Today's text
Matthew 4:17-22
From then onwards Jesus began his proclamation with the message, 'Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is close at hand.' As he was walking by the Lake of Galilee he saw two brothers, Simon, who was called Peter, and his brother Andrew; they were making a cast into the lake with their net, for they were fishermen. And he said to them, 'Come after me and I will make you fishers of people.' And at once they left their nets and followed him. Going on from there he saw another pair of brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John; they were in their boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. And at once, leaving the boat and their father, they followed him.
Prayer
These words are so spare. They tell me nothing of what went through their minds, or yours, Jesus, as they trundled along behind you. What did they feel? What did they expect to find? What did they want to happen? Or were their minds a mass of conflicting impulses stirred by the hunger to escape their old life?
I don’t know why they came. There is no apparent reason in these simple words. And I can’t imagine they thought they were leaving home for good, as “at once” they came.
And then from depths of consciousness comes your whisper, “And you? Why are you still here?”
Some days I find it hard to answer. In that, I suppose, I am no different than Peter and Andrew and all the rest. Why am I here? What do I want?
And there it is. They, too, came because of their wants, their desires. We fly to you on the wings of our desires, Jesus.
And mine? I find in you the face of a mystery to which I want to draw near. And why? Because in its presence my soul grows quiet, and I become myself, a self I know at no other time, knowing myself lovingly encompassed by Unnamable Mystery.
So I am still here. I don’t follow all that well. But there are moments when what has captured me captures another through what is in me. And then I know quite well why I am here.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 4:12-17
Hearing that John had been arrested he withdrew to Galilee, and leaving Nazareth he went and settled in Capernaum, beside the lake, on the borders of Zebulun and Naphtali. This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: Land of Zebulun! Land of Naphtali! Way of the sea beyond Jordan. Galilee of the nations! The people that lived in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a country of shadow dark as death a light has dawned. From then onwards Jesus began his proclamation with the message, "Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is close at hand."
Prayer
Let me live within the circle of your illumination, Holy Mystery. And that, indeed, requires a change of mind and a revolution of seeing.
Your rule is close at hand. It is here and now. It is the life of your appearing in the love and care of human hands, the decency of human hearts savoring and sustaining life. For what is your rule, if not the labor of love pushing back the darkness that life may happen, blossoming free and full in all that is?
And all that is about me lives, the faces I see and nature itself, all seeking to live into fullness, alive as all of us are with your breath. Your rule is the fullness of life flowing from the depths of your mystery creating time and history and drawing it all back into your embrace.
So let me see your holy nearness in all that lives. Let me witness your labor of life in the loving determination of all who struggle in small and great ways to enlarge life, so all that lives may breathe fully into the joy you intend. Let me rise up and call them saints, emblems and blessed incarnations of your kingdom, our future.
Let us all see. Then no one will need teach our hearts that the fresh light of tomorrow has dawned. For we will know your rising in the life and love all about us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 4:12-17
Hearing that John had been arrested he withdrew to Galilee, and leaving Nazareth he went and settled in Capernaum, beside the lake, on the borders of Zebulun and Naphtali. This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: Land of Zebulun! Land of Naphtali! Way of the sea beyond Jordan. Galilee of the nations! The people that lived in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a country of shadow dark as death a light has dawned. From then onwards Jesus began his proclamation with the message, "Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is close at hand."
Prayer
Let me live within the circle of your illumination, Holy Mystery. And that, indeed, requires a change of mind and a revolution of seeing.
Your rule is close at hand. It is here and now. It is the life of your appearing in the love and care of human hands, the decency of human hearts savoring and sustaining life. For what is your rule, if not the labor of love pushing back the darkness that life may happen, blossoming free and full in all that is?
And all that is about me lives, the faces I see and nature itself, all seeking to live into fullness, alive as all of us are with your breath. Your rule is the fullness of life flowing from the depths of your mystery creating time and history and drawing it all back into your embrace.
So let me see your holy nearness in all that lives. Let me witness your labor of life in the loving determination of all who struggle in small and great ways to enlarge life, so all that lives may breathe fully into the joy you intend. Let me rise up and call them saints, emblems and blessed incarnations of your kingdom, our future.
Let us all see. Then no one will need teach our hearts that the fresh light of tomorrow has dawned. For we will know your rising in the life and love all about us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 4:12-16
Hearing that John had been arrested he withdrew to Galilee, and leaving Nazareth he went and settled in Capernaum, beside the lake, on the borders of Zebulun and Naphtali. This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: Land of Zebulun! Land of Naphtali! Way of the sea beyond Jordan. Galilee of the nations! The people that lived in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a country of shadow dark as death a light has dawned.
Prayer
I, too, walk in great darkness, Jesus. My heart daily reveals to me secrets of the darkness I bear. There is no need to recount them here. You know them all, and those who know me must tolerate them all too often. My failures of faith and humanity, my hunger to magnify myself, my fear of being simply me, neither more nor less: I weary of it all. It weighs heavy on the soul.
Truly, I want to be quiet, to assume mere human proportions and be that soul that I am when the light of your presence glows within this heart of mine. Then alone am I human. Then alone do I know who I am. Then alone, the darkness of my soul scatters, driven from musty corridors of mind by light and lightness of heart.
Just naming you here and recalling the light of your presence enlightens my soul and frees me from my self. And another self arises, lifted by the light of your abiding, here in me.
I have no knowledge of how this so instantly happens nor do I need it. I need only you. For the light that shines from you awakens that same illumination in me.
Lighten my darkness, O Lord, I pray. Save us from the night that we may see and be the light of your presence.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 4:12-16
Hearing that John had been arrested he withdrew to Galilee, and leaving Nazareth he went and settled in Capernaum, beside the lake, on the borders of Zebulun and Naphtali. This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: Land of Zebulun! Land of Naphtali! Way of the sea beyond Jordan. Galilee of the nations! The people that lived in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a country of shadow dark as death a light has dawned.
Prayer
I, too, walk in great darkness, Jesus. My heart daily reveals to me secrets of the darkness I bear. There is no need to recount them here. You know them all, and those who know me must tolerate them all too often. My failures of faith and humanity, my hunger to magnify myself, my fear of being simply me, neither more nor less: I weary of it all. It weighs heavy on the soul.
Truly, I want to be quiet, to assume mere human proportions and be that soul that I am when the light of your presence glows within this heart of mine. Then alone am I human. Then alone do I know who I am. Then alone, the darkness of my soul scatters, driven from musty corridors of mind by light and lightness of heart.
Just naming you here and recalling the light of your presence enlightens my soul and frees me from my self. And another self arises, lifted by the light of your abiding, here in me.
I have no knowledge of how this so instantly happens nor do I need it. I need only you. For the light that shines from you awakens that same illumination in me.
Lighten my darkness, O Lord, I pray. Save us from the night that we may see and be the light of your presence.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 4:12-16
Hearing that John had been arrested he withdrew to Galilee, and leaving Nazareth he went and settled in Capernaum, beside the lake, on the borders of Zebulun and Naphtali. This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: Land of Zebulun! Land of Naphtali! Way of the sea beyond Jordan. Galilee of the nations! The people that lived in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a country of shadow dark as death a light has dawned.
Prayer
Why did you withdraw, Jesus? Did you need space to wonder and worry about John? Were you afraid for yourself? Did you need time to consider your next move, lest it be forced upon you before you could choose a way consonant with your own heart?
It is easy to imagine you there by the lakeshore, staring into the dark water wondering what the Hoy Mystery wants of you now that John has departed the stage. And you must have considered the likelihood of his death. The ways of despots were well known to you.
So you withdrew, but you could never withdraw from yourself, which is good news for us, Jesus. For it did not matter if you drew back or fully engaged the swirling circumstances: You were and remain this living intimacy with Loving Mystery no matter where you were and are.
On Capernaum’s streets, you walked, seeing, talking, eating, drinking, blessing, loving, eternity’s living light shining on whatever darkness dimmed the faces you encountered.
Did they know they were seeing the light of life in your eyes? Some surely caught a glimpse and were moved to want more of you. I have no reason to imagine they were much different from me in that way.
The shadows that darken human life and joy are little changed over the centuries. Yesterday’s sins and fears continue to haunt the heart today, moving us to hope for a freedom of mind and soul that are known only in your presence.
So don’t withdraw from me, Jesus. Be yourself near and in this heart of mine.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 4:12-16
Hearing that John had been arrested he withdrew to Galilee, and leaving Nazareth he went and settled in Capernaum, beside the lake, on the borders of Zebulun and Naphtali. This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: Land of Zebulun! Land of Naphtali! Way of the sea beyond Jordan. Galilee of the nations! The people that lived in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a country of shadow dark as death a light has dawned.
Prayer
Why did you withdraw, Jesus? Did you need space to wonder and worry about John? Were you afraid for yourself? Did you need time to consider your next move, lest it be forced upon you before you could choose a way consonant with your own heart?
It is easy to imagine you there by the lakeshore, staring into the dark water wondering what the Hoy Mystery wants of you now that John has departed the stage. And you must have considered the likelihood of his death. The ways of despots were well known to you.
So you withdrew, but you could never withdraw from yourself, which is good news for us, Jesus. For it did not matter if you drew back or fully engaged the swirling circumstances: You were and remain this living intimacy with Loving Mystery no matter where you were and are.
On Capernaum’s streets, you walked, seeing, talking, eating, drinking, blessing, loving, eternity’s living light shining on whatever darkness dimmed the faces you encountered.
Did they know they were seeing the light of life in your eyes? Some surely caught a glimpse and were moved to want more of you. I have no reason to imagine they were much different from me in that way.
The shadows that darken human life and joy are little changed over the centuries. Yesterday’s sins and fears continue to haunt the heart today, moving us to hope for a freedom of mind and soul that are known only in your presence.
So don’t withdraw from me, Jesus. Be yourself near and in this heart of mine.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Today's text
John 1:35-39
The next day as John stood there again with two of his disciples, Jesus went past, and John looked towards him and said, “Look, there is the lamb of God.” And the two disciples heard what he said and followed Jesus. Jesus turned round, saw them following and said, “What do you want?' They answered, 'Rabbi' - which means Teacher - “where do you live?” He replied, “Come and see;” so they went and saw where he lived, and stayed with him that day. It was about the tenth hour.
Prayer
To our want you direct us, Jesus. But our wants are disordered and conflicting. They are fickle and momentary, following whims not under our control. And we do our best when we dismiss many of the lot as mere wishes of no enduring significance.
Yet, your voice: “What do you want?” And comes the answer, “Where do you live?”
That is my answer, the best one I have. I want to know where you live that I may dwell there with you. For apart from you I do not know life. It’s that simple.
I want to dwell in the places where I can best live near your heart, flowing as it does with the Spirit and life of the Living One. Near you I feel and am alive, thriving with joy and purpose. Hesitance and doubt disappear; energy and love bubble as a spring from depths of soul.
I am tired of death , Jesus. So many days I know more death than life, more lethargy than vitality, more anxiety than hope, more hesitance than faith, more disgust than attraction, more fear than love. But dwelling near the heart of love you are I come alive with the joy that draws me back again and again.
So show us, Dear Friend, where you live amid the common places of our lives. We want to be with you. And we believe your invitation: you want us, too. Always have.
So let us come and see you. Our eyes ache.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 1:35-39
The next day as John stood there again with two of his disciples, Jesus went past, and John looked towards him and said, “Look, there is the lamb of God.” And the two disciples heard what he said and followed Jesus. Jesus turned round, saw them following and said, “What do you want?' They answered, 'Rabbi' - which means Teacher - “where do you live?” He replied, “Come and see;” so they went and saw where he lived, and stayed with him that day. It was about the tenth hour.
Prayer
To our want you direct us, Jesus. But our wants are disordered and conflicting. They are fickle and momentary, following whims not under our control. And we do our best when we dismiss many of the lot as mere wishes of no enduring significance.
Yet, your voice: “What do you want?” And comes the answer, “Where do you live?”
That is my answer, the best one I have. I want to know where you live that I may dwell there with you. For apart from you I do not know life. It’s that simple.
I want to dwell in the places where I can best live near your heart, flowing as it does with the Spirit and life of the Living One. Near you I feel and am alive, thriving with joy and purpose. Hesitance and doubt disappear; energy and love bubble as a spring from depths of soul.
I am tired of death , Jesus. So many days I know more death than life, more lethargy than vitality, more anxiety than hope, more hesitance than faith, more disgust than attraction, more fear than love. But dwelling near the heart of love you are I come alive with the joy that draws me back again and again.
So show us, Dear Friend, where you live amid the common places of our lives. We want to be with you. And we believe your invitation: you want us, too. Always have.
So let us come and see you. Our eyes ache.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, January 11, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 3:16-17
And when Jesus had been baptized he at once came up from the water, and suddenly the heavens opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming down on him. And suddenly there was a voice from heaven, “This is my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on him.”
Prayer
An image appears as I pray, Jesus. My prayer is nothing more than this image. I did not summon or conjure it from feeble imagination. It comes of its own accord—or yours, and I hold it before my mind’s eye, savoring the healing joy I see.
We stand in the water of your baptism, soaking wet, you and I—and one more with whom I seek healing. But the image is not that of seeking but of celebrating. We are joined in a tiny circle of three, soaking wet in the river’s current.
And we smile. We laugh, holding each other, circling in the water, united and at peace, in joy. It is you who brings us together, transcending the differences and tensions that fan anxieties and keep us leery of each others intentions.
So tell me: Is this an image of the future? Of my hope? Of yours? Of the grace and communal life to which you invite us?
It is of course all of this and more. It is an image of the holy future into which you draw all of us in the healing waters that swirl about you.
May we stand in the water with you and share your smile.
Grant our hearts gracious calm that we may live into the blessed vision of your future.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 3:16-17
And when Jesus had been baptized he at once came up from the water, and suddenly the heavens opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming down on him. And suddenly there was a voice from heaven, “This is my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on him.”
Prayer
An image appears as I pray, Jesus. My prayer is nothing more than this image. I did not summon or conjure it from feeble imagination. It comes of its own accord—or yours, and I hold it before my mind’s eye, savoring the healing joy I see.
We stand in the water of your baptism, soaking wet, you and I—and one more with whom I seek healing. But the image is not that of seeking but of celebrating. We are joined in a tiny circle of three, soaking wet in the river’s current.
And we smile. We laugh, holding each other, circling in the water, united and at peace, in joy. It is you who brings us together, transcending the differences and tensions that fan anxieties and keep us leery of each others intentions.
So tell me: Is this an image of the future? Of my hope? Of yours? Of the grace and communal life to which you invite us?
It is of course all of this and more. It is an image of the holy future into which you draw all of us in the healing waters that swirl about you.
May we stand in the water with you and share your smile.
Grant our hearts gracious calm that we may live into the blessed vision of your future.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 3:16-17
And when Jesus had been baptized he at once came up from the water, and suddenly the heavens opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming down on him. And suddenly there was a voice from heaven, “This is my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on him.”
Prayer
How do you stand, my Brother? Do you look to the heavens as you receive the pronouncement of divine favor? Or are your eyes down on the water, your head drenched, your shoulders sloping beneath the weight of the words and what they will bring?
Or perhaps you look ahead and smile, enjoying the grace of total union with the Loving Mystery who calls you the Beloved. I don’t know, but I imagine that you smiled at the words. Certainly, there is joy in them.
The voice speaks a mystery beyond us. You are not just any beloved, but the one, the exception to the fracturing that divides all other human hearts. In you the Holy One dwells undiluted, as you sing in perfect rhythm and time with the music of eternity.
Surely, you smile to know such union with the love that made the stars and greens earth. Surely, you must have warmed at the thought of drawing human hearts to the living flame of love that lights you from within. Surely, you imagined the faces of those, like me, who would crowd near you to feel the warmth of abiding with the One who fills you.
So I crowd near and hope many others will, too, that your living flame may melt the brittle ice of our hardness and make us all human, like you.
Warm our community with the living flame of your love.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 3:16-17
And when Jesus had been baptized he at once came up from the water, and suddenly the heavens opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming down on him. And suddenly there was a voice from heaven, “This is my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on him.”
Prayer
How do you stand, my Brother? Do you look to the heavens as you receive the pronouncement of divine favor? Or are your eyes down on the water, your head drenched, your shoulders sloping beneath the weight of the words and what they will bring?
