

releasing the heart,

to sink into this familiar

chair and sit with you

a while in the silence

of knowing.

I come to know

my heart’s Friend, truly,

where silence settles

every noise of mind

and matter and that again

I might know who I am.

I know: I never

forget, ever, but there

is a knowing that stills

all else, evaporating all

distance I might feel

from you. For that I come,

light red candle and look

into the flame of love.

All works for good,

I hear, for your friends,

though goodness wears

disguises that require

patience and faith ‘til

joy appears in the dawn

of grace.

And morning comes …

now, dear Friend, a new day

in this time and song in which

I know … you are here,

awakening this old heart

haunted from earliest days

of its beating with the hope

of knowing you.

And I do, a knowing

that brings rest night cannot

give, the rest of sitting in

silence by this flame

that never dies.

Pr. David L. Miller