Or perhaps you look ahead and smile, enjoying the grace of total union with the Loving Mystery who calls you the Beloved. I don’t know, but I imagine that you smiled at the words. Certainly, there is joy in them.
The voice speaks a mystery beyond us. You are not just any beloved, but the one, the exception to the fracturing that divides all other human hearts. In you the Holy One dwells undiluted, as you sing in perfect rhythm and time with the music of eternity.
Surely, you smile to know such union with the love that made the stars and greens earth. Surely, you must have warmed at the thought of drawing human hearts to the living flame of love that lights you from within. Surely, you imagined the faces of those, like me, who would crowd near you to feel the warmth of abiding with the One who fills you.
So I crowd near and hope many others will, too, that your living flame may melt the brittle ice of our hardness and make us all human, like you.
Warm our community with the living flame of your love.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 3:13-15
Then Jesus appeared: he came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. John tried to dissuade him, with the words, “It is I who need baptism from you, and yet you come to me!” But Jesus replied, “Leave it like this for the time being; it is fitting that we should in this way, do all that uprightness demands.” Then John gave in to him.
Prayer
I see your hand on John’s arm. “Let it be so,” you say. John is confused; your composure complete. You know something that he does not grasp. And you know fully, with all your being, from the virginal point of your soul where you are one with the One who sent you.
You know: righteousness demands you, Jesus, all of you.
You did not need a baptism for forgiveness of sins. And even John says you had a better baptism to give than his own. But you submit calmly, with no fuss or second thought, certain that it is right.
Your certainty moves me. It marks your total surrender to a mission and a way. You give yourself without reserve or condition to the mission of God’s reign, prepared to live a way that allows you to hold nothing back. Even if it means your destruction and pain.
You stand in the stream, utterly given to this Loving Mystery, utterly given to human messiness and rejection for the sake of world to be born. You stand there for me, that I may know the One who is Love Untold.
Grant that I may know that love and share your calm assurance. May I stand with you amid the messiness, the heartache and the joy of serving you, quietly surrendering to your invitation, “Come.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 3:13-15
Then Jesus appeared: he came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. John tried to dissuade him, with the words, “It is I who need baptism from you, and yet you come to me!” But Jesus replied, “Leave it like this for the time being; it is fitting that we should in this way, do all that uprightness demands.” Then John gave in to him.
Prayer
I see your hand on John’s arm. “Let it be so,” you say. John is confused; your composure complete. You know something that he does not grasp. And you know fully, with all your being, from the virginal point of your soul where you are one with the One who sent you.
You know: righteousness demands you, Jesus, all of you.
You did not need a baptism for forgiveness of sins. And even John says you had a better baptism to give than his own. But you submit calmly, with no fuss or second thought, certain that it is right.
Your certainty moves me. It marks your total surrender to a mission and a way. You give yourself without reserve or condition to the mission of God’s reign, prepared to live a way that allows you to hold nothing back. Even if it means your destruction and pain.
You stand in the stream, utterly given to this Loving Mystery, utterly given to human messiness and rejection for the sake of world to be born. You stand there for me, that I may know the One who is Love Untold.
Grant that I may know that love and share your calm assurance. May I stand with you amid the messiness, the heartache and the joy of serving you, quietly surrendering to your invitation, “Come.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, January 07, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 3:13-15
Then Jesus appeared: he came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. John tried to dissuade him, with the words, “It is I who need baptism from you, and yet you come to me!” But Jesus replied, “Leave it like this for the time being; it is fitting that we should in this way, do all that uprightness demands.”
Prayer
What did you see, Jesus, when you came to the river? John’s fiery voice fills the air with denunciations of the powerful and demands for changed lives. The small and great come to him. And he rails at them all, also painting you in terms that don’t seem to fit: a pitchfork in your hand and a heart eager to burn the chaff.
Then you appear, in silence and simplicity. No fanfare, no announcement, no fire. You step from the desert and from among the crowd and crawl down the bank into the water. Or had all the others left John for a while when you appeared? Did all this happen when no one was watching?
I don’t know, but my heart falls silent as I watch you wade toward this wild man. You stand in the muddy stream where all the others stood, assuming no position of privilege, giving yourself to our human messiness.
Giving yourself: that is what I see, surrender to a wild and holy cause. You give yourself not only to us but to the untamed will of the One who burns to bring a kingdom where love displaces threat and fear, and Earth shimmers with divine glory.
And standing in the stream, you extend your hand to me. “Come,” you say. “Stand by me in the messiness.” A gracious and fearful invitation into your way of being.
And I come, again today. Whatever happens, just let me be with you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 3:13-15
Then Jesus appeared: he came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. John tried to dissuade him, with the words, “It is I who need baptism from you, and yet you come to me!” But Jesus replied, “Leave it like this for the time being; it is fitting that we should in this way, do all that uprightness demands.”
Prayer
What did you see, Jesus, when you came to the river? John’s fiery voice fills the air with denunciations of the powerful and demands for changed lives. The small and great come to him. And he rails at them all, also painting you in terms that don’t seem to fit: a pitchfork in your hand and a heart eager to burn the chaff.
Then you appear, in silence and simplicity. No fanfare, no announcement, no fire. You step from the desert and from among the crowd and crawl down the bank into the water. Or had all the others left John for a while when you appeared? Did all this happen when no one was watching?
I don’t know, but my heart falls silent as I watch you wade toward this wild man. You stand in the muddy stream where all the others stood, assuming no position of privilege, giving yourself to our human messiness.
Giving yourself: that is what I see, surrender to a wild and holy cause. You give yourself not only to us but to the untamed will of the One who burns to bring a kingdom where love displaces threat and fear, and Earth shimmers with divine glory.
And standing in the stream, you extend your hand to me. “Come,” you say. “Stand by me in the messiness.” A gracious and fearful invitation into your way of being.
And I come, again today. Whatever happens, just let me be with you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, January 04, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 2:9-12
Having listened to what the king had to say, they [wise men] set out. And suddenly the star they had seen rising went before and halted over the place where the child was. The sight of the star filled them with delight, and going into the house they saw the child with his mother Mary, and falling to their knees they did him homage. Then, opening their treasures they offered him gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh. But they were given a warning in a dream not to go back to Herod, and returned to their own country by a different way.
Prayer
It is in delight that we bow before your beauty, Holy Child. For there we find our soul, knowing ourselves for the first time.
Little wonder the wise men bubbled with delight. They traversed desert wastes and urban confusion, finally to arrive at the object of their search. They knelt in the dirt before you. And presenting their strange gifts, they found what we want, a heart that belongs to your mystery.
And the name of that mystery is Eternal Love and Undying Presence, Immortal Beauty and Eternal Wonder, Gracious Joy, Home.
Surely, it is not delight that brings us to you. It is our blessed neediness, our happy lack. A void happy only because it moves us across deserts and urban wastes, up dead end streets and down blind alleys searching for a soul, a heart found only as we kneel in delight before you.
So let us find you by whatever star seems to lead to place of your fullness. There we, too, will kneel in the dirt with delight, finding you … and our soul.
And returning home in way quite different.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 2:9-12
Having listened to what the king had to say, they [wise men] set out. And suddenly the star they had seen rising went before and halted over the place where the child was. The sight of the star filled them with delight, and going into the house they saw the child with his mother Mary, and falling to their knees they did him homage. Then, opening their treasures they offered him gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh. But they were given a warning in a dream not to go back to Herod, and returned to their own country by a different way.
Prayer
It is in delight that we bow before your beauty, Holy Child. For there we find our soul, knowing ourselves for the first time.
Little wonder the wise men bubbled with delight. They traversed desert wastes and urban confusion, finally to arrive at the object of their search. They knelt in the dirt before you. And presenting their strange gifts, they found what we want, a heart that belongs to your mystery.
And the name of that mystery is Eternal Love and Undying Presence, Immortal Beauty and Eternal Wonder, Gracious Joy, Home.
Surely, it is not delight that brings us to you. It is our blessed neediness, our happy lack. A void happy only because it moves us across deserts and urban wastes, up dead end streets and down blind alleys searching for a soul, a heart found only as we kneel in delight before you.
So let us find you by whatever star seems to lead to place of your fullness. There we, too, will kneel in the dirt with delight, finding you … and our soul.
And returning home in way quite different.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 2:3-5,7-8
When King Herod heard this he was perturbed, and so was the whole of Jerusalem. He called together all the chief priests and the scribes of the people, and enquired of them where the Christ was to be born. They told him, “At Bethlehem in Judea, for this is what the prophet wrote ….” Then Herod summoned the wise men to see him privately. He asked them the exact date on which the star had appeared and sent them on to Bethlehem with the words, “Go and find all about the child, and when you have found him, let me know, so that I too may go and do him homage.”
Prayer
Did you believe him, wise men? Or were you truly wise, knowing that no king willingly does homage before another? Power and ego get in the way. Still. And not just for kings. Me, too.
I have no problem bowing before you, Holy Child. None. I find my place and irreplaceable blessing kneeling before the glory of your loving humility. But you ask that I become what you are and bow in service to those you give me.
Not just family, but all those others among whom I live and work and have my being. And there my knees grow stiff and my soul resistant. For there I encounter souls and attitudes and behaviors that sorely try me, exhausting both patience and respect.
And I realize something of Herod’s calcified soul resides also in me, giving rise to mistrust and defensiveness, judgmental anger and cussed stiff-neckedness.
So let me kneel again before the wonder of your divine humility, blessed Christ. The sight of you melts this stony heart, and you remake my soul in the beauty of your divine image, loving and humble, given to your purpose.
This is the homage you seek. It is also my freedom and joy. May it be mine today.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 2:3-5,7-8
When King Herod heard this he was perturbed, and so was the whole of Jerusalem. He called together all the chief priests and the scribes of the people, and enquired of them where the Christ was to be born. They told him, “At Bethlehem in Judea, for this is what the prophet wrote ….” Then Herod summoned the wise men to see him privately. He asked them the exact date on which the star had appeared and sent them on to Bethlehem with the words, “Go and find all about the child, and when you have found him, let me know, so that I too may go and do him homage.”
Prayer
Did you believe him, wise men? Or were you truly wise, knowing that no king willingly does homage before another? Power and ego get in the way. Still. And not just for kings. Me, too.
I have no problem bowing before you, Holy Child. None. I find my place and irreplaceable blessing kneeling before the glory of your loving humility. But you ask that I become what you are and bow in service to those you give me.
Not just family, but all those others among whom I live and work and have my being. And there my knees grow stiff and my soul resistant. For there I encounter souls and attitudes and behaviors that sorely try me, exhausting both patience and respect.
And I realize something of Herod’s calcified soul resides also in me, giving rise to mistrust and defensiveness, judgmental anger and cussed stiff-neckedness.
So let me kneel again before the wonder of your divine humility, blessed Christ. The sight of you melts this stony heart, and you remake my soul in the beauty of your divine image, loving and humble, given to your purpose.
This is the homage you seek. It is also my freedom and joy. May it be mine today.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 2:1-2
After Jesus had been born at Bethlehem in Judea during the reign of King Herod, suddenly some wise men came to Jerusalem from the east asking, “Where is the infant king of the Jews? We saw his star as it rose and have come to do him homage.”
Prayer
You come, wise men, to see the child, to hold him, to do homage. And what do you imagine that will do for you? What insight or illumination do you suppose will be yours?
Or do you expect nothing, seeking only to give your gifts and perform due deference to one whose kingship you likely will not live to see … and question?
No, you expect something. We all do. We expect to receive when we give. This is not selfish. It reflects our mutual neediness and dependence. I give and long for a smile, for mutual joy, for affirmation of the relationship that binds me with the one who receives.
A gift given in care and affection returns to us, or so we hope. And when it does, the world assumes an order where we know our place, a place of belonging.
And you, O wise men, what did you receive? You come to one you call ‘king,’ seeking to know and belong to this one, so far greater than you--and there to find your place. And to return home: knowing yourselves and the place for the first time.
This I seek, in this new year, to bear the gift of my life again and again to this Jesus, there to know myself and my place in the love that shines from the Holy Child through the corridors of all history.
Take me no where, my Lord, and grant me no success that would lead from this.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 2:1-2
After Jesus had been born at Bethlehem in Judea during the reign of King Herod, suddenly some wise men came to Jerusalem from the east asking, “Where is the infant king of the Jews? We saw his star as it rose and have come to do him homage.”
Prayer
You come, wise men, to see the child, to hold him, to do homage. And what do you imagine that will do for you? What insight or illumination do you suppose will be yours?
Or do you expect nothing, seeking only to give your gifts and perform due deference to one whose kingship you likely will not live to see … and question?
No, you expect something. We all do. We expect to receive when we give. This is not selfish. It reflects our mutual neediness and dependence. I give and long for a smile, for mutual joy, for affirmation of the relationship that binds me with the one who receives.
A gift given in care and affection returns to us, or so we hope. And when it does, the world assumes an order where we know our place, a place of belonging.
And you, O wise men, what did you receive? You come to one you call ‘king,’ seeking to know and belong to this one, so far greater than you--and there to find your place. And to return home: knowing yourselves and the place for the first time.
This I seek, in this new year, to bear the gift of my life again and again to this Jesus, there to know myself and my place in the love that shines from the Holy Child through the corridors of all history.
Take me no where, my Lord, and grant me no success that would lead from this.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, December 24, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Today's text
Isaiah 7:14
“The Lord God will give you a sign in any case: It is this: the young woman is with child and will give birth to a son whom she will call Immanuel.”
Isaiah 7:14
“The Lord God will give you a sign in any case: It is this: the young woman is with child and will give birth to a son whom she will call Immanuel.”
O Emmanuel, king and lawgiver, desire of the nations, Savior of all people, come and set us free, Lord our God.
Come, Emmanuel; reveal your blessed nearness.
As an ordinary infant you came to us, in
your flesh bearing blest unity with divine wonder.
Moment to moment, soul-to-soul, you dwelt in undivided union with
that Love we cannot imagine.
Who can know the immensity of the divine heart,
the Loving Mystery who is
Immeasurable Mercy,
the Infinitely Transcendent Wonder who
casts the burning nebulae into the cold darkness of space,
the Far Near One who holds
all time--and us,
as a mother caresses her child’s tender nearness?
The Mystery all the world cannot contain, dwells
even in your infant flesh.
You, Emmanuel, you knew this One always,
in hidden depths of intimate communion.
You were and are eternally one with the One for
whom no name will do.
We look into your face and gaze into the depths of
the Eternal Wonder.
As an ordinary infant you came to us, in
your flesh bearing blest unity with divine wonder.
Moment to moment, soul-to-soul, you dwelt in undivided union with
that Love we cannot imagine.
Who can know the immensity of the divine heart,
the Loving Mystery who is
Immeasurable Mercy,
the Infinitely Transcendent Wonder who
casts the burning nebulae into the cold darkness of space,
the Far Near One who holds
all time--and us,
as a mother caresses her child’s tender nearness?
The Mystery all the world cannot contain, dwells
even in your infant flesh.
You, Emmanuel, you knew this One always,
in hidden depths of intimate communion.
You were and are eternally one with the One for
whom no name will do.
We look into your face and gaze into the depths of
the Eternal Wonder.
So come, Emmanuel. Come and stay near us.
We have no words to name what you bear.
We know only that we die without your nearness.
So come, and never leave us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
Today's text
Isaiah 9:1
“For a son has been born for us, a son has been given to us, and dominion has been laid upon his shoulders; and this is the name he has been given, Wonderful-Counselor, Mighty-God, Eternal-Father, Prince-of-Peace.”
Isaiah 9:1
“For a son has been born for us, a son has been given to us, and dominion has been laid upon his shoulders; and this is the name he has been given, Wonderful-Counselor, Mighty-God, Eternal-Father, Prince-of-Peace.”
O King of all the nations, the only joy of every human heart; come and save the creature you fashioned from the dust.
Come, Desire and King of the nations;
satisfy our hearts’ longing.
You are the great giving of God,
the hunger of every human heart.
In you the Holy One shares the treasure of
divine life with we,
the dying.
And die we do; a thousand times and more
while yet we breathe.
We crave your nearness, longing to be filled
with the Fullness of
you who are Life.
Come, free us from the melancholy of any moment
without you.
Fill the yawning emptiness that our precious tears of
joy may give you proper praise.
Draw us into your immense generosity that our
withered hearts and weary world may
wax fragrant with your beauty.
Come, Desire of the Nations. Fill our restless hearts
Pr. David L. Miller
satisfy our hearts’ longing.
You are the great giving of God,
the hunger of every human heart.
In you the Holy One shares the treasure of
divine life with we,
the dying.
And die we do; a thousand times and more
while yet we breathe.
We crave your nearness, longing to be filled
with the Fullness of
you who are Life.
Come, free us from the melancholy of any moment
without you.
Fill the yawning emptiness that our precious tears of
joy may give you proper praise.
Draw us into your immense generosity that our
withered hearts and weary world may
wax fragrant with your beauty.
Come, Desire of the Nations. Fill our restless hearts
Pr. David L. Miller
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Today's text
Isaiah 9:1
“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; on the inhabitants of a country in shadow dark as death light has blazed forth.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Isaiah 9:1
“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; on the inhabitants of a country in shadow dark as death light has blazed forth.”
O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice: come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.
Come, O Dayspring, dazzling star of everlasting tomorrow.
Illumine our hearts that we may see your new age.
We weary of this one.
The challenges of our days drain us dry, sapping
our souls of the joy you crave for all you love.
Let us see the beauty of your blessed face and glimpse
he world’s future, our future, and know:
it is you.
You are the future, the rose-glow dawning of love
everlasting, which no death can hold.
So come, convince our souls that we belong to
your tomorrow that joy might fill our
Illumine our hearts that we may see your new age.
We weary of this one.
The challenges of our days drain us dry, sapping
our souls of the joy you crave for all you love.
Let us see the beauty of your blessed face and glimpse
he world’s future, our future, and know:
it is you.
You are the future, the rose-glow dawning of love
everlasting, which no death can hold.
So come, convince our souls that we belong to
your tomorrow that joy might fill our
frame, and your beauty may glow from our depths.
Draw us beyond our fears and exhaustion into
the world of your grace that we may ever watch for
the light that shines on those who dwell in deep darkness.
Come, O Dayspring. Illumine us with the light of your tomorrow that
we might live today.
Draw us beyond our fears and exhaustion into
the world of your grace that we may ever watch for
the light that shines on those who dwell in deep darkness.
Come, O Dayspring. Illumine us with the light of your tomorrow that
we might live today.
Pr. David L. Miller
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Today's text
Isaiah 22:22; 42:6-9
The key of the house of David will I lay on his shoulder; and he shall open, and none shall shut; and he shall shut, and none shall open.
I, Yahweh, have called you in righteousness, and will hold your hand, and will keep you, and give you for a covenant of the people, for a light of the Gentiles; to open the blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, and those who sit in darkness out of the prison-house. I am Yahweh, that is my name; and my glory will I not give to another, neither my praise to engraved images. Behold, the former things have happened, and new things do I declare. Before they spring forth I tell you of them.
Today's text
Isaiah 22:22; 42:6-9
The key of the house of David will I lay on his shoulder; and he shall open, and none shall shut; and he shall shut, and none shall open.
I, Yahweh, have called you in righteousness, and will hold your hand, and will keep you, and give you for a covenant of the people, for a light of the Gentiles; to open the blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, and those who sit in darkness out of the prison-house. I am Yahweh, that is my name; and my glory will I not give to another, neither my praise to engraved images. Behold, the former things have happened, and new things do I declare. Before they spring forth I tell you of them.
O Key of David: Come, break down the prison walls of death for those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death; and lead your captive people into freedom.
Come, Key of David; open the door that leads to life.
In the tender flesh of your incarnation you grace the tired Earth
with the freshness of divine embrace.
In the tender flesh of your incarnation you grace the tired Earth
with the freshness of divine embrace.
You take all that is and all we are into the warmth
of intimate embrace where no one
is a stranger and nothing is alien.
Our hearts fly open, and all that is in your divine heart
flows into us.
All we are, our confusion and sin,
our contradictions and failures,
our ideals and hopes, all
of it received and overwhelmed in
the immensity of your mercy.
All we are, lifted and liberated into
truest life as your heart fills and transforms
our own until we, too, radiate
the warmth of your divine embrace.
of intimate embrace where no one
is a stranger and nothing is alien.
Our hearts fly open, and all that is in your divine heart
flows into us.
All we are, our confusion and sin,
our contradictions and failures,
our ideals and hopes, all
of it received and overwhelmed in
the immensity of your mercy.
All we are, lifted and liberated into
truest life as your heart fills and transforms
our own until we, too, radiate
the warmth of your divine embrace.
So come, Key of David, enfold us in the wonder of your incarnation.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, December 21, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
Today's text
Isaiah 11:1,10
“A shoot will spring from the stock of Jesse, a new shoot will grow from his roots. ... That day, the root of Jesse, standing as a signal for the peoples, will be sought out by the nations and its home will be glorious."
Isaiah 11:1,10
“A shoot will spring from the stock of Jesse, a new shoot will grow from his roots. ... That day, the root of Jesse, standing as a signal for the peoples, will be sought out by the nations and its home will be glorious."
O Flower of Jesse’s stem, you have been raised up as a sign for all peoples; kings stand silent in your presence; the nations bow down in worship before you. Come, let nothing keep you from coming to our aid.
Come, Root of Jesse; free us from ourselves.
Peace escapes us. It lies beyond our grasp.
But that is our problem.
Our feverish souls struggle to grasp and gain what can be received only with open hands
Young, we learn life is about grasping what we want.
Life soon is defined by enlarging our territory, snatching
what we can and protecting it
from those who threaten.
The restless rhythm plays out on playgrounds and the planet’s bloodiest
streets, from Baghdad to Bethlehem, from Mogadishu to, well, Hyde Park.
And it kills us, teaching us to fear, reducing creation to a commodity to be consumed
And human beings to competitors.
Freedom and peace flow from your boundless divine generosity, Loving Mystery.
In the advent of your beloved, Jesus, you pour out your beauty and love that
our hearts may know the abundance you intend for all you have made.
May we savor the joy you take in giving yourself to us.
Only so, can we know you.
Only so, will gentle gratitude replace our feverish grasping.
So come, Root of Jesse. Free us from ourselves. We weary of war.
Pr. David L. Miller
Peace escapes us. It lies beyond our grasp.
But that is our problem.
Our feverish souls struggle to grasp and gain what can be received only with open hands
Young, we learn life is about grasping what we want.
Life soon is defined by enlarging our territory, snatching
what we can and protecting it
from those who threaten.
The restless rhythm plays out on playgrounds and the planet’s bloodiest
streets, from Baghdad to Bethlehem, from Mogadishu to, well, Hyde Park.
And it kills us, teaching us to fear, reducing creation to a commodity to be consumed
And human beings to competitors.
Freedom and peace flow from your boundless divine generosity, Loving Mystery.
In the advent of your beloved, Jesus, you pour out your beauty and love that
our hearts may know the abundance you intend for all you have made.
May we savor the joy you take in giving yourself to us.
Only so, can we know you.
Only so, will gentle gratitude replace our feverish grasping.
So come, Root of Jesse. Free us from ourselves. We weary of war.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Today's text
Isaiah 11:4-5
“But He shall judge the poor with justice, and decide aright for the land’s afflicted. He shall strike the ruthless with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked. Justice shall be the band around his waist, and faithfulness a belt upon his hips.”
Isaiah 11:4-5
“But He shall judge the poor with justice, and decide aright for the land’s afflicted. He shall strike the ruthless with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked. Justice shall be the band around his waist, and faithfulness a belt upon his hips.”
O Adonai, Ruler of Israel, who showed yourself to Moses in the burning bush, who gave him the holy law on Sinai: come, stretch out your mighty hand to set us free.
Come, Adonai, redeem our hearts and lives.
Teach our forgetful souls that we are precious in your sight.
We forget.
Shatter our hearts and make us whole.
I sit and watch from across a room.
A mother raises a tiny child to her lips,
a little girl I imagine, for all the pink, but
premature by any bodily measure.
She kisses one tender cheek and lays
the little head over her heart.
Fragile, she rests there, soothed
by the first sound she ever heard:
the rhythm of a human heart pumping
the warm blood of life into her,
a parable of your love, of
time and eternity.
I stand silent and unseen, fearing
to breathe,
lest I shatter the purity of a love freely given.
Mother and child, an ageless ritual, shimmering
with gentleness and peace flowing
ancient and sweet
from the impenetrable heart of eternity.
And from that dense darkness, you speak,
“You are precious.
You are mine.
Do not fear.
Do you imagine that I love you less?”
So come, Adonai; call us by name.
Mother and child, an ageless ritual, shimmering
with gentleness and peace flowing
ancient and sweet
from the impenetrable heart of eternity.
And from that dense darkness, you speak,
“You are precious.
You are mine.
Do not fear.
Do you imagine that I love you less?”
So come, Adonai; call us by name.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Note: The O Antiphons, composed for monastic singing, are paraphrased in the hymn, O Come, O Come Emmanuel. The antiphons highlight seven titles for the Messiah, using prophecies from the prophet Isaiah. Prayers for these final days leading to Christmas will reflect upon these ancient chants.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Today's text
Isaiah 11:2-3
"The spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him: a spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength, a spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord, and his delight shall be the fear of the Lord."
O Wisdom, O holy Word of God, you govern all creation with your strong yet tender care. Come and show your people the way to salvation
Come, Holy Wisdom.
The calendar turns. Advent comes. The soul longs … for more.
Our music assumes a minor key melancholy.
Darkness descends much too early. Earth cools.
Leaves, lately golden, fade and freeze to leaden earth.
We scurry from door to door, bitter chill chafing our cheeks.
From tasks half done, we dash to the next, racing to clear the desk before the holy
days, forgetting that all days are holy.
The world is too much with us.
Death stalks Darfur.
Hate stains the holy land
The way of peace escapes the wisdom of the learned and powerful.
Disease hunts family and friend, haunting memory and expectation.
The poor watch the mail box with dread, and the homeless shiver on our streets.
Secret loneliness broods behind suburban windows.
While e-mail abhors any vacuum where our hearts might remember
who we are and the love for which you intend us.
We come to sit in quiet pews for respite, to breathe, to find we are not alone.
And to hope in you.
So come now, resplendent beauty, heal our tired eyes.
Reveal your face in the marriage of Spirit and mortal flesh.
Join our hearts to you who are wisdom from on high.
Come, Holy Wisdom. We want to live.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Today's text
Isaiah 11:2-3
"The spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him: a spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength, a spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord, and his delight shall be the fear of the Lord."
O Wisdom, O holy Word of God, you govern all creation with your strong yet tender care. Come and show your people the way to salvation
Come, Holy Wisdom.
The calendar turns. Advent comes. The soul longs … for more.
Our music assumes a minor key melancholy.
Darkness descends much too early. Earth cools.
Leaves, lately golden, fade and freeze to leaden earth.
We scurry from door to door, bitter chill chafing our cheeks.
From tasks half done, we dash to the next, racing to clear the desk before the holy
days, forgetting that all days are holy.
The world is too much with us.
Death stalks Darfur.
Hate stains the holy land
The way of peace escapes the wisdom of the learned and powerful.
Disease hunts family and friend, haunting memory and expectation.
The poor watch the mail box with dread, and the homeless shiver on our streets.
Secret loneliness broods behind suburban windows.
While e-mail abhors any vacuum where our hearts might remember
who we are and the love for which you intend us.
We come to sit in quiet pews for respite, to breathe, to find we are not alone.
And to hope in you.
So come now, resplendent beauty, heal our tired eyes.
Reveal your face in the marriage of Spirit and mortal flesh.
Join our hearts to you who are wisdom from on high.
Come, Holy Wisdom. We want to live.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Today's text
Matthew 11:2-6
Now John had heard in prison what Christ was doing and he sent his disciples to ask him, “are you the one who is to come, or are we to expect to someone else?” Jesus answered, “Go back and tell John what you hear and see; the blind see again, the lame walk, those suffering virulent skin diseases are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life and the good news is proclaimed to the poor; and blessed in anyone who does not find me a cause for falling.”
Prayer
Blessed are the eyes that see you and the ears that hear you. More: blessed is the heart that believes you are the awaited one, Jesus, for they alone enter the joy of the God’s future.
They alone have eyes to see and ears to hear the music of tomorrow amid the din of today. They alone see and hear the beauty of what you are doing in every time and place. They alone are able to join the celebration of hope that breaks through the dreariness of gray winter days.
So let us believe that you are the one, the face of tomorrow, that today we may savor the colors of a world to come, glimpsing eternity in the contours of the common where, even now, you cleanse and heal, lift and live.
Let us see and hear, for perceiving you infuses my tired arms and drug-dulled mind with the vigor of that day when all you are will strengthen every weak arm, when the fullness of your life explodes in translucent glory.
Open our hearts to believe that we may expect no one … but you.
Come, Lord Jesus. Come to every moment of our time and every place of our dwelling.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 11:2-6
Now John had heard in prison what Christ was doing and he sent his disciples to ask him, “are you the one who is to come, or are we to expect to someone else?” Jesus answered, “Go back and tell John what you hear and see; the blind see again, the lame walk, those suffering virulent skin diseases are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life and the good news is proclaimed to the poor; and blessed in anyone who does not find me a cause for falling.”
Prayer
Blessed are the eyes that see you and the ears that hear you. More: blessed is the heart that believes you are the awaited one, Jesus, for they alone enter the joy of the God’s future.
They alone have eyes to see and ears to hear the music of tomorrow amid the din of today. They alone see and hear the beauty of what you are doing in every time and place. They alone are able to join the celebration of hope that breaks through the dreariness of gray winter days.
So let us believe that you are the one, the face of tomorrow, that today we may savor the colors of a world to come, glimpsing eternity in the contours of the common where, even now, you cleanse and heal, lift and live.
Let us see and hear, for perceiving you infuses my tired arms and drug-dulled mind with the vigor of that day when all you are will strengthen every weak arm, when the fullness of your life explodes in translucent glory.
Open our hearts to believe that we may expect no one … but you.
Come, Lord Jesus. Come to every moment of our time and every place of our dwelling.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, December 14, 2007
Today's text
Matthew 3:10-12
[John the Baptist said]: “Even now the axe is being laid to the root of the trees, so that any tree failing to produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown on the fire. I baptize you in water for repentance, but the one who comes after me is more powerful than I, and I am not fit to carry his sandals; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into his barn; but the chaff he will burn in a fire that will never go out."
Prayer
Surprising and Unexpected One, do you startle even your messengers, hiding yourself from them even as they announce what little they know of you? John in his passion is as much wrong as right. He seems to expect a larger, more fierce version of himself. He is neither the first nor the last to confuse his way with yours.
Your appearance is more surprising and generous than he imagined, more gentle and subtle than his own. But he is also right: You appear in our flesh with world-shattering power to divide and heal, and to remake all things from the inside out.
Your appearance created deep distinction among souls, Jesus. Some welcomed you, making room for your birth into Mary’s arms. Some refused and feared your appearance, seeking to kill all that threatened to upset their world, so neatly ordered for their comfort.
People, like me, I suppose, made room for you as one more human soul, just one more traveler on life’s journey to the grave, expecting no more than this. They little imagined the world-shattering wonder they’d allowed access to their hearts. Certainly, I did not.
And you take that, Jesus, coming with Holy Spirit and fire to ignite us from lethargy into love, filling us with the same divine fire that willed your incarnation, burning us with that flame that does, indeed, burn off all that is not love, chaff indeed.
So come, Lord Jesus. Come with your fire. Our hearts grow cold.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 3:10-12
[John the Baptist said]: “Even now the axe is being laid to the root of the trees, so that any tree failing to produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown on the fire. I baptize you in water for repentance, but the one who comes after me is more powerful than I, and I am not fit to carry his sandals; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into his barn; but the chaff he will burn in a fire that will never go out."
Prayer
Surprising and Unexpected One, do you startle even your messengers, hiding yourself from them even as they announce what little they know of you? John in his passion is as much wrong as right. He seems to expect a larger, more fierce version of himself. He is neither the first nor the last to confuse his way with yours.
Your appearance is more surprising and generous than he imagined, more gentle and subtle than his own. But he is also right: You appear in our flesh with world-shattering power to divide and heal, and to remake all things from the inside out.
Your appearance created deep distinction among souls, Jesus. Some welcomed you, making room for your birth into Mary’s arms. Some refused and feared your appearance, seeking to kill all that threatened to upset their world, so neatly ordered for their comfort.
People, like me, I suppose, made room for you as one more human soul, just one more traveler on life’s journey to the grave, expecting no more than this. They little imagined the world-shattering wonder they’d allowed access to their hearts. Certainly, I did not.
And you take that, Jesus, coming with Holy Spirit and fire to ignite us from lethargy into love, filling us with the same divine fire that willed your incarnation, burning us with that flame that does, indeed, burn off all that is not love, chaff indeed.
So come, Lord Jesus. Come with your fire. Our hearts grow cold.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Today's text
Matthew 3:1-2, 5-6
In due course John the Baptist appeared; he proclaimed this message in the desert of Judea, “Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is close at hand.” …Then Jerusalem and all Judea and the whole Jordan district made their way to him, and as they were baptized by him in the river Jordan they confessed their sins.
Prayer
What moves human souls to surrender certain routine to seek an unknown in the unknown? They go to find John, a desert wild man whom most would avoid should they see him on the street. What did they expect to find? And why should we listen, Great Mystery?
They went and confessed their sins. I do not carry a burden of guilt, but all too well I know the incompletion of my humanity. Fashioned to be so much more--more love, more grace, more beauty, more generosity, I am less of these and more of fear, anxiety and self-absorption.
But souls do not go into the desert to confess unless there is hope of something more. Routine binds us, unless the heart flickers with the warm thought that, maybe, there is secret substance that can lift me above sin and incompletion; maybe I can know more than fear and inconsequence; maybe I can enter that mystery that niggles restless at depths of heart unreachable by mere mind.
In the heart lies awareness of a kind of life, a grace and beauty beyond that which we have seen and lived and been. It is that which moves us to your messenger to repent, to confess we have been so much less, crying, “Make us more. Make us the more you intend. Fill us with the More you are, for you made us in your image to bear the substance of your life.”
So we come. We come from the comfortable knowns of routine that we know can never fill our hearts with delight. We come to the unknown and unknowability of your mystery confessing our restless incompletion. We come in hope.
So come, Lord Jesus. Grace our lives with that love that lifts us above incompletion.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 3:1-2, 5-6
In due course John the Baptist appeared; he proclaimed this message in the desert of Judea, “Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is close at hand.” …Then Jerusalem and all Judea and the whole Jordan district made their way to him, and as they were baptized by him in the river Jordan they confessed their sins.
Prayer
What moves human souls to surrender certain routine to seek an unknown in the unknown? They go to find John, a desert wild man whom most would avoid should they see him on the street. What did they expect to find? And why should we listen, Great Mystery?
They went and confessed their sins. I do not carry a burden of guilt, but all too well I know the incompletion of my humanity. Fashioned to be so much more--more love, more grace, more beauty, more generosity, I am less of these and more of fear, anxiety and self-absorption.
But souls do not go into the desert to confess unless there is hope of something more. Routine binds us, unless the heart flickers with the warm thought that, maybe, there is secret substance that can lift me above sin and incompletion; maybe I can know more than fear and inconsequence; maybe I can enter that mystery that niggles restless at depths of heart unreachable by mere mind.
In the heart lies awareness of a kind of life, a grace and beauty beyond that which we have seen and lived and been. It is that which moves us to your messenger to repent, to confess we have been so much less, crying, “Make us more. Make us the more you intend. Fill us with the More you are, for you made us in your image to bear the substance of your life.”
So we come. We come from the comfortable knowns of routine that we know can never fill our hearts with delight. We come to the unknown and unknowability of your mystery confessing our restless incompletion. We come in hope.
So come, Lord Jesus. Grace our lives with that love that lifts us above incompletion.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, December 10, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Today's text
Matthew 3:1-4
In due course John the Baptist appeared; he proclaimed this message in the desert of Judea, “Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is close at hand.” This was the man spoken of by the prophet Isaiah when he said, “A voice of one that cries in the desert, “Prepare the way for the Lord, make his paths straight.’” This man wore a garment of camel-hair with a leather loin cloth around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey.
Prayer
How shall I make your paths straight, O Lord, that you may come and excite your presence in the depth of this soul and live? You come in times and ways of your choosing, not mine. The visitation of your power depends not at all on me.
And yet, you call: “prepare my way.” Perhaps it is only so that I will not be asleep when you appear.
I sleep through much of my life. I miss your nearness, your constant coming. Preoccupied with my tiny self, its bumps and bruises, I seek to make life on my own terms, little seeing that every moment of life is laced with your appearance, your coming, the presence you who are life.
And I fall into melancholy and confusion, knowing you are near but unable to reach into the darkness of soul and touch--or be touched--by you whom I crave. So, again, how shall I prepare? For I hunger for your approach, and you do not ever avoid coming to me.
John went to a wilderness abandoning the comforts of the human city, seeking and serving you, freed from pursuits that preoccupy and drown out the cry of soul. Perhaps he heard that cry once he was beyond the bounds of the busy streets.
Perhaps he met your approach and knew your nearness in that deep cry of soul that he heard and released there in his wilderness, calling me, too, to hear. If so, lead me into my wilderness that I may hear and know and call out word of your coming.
Come to me this day. I languish lonely without you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 3:1-4
In due course John the Baptist appeared; he proclaimed this message in the desert of Judea, “Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is close at hand.” This was the man spoken of by the prophet Isaiah when he said, “A voice of one that cries in the desert, “Prepare the way for the Lord, make his paths straight.’” This man wore a garment of camel-hair with a leather loin cloth around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey.
Prayer
How shall I make your paths straight, O Lord, that you may come and excite your presence in the depth of this soul and live? You come in times and ways of your choosing, not mine. The visitation of your power depends not at all on me.
And yet, you call: “prepare my way.” Perhaps it is only so that I will not be asleep when you appear.
I sleep through much of my life. I miss your nearness, your constant coming. Preoccupied with my tiny self, its bumps and bruises, I seek to make life on my own terms, little seeing that every moment of life is laced with your appearance, your coming, the presence you who are life.
And I fall into melancholy and confusion, knowing you are near but unable to reach into the darkness of soul and touch--or be touched--by you whom I crave. So, again, how shall I prepare? For I hunger for your approach, and you do not ever avoid coming to me.
John went to a wilderness abandoning the comforts of the human city, seeking and serving you, freed from pursuits that preoccupy and drown out the cry of soul. Perhaps he heard that cry once he was beyond the bounds of the busy streets.
Perhaps he met your approach and knew your nearness in that deep cry of soul that he heard and released there in his wilderness, calling me, too, to hear. If so, lead me into my wilderness that I may hear and know and call out word of your coming.
Come to me this day. I languish lonely without you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, December 07, 2007
Friday, December 7, 2007
Today's text
Matthew 24:36, 40, 44
[Jesus said:] “But as for that day and hour, nobody knows it neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, no one but the Father. … So stay awake, because you do not know the day when your master is coming. … Therefore, you too must stand ready because the Son of man is coming at an hour you do not expect.”
Prayer
I should not be surprised that we cannot know the day or the hour. It has always been so.
For I remember, Jesus. I remember the despairing years of unending grayness. I remember the desperate wanting when I needed you to come to my heart, withered joyless in your absence. And even then, you still showed up, at least from time to time, startling my soul to tears in moments I could neither predict nor manipulate
And now, again, I stand in ready need of your arrival. I always stand in such need, Jesus. But there are times and days when I lose myself in the winds of circumstance, times when I am not myself, never more, always much less than when I am in your nearness.
Today is such a time. There is too much to do and think and too little time to feel and know just exactly what is happening in this soul of mine. And you know: I only know myself when I know your nearness, when you come with love and mercy, and my soul releases its conflicts and confusion into the enveloping ocean of your immensity.
I hunger to be myself, that which I am only in your inscrutable nearness, your all-embracing love.
So come, Lord Jesus, and keep coming.
Come with the final revelation of your holy reign. And until then, open our hearts to the sweet nearness of you who are ever here.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 24:36, 40, 44
[Jesus said:] “But as for that day and hour, nobody knows it neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, no one but the Father. … So stay awake, because you do not know the day when your master is coming. … Therefore, you too must stand ready because the Son of man is coming at an hour you do not expect.”
Prayer
I should not be surprised that we cannot know the day or the hour. It has always been so.
For I remember, Jesus. I remember the despairing years of unending grayness. I remember the desperate wanting when I needed you to come to my heart, withered joyless in your absence. And even then, you still showed up, at least from time to time, startling my soul to tears in moments I could neither predict nor manipulate
And now, again, I stand in ready need of your arrival. I always stand in such need, Jesus. But there are times and days when I lose myself in the winds of circumstance, times when I am not myself, never more, always much less than when I am in your nearness.
Today is such a time. There is too much to do and think and too little time to feel and know just exactly what is happening in this soul of mine. And you know: I only know myself when I know your nearness, when you come with love and mercy, and my soul releases its conflicts and confusion into the enveloping ocean of your immensity.
I hunger to be myself, that which I am only in your inscrutable nearness, your all-embracing love.
So come, Lord Jesus, and keep coming.
Come with the final revelation of your holy reign. And until then, open our hearts to the sweet nearness of you who are ever here.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Today's text
Matthew 24:36, 40
[Jesus said:] “But as for that day and hour, nobody knows it neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, no one but the Father. … So stay awake, because you do not know the day when your master is coming.”
Prayer
What do I know for sure, Dear Friend? Not much, and little can I know, save your promise. All else I touch and know is temporal, changing, finite. Too soon it will pass away, all we know, our times and all we’ve touched with mind and hand.
I wish not to be morbid on a cold winter morning. The day is challenge enough, and a chilled soul offers no comfort when the air we breathe burns our lungs and bites our flesh.
We need a word of warmth, too, when times change: when people and places we have loved--and which have loved us--are carried on in that ever rolling stream, thinning the daily landscapes with which we have grown familiar. All our times end, and with an end a beginning, ready or not.
And here, Jesus, you tell me that I cannot know when this current will reach its destination and pour into the sea. Neither do you know. We know only your promise that there is an end to time when the Holy One will make justice and be mercy.
How? Who knows? But your promise stands firm amid our changing times and transitions. And a quiet comfort and calm humility floats through the heart’s chambers when we release our fevers into the assurance of your promise: “I will come to you,” you say. “I will come wherever you are and wherever you go. The master will not abandon the beloved.”
That is enough for us.
Come, Lord Jesus. May we stay awake to all your comings.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 24:36, 40
[Jesus said:] “But as for that day and hour, nobody knows it neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, no one but the Father. … So stay awake, because you do not know the day when your master is coming.”
Prayer
What do I know for sure, Dear Friend? Not much, and little can I know, save your promise. All else I touch and know is temporal, changing, finite. Too soon it will pass away, all we know, our times and all we’ve touched with mind and hand.
I wish not to be morbid on a cold winter morning. The day is challenge enough, and a chilled soul offers no comfort when the air we breathe burns our lungs and bites our flesh.
We need a word of warmth, too, when times change: when people and places we have loved--and which have loved us--are carried on in that ever rolling stream, thinning the daily landscapes with which we have grown familiar. All our times end, and with an end a beginning, ready or not.
And here, Jesus, you tell me that I cannot know when this current will reach its destination and pour into the sea. Neither do you know. We know only your promise that there is an end to time when the Holy One will make justice and be mercy.
How? Who knows? But your promise stands firm amid our changing times and transitions. And a quiet comfort and calm humility floats through the heart’s chambers when we release our fevers into the assurance of your promise: “I will come to you,” you say. “I will come wherever you are and wherever you go. The master will not abandon the beloved.”
That is enough for us.
Come, Lord Jesus. May we stay awake to all your comings.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, November 30, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
Today's text
Colossians 1:15-20
He [Christ] is the image of the unseen God, the first-born of all creation, for in him were created all things in heaven and on earth: everything visible and everything invisible, thrones, ruling forces, sovereignties, powers-all things were created through him and for him. He exists before all things and in him all things hold together, and he is the Head of the Body, that is, the Church. He is the Beginning, the first-born from the dead, so that he should be supreme in every way; because God wanted all fullness to be found in him and through him to reconcile all things to him, everything in heaven and everything on earth, by making peace through his death on the cross.
Prayer
You are … you are … you are … the beginning. First born from death, you are the beginning of all we want, all for which we hope. You are the daybreak of eternity, the first light of our final tomorrow, the rose-glow sunrise of newest day that never grows old, unlike this heart of mine.
You are. You are the beginning of the end of death’s finality.
You are the beginning of your church, a people made new, born from the cold death that is this separation from your ever-abiding love.
You are the beginning of the new being, risen afresh from the leaden weights that drag us to earth so that we do not soar on wings of your risen life that lift us above the daily drudgeries of mere existence.
You are the beginning of bitter tears’ hope, the rising of the multitude who will follow you from death into life unimagined.
You are the beginning of all that will be when there will be nothing but you, for you will be all in all.
Be all in all in me this day, risen Christ, for I languish in listless melancholy. I hunger to taste the beginning of the end for which you made me and all. I want to live beyond the death that so often grips the soul.
Let me, this day, see you, lest my heart grow old. May the first light of your tomorrow shine in these, my eyes.
Pr. David L. Miller
Colossians 1:15-20
He [Christ] is the image of the unseen God, the first-born of all creation, for in him were created all things in heaven and on earth: everything visible and everything invisible, thrones, ruling forces, sovereignties, powers-all things were created through him and for him. He exists before all things and in him all things hold together, and he is the Head of the Body, that is, the Church. He is the Beginning, the first-born from the dead, so that he should be supreme in every way; because God wanted all fullness to be found in him and through him to reconcile all things to him, everything in heaven and everything on earth, by making peace through his death on the cross.
Prayer
You are … you are … you are … the beginning. First born from death, you are the beginning of all we want, all for which we hope. You are the daybreak of eternity, the first light of our final tomorrow, the rose-glow sunrise of newest day that never grows old, unlike this heart of mine.
You are. You are the beginning of the end of death’s finality.
You are the beginning of your church, a people made new, born from the cold death that is this separation from your ever-abiding love.
You are the beginning of the new being, risen afresh from the leaden weights that drag us to earth so that we do not soar on wings of your risen life that lift us above the daily drudgeries of mere existence.
You are the beginning of bitter tears’ hope, the rising of the multitude who will follow you from death into life unimagined.
You are the beginning of all that will be when there will be nothing but you, for you will be all in all.
Be all in all in me this day, risen Christ, for I languish in listless melancholy. I hunger to taste the beginning of the end for which you made me and all. I want to live beyond the death that so often grips the soul.
Let me, this day, see you, lest my heart grow old. May the first light of your tomorrow shine in these, my eyes.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Today's text
Colossians 1:15-20
He [Christ] is the image of the unseen God, the first-born of all creation, for in him were created all things in heaven and on earth: everything visible and everything invisible, thrones, ruling forces, sovereignties, powers-all things were created through him and for him. He exists before all things and in him all things hold together, and he is the Head of the Body, that is, the Church. He is the beginning, the first-born from the dead, so that he should be supreme in every way; because God wanted all fullness to be found in him and through him to reconcile all things to him, everything in heaven and everything on earth, by making peace through his death on the cross.”
Prayer
You are the beginning, O Morning Star, marking the dawn of eternal day. First born from death’s demise, risen from the end our hearts fear, you sign the start of everlastingness, joining all that is in the sweet marriage of divine Spirit and created matter even as they dwell together in you.
We start again the day, knowing little about how it will end or what smiles and desolations we may meet. We cannot see the end of the day, yet we see the end of days, the eternal tomorrow, for we have seen your risen face, Jesus. And we know: every one of our days begins under the sign of the Morning Star, marking the resurrection dawn of a love no death can hold.
We have seen the future, the world’s future--my future, and it is you. All that is, all that I am shall be joined in utter unity with all that you are. You shall be supreme in me and in all, and all shall be life, the life I see and know and taste in you.
Morning Star of everlasting tomorrow, let me taste your holy future today. I crave it like my next breath. Draw us from our divergent hearts into that great harmony of life and love, purpose and passion that is your future present, even here, even now.
Pr. David L. Miller
Colossians 1:15-20
He [Christ] is the image of the unseen God, the first-born of all creation, for in him were created all things in heaven and on earth: everything visible and everything invisible, thrones, ruling forces, sovereignties, powers-all things were created through him and for him. He exists before all things and in him all things hold together, and he is the Head of the Body, that is, the Church. He is the beginning, the first-born from the dead, so that he should be supreme in every way; because God wanted all fullness to be found in him and through him to reconcile all things to him, everything in heaven and everything on earth, by making peace through his death on the cross.”
Prayer
You are the beginning, O Morning Star, marking the dawn of eternal day. First born from death’s demise, risen from the end our hearts fear, you sign the start of everlastingness, joining all that is in the sweet marriage of divine Spirit and created matter even as they dwell together in you.
We start again the day, knowing little about how it will end or what smiles and desolations we may meet. We cannot see the end of the day, yet we see the end of days, the eternal tomorrow, for we have seen your risen face, Jesus. And we know: every one of our days begins under the sign of the Morning Star, marking the resurrection dawn of a love no death can hold.
We have seen the future, the world’s future--my future, and it is you. All that is, all that I am shall be joined in utter unity with all that you are. You shall be supreme in me and in all, and all shall be life, the life I see and know and taste in you.
Morning Star of everlasting tomorrow, let me taste your holy future today. I crave it like my next breath. Draw us from our divergent hearts into that great harmony of life and love, purpose and passion that is your future present, even here, even now.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Today's text
Colossians 1:15-20
He [Christ] is the image of the unseen God, the first-born of all creation, for in him were created all things in heaven and on earth: everything visible and everything invisible, thrones, ruling forces, sovereignties, powers-all things were created through him and for him. He exists before all things and in him all things hold together, and he is the Head of the Body, that is, the Church. He is the Beginning, the first-born from the dead, so that he should be supreme in every way; because God wanted all fullness to be found in him and through him to reconcile all things to him, everything in heaven and everything on earth, by making peace through his death on the cross.
Prayer
You want your fullness to be found. This is your everlasting desire, Loving Mystery. You want to be known. You want me to find and bask in the fullness of what the eye cannot see, the ear cannot hear and the mind cannot imagine.
Your desire consoles my heart and elevates my soul this winter’s morning. I am warmed by the love revealed here.
For the day’s work called to me amid fitful sleep. It awakened my anxious heart to tasks that out number the hours of the day. But now I awake in a world where your extravagant desire out weighs the anxiety of unfinished tasks.
You hunger for me to find, today, the fullness of you who are the Fullness of life and love, to know you in my brother Jesus, the Christ, the human face of your divine immensity, the shining light of your infinite darkness.
You made me in him, through him, for him, shaping me body and soul that I should be capable of you, capable of wanting you, of knowing you, of finding you--and incapable of finding fulfillment for my restlessness anywhere but in the fullness of your divine generosity.
May I find it today, O Loving Mystery? Let me know the fullness of your divine heart in the grace that draws us beyond ourselves into the blessed harmony and oneness that you intend. Open my heart to the gallery of divine wonder and joy in the familiar faces and spaces of my day.
Then I shall know the love by which, through which and for which I was made. I shall know you. Then your everlasting desire and my restless hunger will find peace.
Pr. David L. Miller
Colossians 1:15-20
He [Christ] is the image of the unseen God, the first-born of all creation, for in him were created all things in heaven and on earth: everything visible and everything invisible, thrones, ruling forces, sovereignties, powers-all things were created through him and for him. He exists before all things and in him all things hold together, and he is the Head of the Body, that is, the Church. He is the Beginning, the first-born from the dead, so that he should be supreme in every way; because God wanted all fullness to be found in him and through him to reconcile all things to him, everything in heaven and everything on earth, by making peace through his death on the cross.
Prayer
You want your fullness to be found. This is your everlasting desire, Loving Mystery. You want to be known. You want me to find and bask in the fullness of what the eye cannot see, the ear cannot hear and the mind cannot imagine.
Your desire consoles my heart and elevates my soul this winter’s morning. I am warmed by the love revealed here.
For the day’s work called to me amid fitful sleep. It awakened my anxious heart to tasks that out number the hours of the day. But now I awake in a world where your extravagant desire out weighs the anxiety of unfinished tasks.
You hunger for me to find, today, the fullness of you who are the Fullness of life and love, to know you in my brother Jesus, the Christ, the human face of your divine immensity, the shining light of your infinite darkness.
You made me in him, through him, for him, shaping me body and soul that I should be capable of you, capable of wanting you, of knowing you, of finding you--and incapable of finding fulfillment for my restlessness anywhere but in the fullness of your divine generosity.
May I find it today, O Loving Mystery? Let me know the fullness of your divine heart in the grace that draws us beyond ourselves into the blessed harmony and oneness that you intend. Open my heart to the gallery of divine wonder and joy in the familiar faces and spaces of my day.
Then I shall know the love by which, through which and for which I was made. I shall know you. Then your everlasting desire and my restless hunger will find peace.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, November 26, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Today's text
Colossians 1:15-17
He [Christ] is the image of the unseen God, the first-born of all creation, for in him were created all things in heaven and on earth: everything visible and everything invisible, thrones, ruling forces, sovereignties, powers-all things were created through him and for him. He exists before all things and in him all things hold together
Prayer
Morning breaks the darkness. Daylight ends the little death of sleep, and here we are again in the midst of life, finding the wonder life in the midst of our mortal bodies.
As at the beginning, we spring from the nothingness of nonbeing into the morning of life, appearing in this particular moment of time for reasons beyond our knowing. Suspended by invisible threads of being, we are joined in an intricate web of being, connected … somehow … to all that it is in a vast fabric of life, moving in indiscernible patterns we sometimes affect but never control.
Instinctively, we turn our eyes to the impenetrable darkness out of which we have sprung, somehow knowing this great obscurity is our Source and the fountain of all life. But the dazzling darkness reflects all vision back upon itself.
Until … until we see you, blessed Christ. For you step from the invisibility we cannot penetrate to reveal the source of our soul and all the soul of all that is.
You are the face of the Impenetrable Darkness, O Christ. You are the first, before all that it is. All that is comes to be through you: all things, each person, each element of creation, each spoonful of matter, each living, growing greenness. Each bears the mark of you who are love. Each is an expression of your life, your beauty, your incorrigible creative joy. Each lives with the life you are. Each finds its place and purpose in the love from which all life springs.
For you are love and life, and in your love you choose to make good and beautiful beings come to life and grow. We don’t know why you should make us or makes us as we are. Except, you love life, and love always has reasons the mind cannot enter.
Pr. David L. Miller
Colossians 1:15-17
He [Christ] is the image of the unseen God, the first-born of all creation, for in him were created all things in heaven and on earth: everything visible and everything invisible, thrones, ruling forces, sovereignties, powers-all things were created through him and for him. He exists before all things and in him all things hold together
Prayer
Morning breaks the darkness. Daylight ends the little death of sleep, and here we are again in the midst of life, finding the wonder life in the midst of our mortal bodies.
As at the beginning, we spring from the nothingness of nonbeing into the morning of life, appearing in this particular moment of time for reasons beyond our knowing. Suspended by invisible threads of being, we are joined in an intricate web of being, connected … somehow … to all that it is in a vast fabric of life, moving in indiscernible patterns we sometimes affect but never control.
Instinctively, we turn our eyes to the impenetrable darkness out of which we have sprung, somehow knowing this great obscurity is our Source and the fountain of all life. But the dazzling darkness reflects all vision back upon itself.
Until … until we see you, blessed Christ. For you step from the invisibility we cannot penetrate to reveal the source of our soul and all the soul of all that is.
You are the face of the Impenetrable Darkness, O Christ. You are the first, before all that it is. All that is comes to be through you: all things, each person, each element of creation, each spoonful of matter, each living, growing greenness. Each bears the mark of you who are love. Each is an expression of your life, your beauty, your incorrigible creative joy. Each lives with the life you are. Each finds its place and purpose in the love from which all life springs.
For you are love and life, and in your love you choose to make good and beautiful beings come to life and grow. We don’t know why you should make us or makes us as we are. Except, you love life, and love always has reasons the mind cannot enter.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007, Thanksgiving
Today's text
John 6:32-35
Jesus answered them: “In all truth, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, it is my Father who gives you the bread from heaven, the true bread which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” “Sir,” they said, “give us this bread always.” Jesus answered them: “I am the bread of life. No on who comes to me will ever hunger; no one who believes in me will ever thirst.”
Prayer
It went away, Jesus. I can’t tell you exactly when or where. But it is gone, that gnawing anxiety at the pit of my stomach. I sought to extinguish it with food and drink, risk and work, learning and accomplishment, none of which provided adequate antidote, only momentary relief.
While I don’t know when it left me, I can tell you the how and why, Jesus. And may my telling be your praise. For you are the cure, the bread, that fills the fretful hunger. What I could not remove, you graciously heal, replacing my emptiness with a loving longing to know you, to lose myself in you and never return.
I have come to know you. I have spent just enough time gazing on your face, seeing your smile, your fierce love, your living labor, that I know the beauty that flows from your oneness with the Loving Mystery you call Father.
We, too, try to name that One. Mother, some say; others say Brother or Sister, Lover or Friend, Morning Star or Silent Cry, Flowing Fountain or Living Flame. In moments of shattering blessedness, we simply fall silent, enrapt in the immensity of that love which has no name. I think our praise is fullest then, and most true.
On this and every day of thanksgiving, we remember faces present and gone, blessings long past and others that endure. We wipe away sweet tears of gratitude for our lives and for the improbable reality of life itself. I mean, why is there anything at all? And why are there grandchildren whose hugs have such a curious, sacramental power to heal, and to render most else insignificant?
I don’t know. I know very little. But I do know you, Jesus, and blessedly, I still can remember the anxious emptiness that is now gone, relieved by a bread that is food my soul need never live without. And for that, thank you. Thank you for my life.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 6:32-35
Jesus answered them: “In all truth, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, it is my Father who gives you the bread from heaven, the true bread which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” “Sir,” they said, “give us this bread always.” Jesus answered them: “I am the bread of life. No on who comes to me will ever hunger; no one who believes in me will ever thirst.”
Prayer
It went away, Jesus. I can’t tell you exactly when or where. But it is gone, that gnawing anxiety at the pit of my stomach. I sought to extinguish it with food and drink, risk and work, learning and accomplishment, none of which provided adequate antidote, only momentary relief.
While I don’t know when it left me, I can tell you the how and why, Jesus. And may my telling be your praise. For you are the cure, the bread, that fills the fretful hunger. What I could not remove, you graciously heal, replacing my emptiness with a loving longing to know you, to lose myself in you and never return.
I have come to know you. I have spent just enough time gazing on your face, seeing your smile, your fierce love, your living labor, that I know the beauty that flows from your oneness with the Loving Mystery you call Father.
We, too, try to name that One. Mother, some say; others say Brother or Sister, Lover or Friend, Morning Star or Silent Cry, Flowing Fountain or Living Flame. In moments of shattering blessedness, we simply fall silent, enrapt in the immensity of that love which has no name. I think our praise is fullest then, and most true.
On this and every day of thanksgiving, we remember faces present and gone, blessings long past and others that endure. We wipe away sweet tears of gratitude for our lives and for the improbable reality of life itself. I mean, why is there anything at all? And why are there grandchildren whose hugs have such a curious, sacramental power to heal, and to render most else insignificant?
I don’t know. I know very little. But I do know you, Jesus, and blessedly, I still can remember the anxious emptiness that is now gone, relieved by a bread that is food my soul need never live without. And for that, thank you. Thank you for my life.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Today's text
Luke 21:8-13
But Jesus said, “Take care not to be deceived, because many will come using my name and saying, ‘I am the one’ and ‘The time is near at hand.’ Refuse to join them. And when you hear of wars and revolutions, do not be terrified, for this is something that must happen first, but the end will not come at once.” The he said to them, “Nation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes and plagues and famines in various places; there will be terrifying events and great signs from heaven. But before this happen, you will be seized and persecuted; you will be handed over to the synagogues and to imprisonment, and brought before kings and governors for the sake of my name—and that will be your opportunity to bear witness.”
Prayer
You do not count time as we do, Jesus. The time you describe is not one we welcome; it’s an evil time as we judge it. And each of us has known many such times we’d happily do without, times we would pass by had we the chance—and not repeat because once was enough.
We divide our days into good and evil time, painful and pleasurable moments, times to savor and times to run through as fast we can, times of joy and sorrow, of success and failure, of struggle and ease, of hope and despair, of beauty and ugliness. Our lists extend the length of a lifetime, dividing our days into two separable parts, one to be avoided and the other cherished.
And we miss half our life, Jesus. What is left is a kind of half-life in which we have cast aside much of what we are for the sake of comfort, missing, I fear, the deep truth of our days, which is you.
For you make no division. Bright summer days and the hours of tumult and terror are but one time for you, the time to reveal the faithful God who bears all our times in loving hands.
We never know what the times will bring, Jesus. Everything can turn in a single breath. Whatever our days bring, may we receive each moment as an opportunity to witness to you who hold us in every time.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 21:8-13
But Jesus said, “Take care not to be deceived, because many will come using my name and saying, ‘I am the one’ and ‘The time is near at hand.’ Refuse to join them. And when you hear of wars and revolutions, do not be terrified, for this is something that must happen first, but the end will not come at once.” The he said to them, “Nation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes and plagues and famines in various places; there will be terrifying events and great signs from heaven. But before this happen, you will be seized and persecuted; you will be handed over to the synagogues and to imprisonment, and brought before kings and governors for the sake of my name—and that will be your opportunity to bear witness.”
Prayer
You do not count time as we do, Jesus. The time you describe is not one we welcome; it’s an evil time as we judge it. And each of us has known many such times we’d happily do without, times we would pass by had we the chance—and not repeat because once was enough.
We divide our days into good and evil time, painful and pleasurable moments, times to savor and times to run through as fast we can, times of joy and sorrow, of success and failure, of struggle and ease, of hope and despair, of beauty and ugliness. Our lists extend the length of a lifetime, dividing our days into two separable parts, one to be avoided and the other cherished.
And we miss half our life, Jesus. What is left is a kind of half-life in which we have cast aside much of what we are for the sake of comfort, missing, I fear, the deep truth of our days, which is you.
For you make no division. Bright summer days and the hours of tumult and terror are but one time for you, the time to reveal the faithful God who bears all our times in loving hands.
We never know what the times will bring, Jesus. Everything can turn in a single breath. Whatever our days bring, may we receive each moment as an opportunity to witness to you who hold us in every time.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, November 19, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Today's text
Luke 21:8-11
But Jesus said, “Take care not to be deceived, because many will come using my name and saying, ‘I am the one’ and ‘The time is near at hand.’ Refuse to join them. And when you hear of wars and revolutions, do not be terrified, for this is something that must happen first, but the end will not come at once.” The he said to them, “Nation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes and plagues and famines in various places; there will be terrifying events and great signs from heaven.”
Prayer
Have you read the paper today, Jesus? Thousands of Bangladeshis died in a cyclone, and many more will die from too little food, tainted water, infection and disease. And that is one page, one story, one nation. Need I go on?
Your warnings of tumult, war and terror describe virtually any and every period of human history. The events to which you point destroy millions … every year. And still time wends its wearisome way without any end in sight.
Suffering continues unabated as feverish preachers sound the alarm saying that earth can’t endure much longer. But it does, and broken human souls must carry on, sorting through the mess we make of things. For the only end we see is the end of days for our beloved, and, too soon, for ourselves.
For some this stirs zeal for the end of things. Others descend to gray despair. And I? I hope. I bear a flame, however small, ignited by your words, Jesus. And it never goes out. Never.
“Do not be terrified,” you say. “Do not fear. Do not be distressed by the tumult around and within you. For I am. I live. And I will speak the final word on the welter of the world.”
So I hope. For I know: that word cannot be less gracious than your divine heart.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 21:8-11
But Jesus said, “Take care not to be deceived, because many will come using my name and saying, ‘I am the one’ and ‘The time is near at hand.’ Refuse to join them. And when you hear of wars and revolutions, do not be terrified, for this is something that must happen first, but the end will not come at once.” The he said to them, “Nation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes and plagues and famines in various places; there will be terrifying events and great signs from heaven.”
Prayer
Have you read the paper today, Jesus? Thousands of Bangladeshis died in a cyclone, and many more will die from too little food, tainted water, infection and disease. And that is one page, one story, one nation. Need I go on?
Your warnings of tumult, war and terror describe virtually any and every period of human history. The events to which you point destroy millions … every year. And still time wends its wearisome way without any end in sight.
Suffering continues unabated as feverish preachers sound the alarm saying that earth can’t endure much longer. But it does, and broken human souls must carry on, sorting through the mess we make of things. For the only end we see is the end of days for our beloved, and, too soon, for ourselves.
For some this stirs zeal for the end of things. Others descend to gray despair. And I? I hope. I bear a flame, however small, ignited by your words, Jesus. And it never goes out. Never.
“Do not be terrified,” you say. “Do not fear. Do not be distressed by the tumult around and within you. For I am. I live. And I will speak the final word on the welter of the world.”
So I hope. For I know: that word cannot be less gracious than your divine heart.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Today's text
Luke 20:34-38
Jesus replied, “The children of this world take wives and husbands, but those who are judged worthy of a place in the other world and in the resurrection of the dead do not marry because they can no longer die, for they are the same as the angels, and being children of the resurrection they are children of God. And Moses himself implies that the dead rise again, in the passage about the bush where he calls the Lord the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob. Now he is God, not of the dead, but of the living; for to him everyone is alive.”
Prayer
You are God of the living, and all that know you are alive. None are lost, leaving no trace, no mark on your divine heart. All are cradled in your nearness, drinking the nectar of life.
And yet, there are places in my heart that do not know you, dead places where wounds new and old fester and breed resentment and anger. In me are barren landscapes where joy evaporates, where my heart withers in a desert of self-absorption, where I feel nothing but aggrievement and hunger for attention.
There is no freedom there, no life, vitality or joy, for those parts of me do not know you, Living One.
Come to me this day with the fullness of your love and life and let me live. Let me know the blessed rush of feeling truly alive. I weary of the deadness that too often crushes my heart so that I neither receive nor share your love in whole hearted abandonment. I long for that abandonment. It is the certain mark of freedom and joy.
So come, God of the living. Come to every dead place in my heart and to every place of death on this earth. Come. Give us today the life of your eternal tomorrow.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 20:34-38
Jesus replied, “The children of this world take wives and husbands, but those who are judged worthy of a place in the other world and in the resurrection of the dead do not marry because they can no longer die, for they are the same as the angels, and being children of the resurrection they are children of God. And Moses himself implies that the dead rise again, in the passage about the bush where he calls the Lord the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob. Now he is God, not of the dead, but of the living; for to him everyone is alive.”
Prayer
You are God of the living, and all that know you are alive. None are lost, leaving no trace, no mark on your divine heart. All are cradled in your nearness, drinking the nectar of life.
And yet, there are places in my heart that do not know you, dead places where wounds new and old fester and breed resentment and anger. In me are barren landscapes where joy evaporates, where my heart withers in a desert of self-absorption, where I feel nothing but aggrievement and hunger for attention.
There is no freedom there, no life, vitality or joy, for those parts of me do not know you, Living One.
Come to me this day with the fullness of your love and life and let me live. Let me know the blessed rush of feeling truly alive. I weary of the deadness that too often crushes my heart so that I neither receive nor share your love in whole hearted abandonment. I long for that abandonment. It is the certain mark of freedom and joy.
So come, God of the living. Come to every dead place in my heart and to every place of death on this earth. Come. Give us today the life of your eternal tomorrow.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Today's text
Luke 20:27-36
Some Sadducees--those who argue that there is no resurrection—approached and they put this question to him, “Master, Moses prescribed for us, if a man’s brother dies childless, the man must marry the widow to raise up children for his brother. Well then, there were seven brothers; the first, having married a wide, died childless. The second and then the third married the widow. And the same with all seven, they died leaving no children. Finally, the woman herself died. Now at the resurrection, whose wife will she be, since she had been married to all seven?” Jesus replied, “The children of this world take wives and husbands, but those who are judged worthy of a place in the other world and in the resurrection of the dead do not marry because they can no longer die, for they are the same as the angels, and being children of the resurrection they are children of God."
Prayer
Death haunts our lives, Jesus. From our earliest moments we know we are timed and that time is short. It runs out before our human hopes and dreams are filled. So we strive to make a name, to leave a mark, so that our presence in this life is not insignificant or soon forgotten. And yet, millions die and leave little trace.
Even the clever and conniving souls who put you to the test with this silly story knew the tragedy of those who die with no progeny of flesh or creative labor. Even they seem to know the sadness of soul that settles upon us when we imagine that there is no one left to remember what we remember, no one remaining to carry on a name, a tradition, a bouquet of fragrant memories bearing what gifts they contain into the future’s unknown.
But you lift me beyond such sadness, Jesus, beyond the tragedy of the forgotten and overlooked who pass with little notice. You shatter the boundaries of imagination, directing my aching eyes to a space where death no longer haunts us, where all you love are children of the resurrection, sharing all the life that you are.
I am a child of the resurrection. Such is the knowledge you hunger for my soul. Thank you. For even now I breathe the fresh air of liberty, knowing life without limits, convinced that nothing is lost to you who have loved us from everlasting.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 20:27-36
Some Sadducees--those who argue that there is no resurrection—approached and they put this question to him, “Master, Moses prescribed for us, if a man’s brother dies childless, the man must marry the widow to raise up children for his brother. Well then, there were seven brothers; the first, having married a wide, died childless. The second and then the third married the widow. And the same with all seven, they died leaving no children. Finally, the woman herself died. Now at the resurrection, whose wife will she be, since she had been married to all seven?” Jesus replied, “The children of this world take wives and husbands, but those who are judged worthy of a place in the other world and in the resurrection of the dead do not marry because they can no longer die, for they are the same as the angels, and being children of the resurrection they are children of God."
Prayer
Death haunts our lives, Jesus. From our earliest moments we know we are timed and that time is short. It runs out before our human hopes and dreams are filled. So we strive to make a name, to leave a mark, so that our presence in this life is not insignificant or soon forgotten. And yet, millions die and leave little trace.
Even the clever and conniving souls who put you to the test with this silly story knew the tragedy of those who die with no progeny of flesh or creative labor. Even they seem to know the sadness of soul that settles upon us when we imagine that there is no one left to remember what we remember, no one remaining to carry on a name, a tradition, a bouquet of fragrant memories bearing what gifts they contain into the future’s unknown.
But you lift me beyond such sadness, Jesus, beyond the tragedy of the forgotten and overlooked who pass with little notice. You shatter the boundaries of imagination, directing my aching eyes to a space where death no longer haunts us, where all you love are children of the resurrection, sharing all the life that you are.
I am a child of the resurrection. Such is the knowledge you hunger for my soul. Thank you. For even now I breathe the fresh air of liberty, knowing life without limits, convinced that nothing is lost to you who have loved us from everlasting.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Today's text
Luke 20:27-36
Some Sadducees--those who argue that there is no resurrection--approached Jesus] and they put this question to him, “Master, Moses prescribed for us, if a man’s brother dies childless, the man must marry the widow to raise up children for his brother. Well then, there were seven brothers; the first, having married a wide, died childless. The second and then the third married the widow. And the same with all seven, they died leaving no children. Finally, the woman herself died. Now at the resurrection, whose wife will she be, since she had been married to all seven?” Jesus replied, “The children of this world take wives and husbands, but those who are judged worthy of a place in the other world and in the resurrection of the dead do not marry because they can no longer die, for they are the same as the angels, and being children of the resurrection they are children of God.
Prayer
Forgive us our presumption, Jesus. Who are we to contend with you? What foundation for argument can we offer to you who dwell in intimacy with the Holy Wonder? What source shall I footnote to overwhelm your understanding and turn the tables on you?
Nonsense, all of this. Yet, you invite us to bring our arguments and objections, our deductions and highest flights of reason. Bring them all, you say. And it is well that we do. Our intellectual tussles with ourselves and you are doorways of relationship.
But what can we know of you and the mysteries of eternity that lie hidden in your soul? You abide in the One who is Love Eternal and Everlasting Surprise. You dwell in the One who is undivided and irreducible, despite myriad human attempts to confine her to human proportions.
Our intellectual thrusts never reach the heart of the matter. For the heart of the matter lies beyond all human understanding, wrapped in the mystery of everlasting love. And from there you invite us to expect a barrier-breaking resurrection and redemption beyond all human reason from the One who is Life.
We will continue our arguments as long as we breathe, Jesus, struggling to know what we can, for that is how the Holy One made us. But at the end of each day, may we lay our battles down and simply hope in a love that transcends our reach, there to find the peace that mere comprehension cannot provide.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 20:27-36
Some Sadducees--those who argue that there is no resurrection--approached Jesus] and they put this question to him, “Master, Moses prescribed for us, if a man’s brother dies childless, the man must marry the widow to raise up children for his brother. Well then, there were seven brothers; the first, having married a wide, died childless. The second and then the third married the widow. And the same with all seven, they died leaving no children. Finally, the woman herself died. Now at the resurrection, whose wife will she be, since she had been married to all seven?” Jesus replied, “The children of this world take wives and husbands, but those who are judged worthy of a place in the other world and in the resurrection of the dead do not marry because they can no longer die, for they are the same as the angels, and being children of the resurrection they are children of God.
Prayer
Forgive us our presumption, Jesus. Who are we to contend with you? What foundation for argument can we offer to you who dwell in intimacy with the Holy Wonder? What source shall I footnote to overwhelm your understanding and turn the tables on you?
Nonsense, all of this. Yet, you invite us to bring our arguments and objections, our deductions and highest flights of reason. Bring them all, you say. And it is well that we do. Our intellectual tussles with ourselves and you are doorways of relationship.
But what can we know of you and the mysteries of eternity that lie hidden in your soul? You abide in the One who is Love Eternal and Everlasting Surprise. You dwell in the One who is undivided and irreducible, despite myriad human attempts to confine her to human proportions.
Our intellectual thrusts never reach the heart of the matter. For the heart of the matter lies beyond all human understanding, wrapped in the mystery of everlasting love. And from there you invite us to expect a barrier-breaking resurrection and redemption beyond all human reason from the One who is Life.
We will continue our arguments as long as we breathe, Jesus, struggling to know what we can, for that is how the Holy One made us. But at the end of each day, may we lay our battles down and simply hope in a love that transcends our reach, there to find the peace that mere comprehension cannot provide.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Today's text
Luke 19:1-9
Jesus entered Jericho and was going through the town, and suddenly a man whose name was Zacchaeus made his appearance; he was one of the senior tax collectors and a wealthy man. He kept trying to see which Jesus was, but he was too sort and could not see him for the crowd; so he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to catch a glimpse of Jesus who was to pass that way. When Jesus reached the spot he looked up and spoke to him, ‘Zacchaeus, come down. Hurry, because I am to stay at your house today.’ And he hurried down and welcomed him joyfully. They all complained when they saw what was happening. ‘He has gone to stay at a sinner’s house,’ they said. But Zacchaeus stood his group and said to the Lord, ‘Look, sir, I am going to give half my property to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody I will pay him back four times to amount. And Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because this too is a son of Abraham; for the Son of man has come to seek out and save what was lost.
Prayer
It is hard for me to imagine that Zacchaeus was truly lost, dear Friend. The Spirit of holy desire stirred his blood, and he surrendered to that hunger which brought him to you--and you to his house.
Surely, salvation has come to him, for you ate at his table, drank from his cup. You shared fellowship with him and his beloved. But lost? His heart was near and ready for you well before your arrival, supple and eager to receive whatever you should bring. And you bring salvation, which is but another way of saying ‘you,’ for you are the full heart of the All-Loving Mystery, who has no name.
You bring the presence of the One whom we cannot speak, the One our hearts constantly desire. And in your presence, hearts overflow with generosity, not from fear of condemnation but from the nearness of overwhelming love and desire.
Bring such salvation to us this day. Come near and fill our hearts that they may spill over and water the landscapes of our lives with the generosity released by the joy of your nearness.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 19:1-9
Jesus entered Jericho and was going through the town, and suddenly a man whose name was Zacchaeus made his appearance; he was one of the senior tax collectors and a wealthy man. He kept trying to see which Jesus was, but he was too sort and could not see him for the crowd; so he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to catch a glimpse of Jesus who was to pass that way. When Jesus reached the spot he looked up and spoke to him, ‘Zacchaeus, come down. Hurry, because I am to stay at your house today.’ And he hurried down and welcomed him joyfully. They all complained when they saw what was happening. ‘He has gone to stay at a sinner’s house,’ they said. But Zacchaeus stood his group and said to the Lord, ‘Look, sir, I am going to give half my property to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody I will pay him back four times to amount. And Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because this too is a son of Abraham; for the Son of man has come to seek out and save what was lost.
Prayer
It is hard for me to imagine that Zacchaeus was truly lost, dear Friend. The Spirit of holy desire stirred his blood, and he surrendered to that hunger which brought him to you--and you to his house.
Surely, salvation has come to him, for you ate at his table, drank from his cup. You shared fellowship with him and his beloved. But lost? His heart was near and ready for you well before your arrival, supple and eager to receive whatever you should bring. And you bring salvation, which is but another way of saying ‘you,’ for you are the full heart of the All-Loving Mystery, who has no name.
You bring the presence of the One whom we cannot speak, the One our hearts constantly desire. And in your presence, hearts overflow with generosity, not from fear of condemnation but from the nearness of overwhelming love and desire.
Bring such salvation to us this day. Come near and fill our hearts that they may spill over and water the landscapes of our lives with the generosity released by the joy of your nearness.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Today's text
Luke 19:1-6
Jesus entered Jericho and was going through the town, and suddenly a man whose name was Zacchaeus made his appearance; he was one of the senior tax collectors and a wealthy man. He kept trying to see which Jesus was, but he was too sort and could not see him for the crowd; so he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to catch a glimpse of Jesus who was to pass that way. When Jesus reached the spot he looked up and spoke to him, ‘Zacchaeus, come down. Hurry, because I am to stay at your house today.’ And he hurried down and welcomed him joyfully.
Prayer
Tell me, Jesus, does Zacchaeus remind you of anyone? Do you smile in recognition at his anxious antics? You should, my Friend, because you know well that holy and crazy desire to which he abandons himself.
I can’t get beyond the smile I see in you as you watch him. A smile of delight and divine pleasure? To be sure. But more: a smile of recognition. You know him. You know what moves him. You know the uninhibited surrender to a Spirit truly holy to whom you will give everything because nothing else much matters.
You bear and are moved by the Spirit that makes short men climb trees just to see you. Your life is totally given and utterly transparent to that Spirit of divine love and holiness. Just so, you are crazy in love with this world, willing to love it—and me—to the end of all you are.
An act of surrender? Truly. But also of mad, outrageous love that knows no satisfaction but in the presence of the beloved. So you, too, will climb your tree in utter abandonment to a world you love, and in total trust that the All Loving One is stronger than death itself.
Thank you.
May I be so given as you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 19:1-6
Jesus entered Jericho and was going through the town, and suddenly a man whose name was Zacchaeus made his appearance; he was one of the senior tax collectors and a wealthy man. He kept trying to see which Jesus was, but he was too sort and could not see him for the crowd; so he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to catch a glimpse of Jesus who was to pass that way. When Jesus reached the spot he looked up and spoke to him, ‘Zacchaeus, come down. Hurry, because I am to stay at your house today.’ And he hurried down and welcomed him joyfully.
Prayer
Tell me, Jesus, does Zacchaeus remind you of anyone? Do you smile in recognition at his anxious antics? You should, my Friend, because you know well that holy and crazy desire to which he abandons himself.
I can’t get beyond the smile I see in you as you watch him. A smile of delight and divine pleasure? To be sure. But more: a smile of recognition. You know him. You know what moves him. You know the uninhibited surrender to a Spirit truly holy to whom you will give everything because nothing else much matters.
You bear and are moved by the Spirit that makes short men climb trees just to see you. Your life is totally given and utterly transparent to that Spirit of divine love and holiness. Just so, you are crazy in love with this world, willing to love it—and me—to the end of all you are.
An act of surrender? Truly. But also of mad, outrageous love that knows no satisfaction but in the presence of the beloved. So you, too, will climb your tree in utter abandonment to a world you love, and in total trust that the All Loving One is stronger than death itself.
Thank you.
May I be so given as you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, November 05, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
Today's text
Luke 19:1-6
Jesus entered Jericho and was going through the town, and suddenly a man whose name was Zacchaeus made his appearance; he was one of the senior tax collectors and a wealthy man. He kept trying to see which Jesus was, but he was too sort and could not see him for the crowd; so he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to catch a glimpse of Jesus who was to pass that way. When Jesus reached the spot he looked up and spoke to him, ‘Zacchaeus, come down. Hurry, because I am to stay at your house today.’ And he hurried down and welcomed him joyfully.
Prayer
A smile tugs incessantly at the corners of my mouth, Jesus. Does it not mirror your own? You stop on the road to watch this little man climbing his tree to gain bird’s-eye vision of your approach. And you smile.
Your smile is silent grace, speaking louder than any words, a holy blessing on the divine craving that stirs our blood.
You delight in the transparent desire of Zacchaeus’ soul, his uninhibited hunger for your heart. Bemused, you are, at his impetuous, shameless scamper up the tree, utterly unconcerned at making a spectacle of himself.
It does not matter. All that matters is seeing you, Jesus. Swept up in the Excessive Spirit of holy craziness, Zacchaeus finally comes to his senses and knows what, no who, his heart must have.
And you smile, Jesus, at the extent to which we humans go when we see what we must have to live. We need you.
May I give myself utterly and excessively to that need this day, dear Friend? For I want to be the secret of your smile. I want you to delight in my impulsiveness, my impetuosity, my shameless scamper to stay near you. For I need you no less that this little man. And I want to see your smile raining blessing over the hunger of this heart.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 19:1-6
Jesus entered Jericho and was going through the town, and suddenly a man whose name was Zacchaeus made his appearance; he was one of the senior tax collectors and a wealthy man. He kept trying to see which Jesus was, but he was too sort and could not see him for the crowd; so he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to catch a glimpse of Jesus who was to pass that way. When Jesus reached the spot he looked up and spoke to him, ‘Zacchaeus, come down. Hurry, because I am to stay at your house today.’ And he hurried down and welcomed him joyfully.
Prayer
A smile tugs incessantly at the corners of my mouth, Jesus. Does it not mirror your own? You stop on the road to watch this little man climbing his tree to gain bird’s-eye vision of your approach. And you smile.
Your smile is silent grace, speaking louder than any words, a holy blessing on the divine craving that stirs our blood.
You delight in the transparent desire of Zacchaeus’ soul, his uninhibited hunger for your heart. Bemused, you are, at his impetuous, shameless scamper up the tree, utterly unconcerned at making a spectacle of himself.
It does not matter. All that matters is seeing you, Jesus. Swept up in the Excessive Spirit of holy craziness, Zacchaeus finally comes to his senses and knows what, no who, his heart must have.
And you smile, Jesus, at the extent to which we humans go when we see what we must have to live. We need you.
May I give myself utterly and excessively to that need this day, dear Friend? For I want to be the secret of your smile. I want you to delight in my impulsiveness, my impetuosity, my shameless scamper to stay near you. For I need you no less that this little man. And I want to see your smile raining blessing over the hunger of this heart.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, November 02, 2007
Friday, November 2, 2007
Today's text
Luke 6:20-21
"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled."
Prayer
I am filled, and I hunger. My hunger is not that of the myriad whose cries rend your divine heart as they call to you for food and justice. They suffer and die for want of the grace of simple human kindness.
Needs of food and shelter are more than well cared for in my case, and I thank you for the goodness of your earth. But I have another need, connected, I believe, with the need of the multitude for tender mercies.
I long to have my heart filled with you. You, Gracious, Surprising Mystery have opened my heart to “get it,” to know a fullness of soul and love not made by human hands.
You have filled me, and filled, I long for more of you, who are the Infinite More. Nothing else satisfies my heart so that I fall quiet and calm, generous and whole-hearted, even as you are whole hearted, loving good and evil alike.
You invite, indeed, you coax me to know the More you are. You draw this stubborn and timid heart into whole-hearted loving surrender to a world of need, to the soul cries of the many, to the next human heart waiting at the door.
“Look there,” you say. “Surrender to this, and you will be filled. Come and know me.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 6:20-21
"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled."
Prayer
I am filled, and I hunger. My hunger is not that of the myriad whose cries rend your divine heart as they call to you for food and justice. They suffer and die for want of the grace of simple human kindness.
Needs of food and shelter are more than well cared for in my case, and I thank you for the goodness of your earth. But I have another need, connected, I believe, with the need of the multitude for tender mercies.
I long to have my heart filled with you. You, Gracious, Surprising Mystery have opened my heart to “get it,” to know a fullness of soul and love not made by human hands.
You have filled me, and filled, I long for more of you, who are the Infinite More. Nothing else satisfies my heart so that I fall quiet and calm, generous and whole-hearted, even as you are whole hearted, loving good and evil alike.
You invite, indeed, you coax me to know the More you are. You draw this stubborn and timid heart into whole-hearted loving surrender to a world of need, to the soul cries of the many, to the next human heart waiting at the door.
“Look there,” you say. “Surrender to this, and you will be filled. Come and know me.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, November 01, 2007
November 1, 2007 All Saints Day
Today's text
Luke 6:20-21
"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kigdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled."
Reflection
It happened again, Sunday. The front wall of the sanctuary disappeared. Standing behind the table, the pastor raised her hands lifting the bread, then the cup. Suddenly, the bricks behind her were not there anymore, obscuring my vision of eternity. Instead, I saw those who have gone before and now enjoy clear vision of the One whose name is mercy, the blessed God whom I glimpse but in bits and snatches.
I saw them, and their eyes, too, rose as the pastor lifted the holy gifts of God’s constant giving. A great crowd with smiling eyes and moist cheeks, they looked back at us, the living congregation among whom I stood.
We were not two, but one congregation: Here and there, in time and eternity, living and … well, living. One part shining in glory, the other struggling and confused, yet all sharing “mystic sweet communion” with the One we receive at the Lord’s Table.
I saw Grandma Lavina and my beloved father, as gentle an s ever. I saw strangers and faces I have known in the death camps of Sudan and Somalia, the deserts of Namibia and the hovels of Nicaragua to those I knew and loved on the sun-baked plains of Nebraska, Magdalena and Eilert and all the rest, all of us gathered around the table, receiving God’s inexhaustible, eternally abundant life.
My vision, like the holy table, is not an illusion. It is reality. It is now. And it is the future to which the risen Christ is drawing all things, you and me and the beloved for whom our hearts long.
We gather around God’s eternal table of grace, those in time and eternity, those here and those who gaze upon the beauty of God.
We stand together, with all the hosts of heaven, with saints of every time and place, with all the missing faces for whom we light our candles. With them, we hold out empty hands and taste eternity, even now, even here, at this table.
The body and blood of the One who is life is here for us all.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 6:20-21
"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kigdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled."
Reflection
It happened again, Sunday. The front wall of the sanctuary disappeared. Standing behind the table, the pastor raised her hands lifting the bread, then the cup. Suddenly, the bricks behind her were not there anymore, obscuring my vision of eternity. Instead, I saw those who have gone before and now enjoy clear vision of the One whose name is mercy, the blessed God whom I glimpse but in bits and snatches.
I saw them, and their eyes, too, rose as the pastor lifted the holy gifts of God’s constant giving. A great crowd with smiling eyes and moist cheeks, they looked back at us, the living congregation among whom I stood.
We were not two, but one congregation: Here and there, in time and eternity, living and … well, living. One part shining in glory, the other struggling and confused, yet all sharing “mystic sweet communion” with the One we receive at the Lord’s Table.
I saw Grandma Lavina and my beloved father, as gentle an s ever. I saw strangers and faces I have known in the death camps of Sudan and Somalia, the deserts of Namibia and the hovels of Nicaragua to those I knew and loved on the sun-baked plains of Nebraska, Magdalena and Eilert and all the rest, all of us gathered around the table, receiving God’s inexhaustible, eternally abundant life.
My vision, like the holy table, is not an illusion. It is reality. It is now. And it is the future to which the risen Christ is drawing all things, you and me and the beloved for whom our hearts long.
We gather around God’s eternal table of grace, those in time and eternity, those here and those who gaze upon the beauty of God.
We stand together, with all the hosts of heaven, with saints of every time and place, with all the missing faces for whom we light our candles. With them, we hold out empty hands and taste eternity, even now, even here, at this table.
The body and blood of the One who is life is here for us all.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Today’s text
John 8:31-36
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said, “If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth and the truth will set you free.” They answered, “We are descended from Abraham and we have never been the slaves of anyone; what do you mean ‘You will be set free?’” Jesus replied: “In all truth I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave. Now a slave has no permanent standing in the household, but a son belongs to it forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will indeed be free.”
Prayer
Your freedom is like no other, Dear Friend. Abiding, resting, dwelling in the heart of your love for me, the soul opens up in a generosity of spirit known no where else.
The heart becomes a wide open space with room for many visitors and grace for all who come, a comfortable room where the souls of others may take their rest, a broad oak giving a circle of shade where the heat of rush and the enslavement of ‘have-tos’ and ‘must-dos’ filters away in the breeze.
Resting in the Eternal Love, the divine Word whom you are, the soul comes to such rest and is filled with the awareness that “I belong.” Indeed, for the heart arrives home. Why do we ever leave this space? Why do we imagine there is need for us to labor and earn some kind of self-justifying meaning, when being in your love is the fulfillment of the heart and of all that is?
This is the freedom you give, and which you allow me to enter even as I write these few words. The words themselves bear me into you, my home, where sin is replaced by sonship, enslavement by freedom, and the heart wants only to know and be the love that makes free.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 8:31-36
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said, “If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth and the truth will set you free.” They answered, “We are descended from Abraham and we have never been the slaves of anyone; what do you mean ‘You will be set free?’” Jesus replied: “In all truth I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave. Now a slave has no permanent standing in the household, but a son belongs to it forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will indeed be free.”
Prayer
Your freedom is like no other, Dear Friend. Abiding, resting, dwelling in the heart of your love for me, the soul opens up in a generosity of spirit known no where else.
The heart becomes a wide open space with room for many visitors and grace for all who come, a comfortable room where the souls of others may take their rest, a broad oak giving a circle of shade where the heat of rush and the enslavement of ‘have-tos’ and ‘must-dos’ filters away in the breeze.
Resting in the Eternal Love, the divine Word whom you are, the soul comes to such rest and is filled with the awareness that “I belong.” Indeed, for the heart arrives home. Why do we ever leave this space? Why do we imagine there is need for us to labor and earn some kind of self-justifying meaning, when being in your love is the fulfillment of the heart and of all that is?
This is the freedom you give, and which you allow me to enter even as I write these few words. The words themselves bear me into you, my home, where sin is replaced by sonship, enslavement by freedom, and the heart wants only to know and be the love that makes free.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Today’s text
John 8:31-24
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said, “If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth and the truth will set you free.” They answered, “We are descended from Abraham and we have never been the slaves of anyone; what do you mean ‘You will be set free?”
Prayer
In your word, your substance, the delight of your giving, we know you, Dearest Friend. We know you and are free. And it is you I want to know beyond all else. If I do not know you, I lack the one needful thing, the secret substance that transforms all other knowledge and learning into praise and joy.
Without you my soul languishes in sorrows of my own making. But resting in you, in the words of beauty and belovedness that you constantly whisper in my soul (if I would only stop and hear), all is well, no matter what is, no matter the outward circumstance.
For I dwell in you, this geography of grace, an open space where light floods the soul and life’s duties become blessed play in meadows of freedom, where the sheer delight of being alive lifts the heart beyond all drudgery.
I am at home in you, walking in the atmosphere of divine delight, in the joy you take in loving and giving your own heart to me. This is freedom, anything less is the drudgery of labor east of Eden. So I give you thanks, and I pray let me not wander this day from this holy space where I know you.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 8:31-24
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said, “If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth and the truth will set you free.” They answered, “We are descended from Abraham and we have never been the slaves of anyone; what do you mean ‘You will be set free?”
Prayer
In your word, your substance, the delight of your giving, we know you, Dearest Friend. We know you and are free. And it is you I want to know beyond all else. If I do not know you, I lack the one needful thing, the secret substance that transforms all other knowledge and learning into praise and joy.
Without you my soul languishes in sorrows of my own making. But resting in you, in the words of beauty and belovedness that you constantly whisper in my soul (if I would only stop and hear), all is well, no matter what is, no matter the outward circumstance.
For I dwell in you, this geography of grace, an open space where light floods the soul and life’s duties become blessed play in meadows of freedom, where the sheer delight of being alive lifts the heart beyond all drudgery.
I am at home in you, walking in the atmosphere of divine delight, in the joy you take in loving and giving your own heart to me. This is freedom, anything less is the drudgery of labor east of Eden. So I give you thanks, and I pray let me not wander this day from this holy space where I know you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, October 29, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Today’s text
John 8:31-24
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said, “If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth and the truth will set you free.” They answered, “We are descended from Abraham and we have never been the slaves of anyone; what do you mean ‘You will be set free?”
Prayer
This is not my question, Holy One. I know what it is to be enslaved to fears and questions for which I have no answers. I know the shame that I can no more slip than I can shed my own skin. But I also know you, and you are freedom.
I do not know how you unloose my soul that I enter sweet liberty. But it happens. My soul enters a broad and open space when I look at your face and see eternal compassion looking wordlessly upon me. It happens as I listen to all you say and are, Jesus. It happens when I sing the mystery of your love for me.
“Enter my freedom, enter my freedom,” you say. But how can I do that? My soul is tied to earth, held fast by anxieties and internal conflicts that have haunted me since the earliest days of my memory.
But not when I am with you. I sit with you, see your face and hear your words. I come near and see myself walking with you, and my fears fade into illusion. Anxiety and shame flee the scene and the landscape of soul opens into green fields of play, where joy and release chase off all constriction of thought, emotion and imagination.
Only in awareness of your nearness do I enter freedom. Only there do I discover the Spirit of freedom that you bear percolates also in my soul, awaiting its release that I may be, finally, human, that self that appears only in the atmosphere of your presence.
So let me dwell near your heart this day that I may see your face, hear your voice, and walk in the open fields of blessed liberty.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 8:31-24
To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said, “If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples; you will come to know the truth and the truth will set you free.” They answered, “We are descended from Abraham and we have never been the slaves of anyone; what do you mean ‘You will be set free?”
Prayer
This is not my question, Holy One. I know what it is to be enslaved to fears and questions for which I have no answers. I know the shame that I can no more slip than I can shed my own skin. But I also know you, and you are freedom.
I do not know how you unloose my soul that I enter sweet liberty. But it happens. My soul enters a broad and open space when I look at your face and see eternal compassion looking wordlessly upon me. It happens as I listen to all you say and are, Jesus. It happens when I sing the mystery of your love for me.
“Enter my freedom, enter my freedom,” you say. But how can I do that? My soul is tied to earth, held fast by anxieties and internal conflicts that have haunted me since the earliest days of my memory.
But not when I am with you. I sit with you, see your face and hear your words. I come near and see myself walking with you, and my fears fade into illusion. Anxiety and shame flee the scene and the landscape of soul opens into green fields of play, where joy and release chase off all constriction of thought, emotion and imagination.
Only in awareness of your nearness do I enter freedom. Only there do I discover the Spirit of freedom that you bear percolates also in my soul, awaiting its release that I may be, finally, human, that self that appears only in the atmosphere of your presence.
So let me dwell near your heart this day that I may see your face, hear your voice, and walk in the open fields of blessed liberty.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, October 26, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 18:1-8
Then Jesus told them a parable about the need to pray continually and never lose heart. “There was a judge in a certain town,” he said, “who had neither fear of God nor respect for anyone. In the same town there was also a widow who kept on coming to him and saying, ‘I want justice from you against my enemy!’ For a long time he refused, but at last he said to himself, ‘Even though I have neither fear of God nor respect for any human person, I must give this widow her just rights since she keeps pestering me, or she will come and slap me in the face.’” And the Lord said, “You notice what the unjust judge has to say? Now, will not God see justice done to his elect if they keep calling to him day and night even though he still delays to help them? I promise you, he will see justice done to them, and done speedily. But when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?”
Prayer
Two words turn my heart again to you, O God: “his elect.” They speak a grace and consolation sufficient for the day, for every day. For I know: I belong to your elect, to you.
The words speak of ownership, and that is just fine with me. I want to be owned by you, for you are Great Mercy and Holy Passion. Such are the names my faltering mind assigns to your unspeakable glory. But these, inadequate as they are, speak the zeal and fervor you have for those that are yours, the elect, the chosen, the claimed, the beloved, … me.
I name you Lord, for I am not my own. I am yours, part of that people your Beloved won for you in the pains of bitter woundedness. This not always a comfortable place to be. You lead me to places I do not want to go and refuse to be content with my resistance to the call of your love. You, who are roundly rejected, seek to be visible in my flesh, and I know what that means.
But every day I struggle with my finitude, my limits, my fears, and every day you tell me that I belong to an everlasting love who has loved me everlastingly. I belong to a Lord who holds fast to the elect with a holy zeal and fervent ardor that refuses to let me to face my life alone. And that’s good news, Dear Friend. I learned long ago that independence is overrated.
And you won’t have it. Again and again you whisper: “You are mine. Nothing and no one else can have you.” I am father and a grandfather; I understand such love, even if mine is but finite.
Thank you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 18:1-8
Then Jesus told them a parable about the need to pray continually and never lose heart. “There was a judge in a certain town,” he said, “who had neither fear of God nor respect for anyone. In the same town there was also a widow who kept on coming to him and saying, ‘I want justice from you against my enemy!’ For a long time he refused, but at last he said to himself, ‘Even though I have neither fear of God nor respect for any human person, I must give this widow her just rights since she keeps pestering me, or she will come and slap me in the face.’” And the Lord said, “You notice what the unjust judge has to say? Now, will not God see justice done to his elect if they keep calling to him day and night even though he still delays to help them? I promise you, he will see justice done to them, and done speedily. But when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?”
Prayer
Two words turn my heart again to you, O God: “his elect.” They speak a grace and consolation sufficient for the day, for every day. For I know: I belong to your elect, to you.
The words speak of ownership, and that is just fine with me. I want to be owned by you, for you are Great Mercy and Holy Passion. Such are the names my faltering mind assigns to your unspeakable glory. But these, inadequate as they are, speak the zeal and fervor you have for those that are yours, the elect, the chosen, the claimed, the beloved, … me.
I name you Lord, for I am not my own. I am yours, part of that people your Beloved won for you in the pains of bitter woundedness. This not always a comfortable place to be. You lead me to places I do not want to go and refuse to be content with my resistance to the call of your love. You, who are roundly rejected, seek to be visible in my flesh, and I know what that means.
But every day I struggle with my finitude, my limits, my fears, and every day you tell me that I belong to an everlasting love who has loved me everlastingly. I belong to a Lord who holds fast to the elect with a holy zeal and fervent ardor that refuses to let me to face my life alone. And that’s good news, Dear Friend. I learned long ago that independence is overrated.
And you won’t have it. Again and again you whisper: “You are mine. Nothing and no one else can have you.” I am father and a grandfather; I understand such love, even if mine is but finite.
Thank you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 18:1-8
Then Jesus told them a parable about the need to pray continually and never lose heart. “There was a judge in a certain town,” he said, “who had neither fear of God nor respect for anyone. In the same town there was also a widow who kept on coming to him and saying, ‘I want justice from you against my enemy!’ For a long time he refused, but at last he said to himself, ‘Even though I have neither fear of God nor respect for any human person, I must give this widow her just rights since she keeps pestering me, or she will come and slap me in the face.’” And the Lord said, “You notice what the unjust judge has to say? Now, will not God see justice done to his elect if they keep calling to him day and night even though he still delays to help them? I promise you, he will see justice done to them, and done speedily. But when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?”
Prayer
It is for your sadness that I love you today, Dearest Friend. The image of your face is cut into the rock face of my mind, and I read the sorrow engraved there as you ask: will I find faith on earth? Grief drips from every word. Each drop glistens with the fullness of the divine heart, longing for blessed communion with all who have yet to arrive home.
If there is no faith to greet you, Jesus, human souls miss the mercy of divine embrace and indwelling. And your heart does not find completion in that holy communion for which the Loving Mystery has hungered through all eternity, soul to soul, divinity to humanity, Creator to all creation, a blessed circle of love in which your fullness fills all that we are and all you have made.
Until then your divine heart mourns and longs for the lost, including the lost regions of this troubled soul, looking for the faith, the desire that welcomes your nearness so you may bring the healing of love immeasurable.
I see your sadness, Jesus, and I taste the sweet sorrow of eternity. I hear your voice, and I know without any doubt what lies at the heart of the cosmos: the sorrow of a wounded heart, yearning for the beloved, for one such as me.
I love you for your sadness, Jesus. It speaks to depths of heart nothing else can reach and heals me as little else can. May the faith you awaken in me assuage your beloved sorrow.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 18:1-8
Then Jesus told them a parable about the need to pray continually and never lose heart. “There was a judge in a certain town,” he said, “who had neither fear of God nor respect for anyone. In the same town there was also a widow who kept on coming to him and saying, ‘I want justice from you against my enemy!’ For a long time he refused, but at last he said to himself, ‘Even though I have neither fear of God nor respect for any human person, I must give this widow her just rights since she keeps pestering me, or she will come and slap me in the face.’” And the Lord said, “You notice what the unjust judge has to say? Now, will not God see justice done to his elect if they keep calling to him day and night even though he still delays to help them? I promise you, he will see justice done to them, and done speedily. But when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?”
Prayer
It is for your sadness that I love you today, Dearest Friend. The image of your face is cut into the rock face of my mind, and I read the sorrow engraved there as you ask: will I find faith on earth? Grief drips from every word. Each drop glistens with the fullness of the divine heart, longing for blessed communion with all who have yet to arrive home.
If there is no faith to greet you, Jesus, human souls miss the mercy of divine embrace and indwelling. And your heart does not find completion in that holy communion for which the Loving Mystery has hungered through all eternity, soul to soul, divinity to humanity, Creator to all creation, a blessed circle of love in which your fullness fills all that we are and all you have made.
Until then your divine heart mourns and longs for the lost, including the lost regions of this troubled soul, looking for the faith, the desire that welcomes your nearness so you may bring the healing of love immeasurable.
I see your sadness, Jesus, and I taste the sweet sorrow of eternity. I hear your voice, and I know without any doubt what lies at the heart of the cosmos: the sorrow of a wounded heart, yearning for the beloved, for one such as me.
I love you for your sadness, Jesus. It speaks to depths of heart nothing else can reach and heals me as little else can. May the faith you awaken in me assuage your beloved sorrow.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, October 22, 2007
Monday, October 23, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 18:1-8
Then Jesus told them a parable about the need to pray continually and never lose heart. “There was a judge in a certain town,” he said, “who had neither fear of God nor respect for anyone. In the same town there was also a widow who kept on coming to him and saying, ‘I want justice from you against my enemy!’ For a long time he refused, but at last he said to himself, ‘Even though I have neither fear of God nor respect for any human person, I must give this widow her just rights since she keeps pestering me, or she will come and slap me in the face.’” And the Lord said, “You notice what the unjust judge has to say? Now, will not God see justice done to his elect if they keep calling to him day and night even though he still delays to help them? I promise you, he will see justice done to them, and done speedily. But when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?”
Prayer
You make me smile so early on a Monday, Jesus. Your words conjure a bag lady chasing a self-satisfied soul in a three-piece suit down the street. He trips along quickly as he can, looking over his shoulder, distress in his eyes, while she wields a brown paper bag of clothes and aluminum cans. She strains to catch up and bop him across the head, seeking to gain justice for herself.
The reversal of power and powerless is as ironic as it is pointed. Surely, I have no more power over you than the widow has over the judge, less in fact. But surely, God does not refuse mercy until I pound on heaven’s door to wake the divine majesty from underachieving lethargy.
For the Loving Mystery is as far removed from the self-serving judge as your heart is from mine, holy Jesus. Your mercy and justice soar to heights unknown by the wings of my imagination.
Yet, you urge me to pray and pray again, to enter the intimate relationship of holy longing with you who are Mercy Unbounded. You invite me to bring all that I am, not to win your attention or favor but simply that I might know you, who are the secret desire of every prayer.
So I come to you again and again, pounding on your door, not to wake you from slumber, for you neither slumber nor sleep. I return that the desire of my heart may find its final answer in you who are the fullness of the Fullness.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 18:1-8
Then Jesus told them a parable about the need to pray continually and never lose heart. “There was a judge in a certain town,” he said, “who had neither fear of God nor respect for anyone. In the same town there was also a widow who kept on coming to him and saying, ‘I want justice from you against my enemy!’ For a long time he refused, but at last he said to himself, ‘Even though I have neither fear of God nor respect for any human person, I must give this widow her just rights since she keeps pestering me, or she will come and slap me in the face.’” And the Lord said, “You notice what the unjust judge has to say? Now, will not God see justice done to his elect if they keep calling to him day and night even though he still delays to help them? I promise you, he will see justice done to them, and done speedily. But when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?”
Prayer
You make me smile so early on a Monday, Jesus. Your words conjure a bag lady chasing a self-satisfied soul in a three-piece suit down the street. He trips along quickly as he can, looking over his shoulder, distress in his eyes, while she wields a brown paper bag of clothes and aluminum cans. She strains to catch up and bop him across the head, seeking to gain justice for herself.
The reversal of power and powerless is as ironic as it is pointed. Surely, I have no more power over you than the widow has over the judge, less in fact. But surely, God does not refuse mercy until I pound on heaven’s door to wake the divine majesty from underachieving lethargy.
For the Loving Mystery is as far removed from the self-serving judge as your heart is from mine, holy Jesus. Your mercy and justice soar to heights unknown by the wings of my imagination.
Yet, you urge me to pray and pray again, to enter the intimate relationship of holy longing with you who are Mercy Unbounded. You invite me to bring all that I am, not to win your attention or favor but simply that I might know you, who are the secret desire of every prayer.
So I come to you again and again, pounding on your door, not to wake you from slumber, for you neither slumber nor sleep. I return that the desire of my heart may find its final answer in you who are the fullness of the Fullness.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 17:11-19
Now it happened that on the way to Jerusalem Jesus was traveling in the borderlands of Samaria and Galilee. As he entered one of the villages, ten men suffering from a virulent skin disease came to meet him. They stood some way off and called to him, “Jesus! Master! Take pity on us.” When he saw them he said, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” Now as they were going away they were cleansed. Finding himself cured, one of them turned back praising God at the top of his voice and threw himself prostrate at the feet of Jesus and thanked him. The man was a Samaritan. This led Jesus to say, “Were not all ten made clean? The other nine, where are they? It seems that no one has come back to give praise to God, except this foreigner.” And he said to the man, “Stand up and go on your way. Your faith has saved you.”
Prayer
Salvation happens when our desire and yours meet, Dearest Friend. You want all to return to give thanks, to know you, to hear your blessing. Your heart is not complete, not at rest, until the missing nine appear. Only then is the primal connection of life complete, the divine intention fulfilled.
Your desire for us and our desire for you meet and dwell together in mutual harmony, completing the divine circle into which you draw all creation. Until then creation remains unfinished, human hearts unfilled.
So your heart rises as a bird, circling upon currents of Spirit, whispering to every heart, “Come close. Come close. Stand not far off. Fly to the heart of the universe. Love Itself eagerly awaits your return, ever watching for the other nine.”
You hunger for our nearness, and we die without yours. Your desire and ours, not two, but the voice of a single Spirit.
And the faith that saves? Is it not following the desire that brings us to you?
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 17:11-19
Now it happened that on the way to Jerusalem Jesus was traveling in the borderlands of Samaria and Galilee. As he entered one of the villages, ten men suffering from a virulent skin disease came to meet him. They stood some way off and called to him, “Jesus! Master! Take pity on us.” When he saw them he said, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” Now as they were going away they were cleansed. Finding himself cured, one of them turned back praising God at the top of his voice and threw himself prostrate at the feet of Jesus and thanked him. The man was a Samaritan. This led Jesus to say, “Were not all ten made clean? The other nine, where are they? It seems that no one has come back to give praise to God, except this foreigner.” And he said to the man, “Stand up and go on your way. Your faith has saved you.”
Prayer
Salvation happens when our desire and yours meet, Dearest Friend. You want all to return to give thanks, to know you, to hear your blessing. Your heart is not complete, not at rest, until the missing nine appear. Only then is the primal connection of life complete, the divine intention fulfilled.
Your desire for us and our desire for you meet and dwell together in mutual harmony, completing the divine circle into which you draw all creation. Until then creation remains unfinished, human hearts unfilled.
So your heart rises as a bird, circling upon currents of Spirit, whispering to every heart, “Come close. Come close. Stand not far off. Fly to the heart of the universe. Love Itself eagerly awaits your return, ever watching for the other nine.”
You hunger for our nearness, and we die without yours. Your desire and ours, not two, but the voice of a single Spirit.
And the faith that saves? Is it not following the desire that brings us to you?
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Today’s text
Luke 17:11-19
Now it happened that on the way to Jerusalem Jesus was traveling in the borderlands of Samaria and Galilee. As he entered one of the villages, ten men suffering from a virulent skin disease came to meet him. They stood some way off and called to him, “Jesus! Master! Take pity on us.” When he saw them he said, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” Now as they were going away they were cleansed. Finding himself cured, one of them turned back praising God at the top of his voice and threw himself prostrate at the feet of Jesus and thanked him. The man was a Samaritan. This led Jesus to say, “Were not all ten made clean? The other nine, where are they? It seems that no one has come back to give praise to God, except this foreigner.” And he said to the man, “Stand up and go on your way. Your faith has saved you.”
Prayer
“Don’t be surprised,” you say to me this morning. “Don’t be surprised when you find hearts that believe and souls open to my great giving. You will find gracious hearts in unexpected places where I have been working long before you arrived. Open your eyes; look. Don’t imagine you are alone. Many love me more than you can though they know and have far less than you.”
Your words are not harsh in my ears, Jesus. They humble me, and that is grace. You keep me from imagining that my faith, my way of thinking, believing and serving is somehow privileged above others. Your words remind me that I stand among millions, billions who bear your call, your mark of wounded love on their hearts.
And many of them are people I consider beneath me in experience or intelligence, in insight or sophistication. Many I might find uncouth or simple, holding the wrong opinions or politics, bearing such flaws of character and neuroses that make it easy to dismiss them, imagining I am superior.
But I am not. I am one more needy soul who cries to you in the morning for mercy, weary of my perennial sins, sick to death of the cracks in my character through which vitality and joy seep away.
I stand among the immense throng who need and call upon you. There are no foreigners in this crowd, no aliens, just people who, at their best, know the great truth: your grace crosses every boundary we establish. Try as we might, we can’t keep you from going where love pleases. Thank you for such gracious disrespect.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 17:11-19
Now it happened that on the way to Jerusalem Jesus was traveling in the borderlands of Samaria and Galilee. As he entered one of the villages, ten men suffering from a virulent skin disease came to meet him. They stood some way off and called to him, “Jesus! Master! Take pity on us.” When he saw them he said, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” Now as they were going away they were cleansed. Finding himself cured, one of them turned back praising God at the top of his voice and threw himself prostrate at the feet of Jesus and thanked him. The man was a Samaritan. This led Jesus to say, “Were not all ten made clean? The other nine, where are they? It seems that no one has come back to give praise to God, except this foreigner.” And he said to the man, “Stand up and go on your way. Your faith has saved you.”
Prayer
“Don’t be surprised,” you say to me this morning. “Don’t be surprised when you find hearts that believe and souls open to my great giving. You will find gracious hearts in unexpected places where I have been working long before you arrived. Open your eyes; look. Don’t imagine you are alone. Many love me more than you can though they know and have far less than you.”
Your words are not harsh in my ears, Jesus. They humble me, and that is grace. You keep me from imagining that my faith, my way of thinking, believing and serving is somehow privileged above others. Your words remind me that I stand among millions, billions who bear your call, your mark of wounded love on their hearts.
And many of them are people I consider beneath me in experience or intelligence, in insight or sophistication. Many I might find uncouth or simple, holding the wrong opinions or politics, bearing such flaws of character and neuroses that make it easy to dismiss them, imagining I am superior.
But I am not. I am one more needy soul who cries to you in the morning for mercy, weary of my perennial sins, sick to death of the cracks in my character through which vitality and joy seep away.
I stand among the immense throng who need and call upon you. There are no foreigners in this crowd, no aliens, just people who, at their best, know the great truth: your grace crosses every boundary we establish. Try as we might, we can’t keep you from going where love pleases. Thank you for such gracious disrespect.
Pr. David L. Miller
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