Today’s text
John 20:9-16
But Mary was standing outside near the tomb, weeping. Then, as she wept, she stooped to look inside, and saw two angels in white sitting where the body of Jesus had been, one at the head, the other at the feet. They said, 'Woman, why are you weeping?' 'They have taken my Lord away,' she replied, 'and I don't know where they have put him.' As she said this she turned round and saw standing there, though she did not realize that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, 'Woman, why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?' Supposing him to be the gardener, she said, 'Sir, if you have taken him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will go and remove him.' Jesus said, 'Mary!' She turned round then and said to him in Hebrew, 'Rabbuni!'-which means Master.
Prayer
‘I do not know where they have put him.’
No longer do they put you anywhere, Jesus. There is no where you can be put. You go where you please to all that you love, and you love all. It is your risen pleasure to go to all and in all places to appear in heart-rending surprise.
My heart cries with Mary, searching for you and not finding, only to be found by you, and then to cry again at the mystery of your risen nearness.
‘Who are you looking for?’ You ask.
I look for you, dearest Friend. I look for you in every face and on dreariest days. I look for you, thirsty for your presence. But you already abide in risen nearness in the depths of my confused soul. Your risen life plays in every face I see and every street I walk.
You are the source of my searching, the love that burns my soul fanning my thirst for More: more love, more presence, more of whatever you are in risen glory.
For you live. There just is no killing you, not now. For you are the life of eternity, searching dusty corridors of soul and unknown corners of the cosmos to break our hearts again. And you do, for you are that love that holds nothing back and holds all things together.
And you are risen.
I have no words on this Easter Day to give voice to the wonder of your life, nor for the surprise that you should appear also to me, here and now.
Accept my poor praise, the emblem of a grateful soul.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Sunday, March 23, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Today’s text
John 19:38-42
Joseph of Arimathaea, who was a disciple of Jesus--though a secret one because he was afraid of the Jews--asked Pilate to let him remove the body of Jesus. Pilate gave permission, so they came and took it away. Nicodemus came as well-the same one who had first come to Jesus at night-time-and he brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds. They took the body of Jesus and bound it in linen cloths with the spices, following the Jewish burial custom. At the place where he had been crucified there was a garden, and in this garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been buried. Since it was the Jewish Day of Preparation and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.
Prayer
My heart breaks as I see them, Jesus. They make ready the place to lay you. They clean the cave, brush away the dust and lay out the spices and linens in which to wrap you.
They fumble with the dead weight of your body, turning it, holding you up, reaching under and around, winding the fabric about your form. Slowly your wounds disappear, your feet and legs, hands and side, chest and shoulders and then your face, the face they had learned to love, even though they never really understood you.
How could they? How can anyone? We don’t understand a love that loves to the end.
I understand only that I love them--and you--as they carry out their heart breaking work, laying to rest their fondest hopes, burying, too, the inexplicable yearning they knew in you presence.
Dead, now, all of it: you, the hopes for that kingdom not of this world, the unrequited longing you awakened in their depths. Dead and gone. Laid to rest. Surrendered to the dust.
All is quiet. The crowds have dispersed. Ancient blood lust has been satisfied. Now is the hour of regret and sorrow--and whispers in the silence.
That is all we have in the hour death, as hopes are dashed and blessed memories lie a crumpled in a heap on earth’s tired crust.
But, My Lord, it is not all you have.
So we wait in the stillness, daring to imagine that the garden of your tomb will bloom with everlasting tomorrow.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 19:38-42
Joseph of Arimathaea, who was a disciple of Jesus--though a secret one because he was afraid of the Jews--asked Pilate to let him remove the body of Jesus. Pilate gave permission, so they came and took it away. Nicodemus came as well-the same one who had first come to Jesus at night-time-and he brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds. They took the body of Jesus and bound it in linen cloths with the spices, following the Jewish burial custom. At the place where he had been crucified there was a garden, and in this garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been buried. Since it was the Jewish Day of Preparation and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.
Prayer
My heart breaks as I see them, Jesus. They make ready the place to lay you. They clean the cave, brush away the dust and lay out the spices and linens in which to wrap you.
They fumble with the dead weight of your body, turning it, holding you up, reaching under and around, winding the fabric about your form. Slowly your wounds disappear, your feet and legs, hands and side, chest and shoulders and then your face, the face they had learned to love, even though they never really understood you.
How could they? How can anyone? We don’t understand a love that loves to the end.
I understand only that I love them--and you--as they carry out their heart breaking work, laying to rest their fondest hopes, burying, too, the inexplicable yearning they knew in you presence.
Dead, now, all of it: you, the hopes for that kingdom not of this world, the unrequited longing you awakened in their depths. Dead and gone. Laid to rest. Surrendered to the dust.
All is quiet. The crowds have dispersed. Ancient blood lust has been satisfied. Now is the hour of regret and sorrow--and whispers in the silence.
That is all we have in the hour death, as hopes are dashed and blessed memories lie a crumpled in a heap on earth’s tired crust.
But, My Lord, it is not all you have.
So we wait in the stillness, daring to imagine that the garden of your tomb will bloom with everlasting tomorrow.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Today’s text
John 19:5-11
Jesus then came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said, 'Here is the man.' When they saw him, the chief priests and the guards shouted, 'Crucify him! Crucify him!' Pilate said, 'Take him yourselves and crucify him: I find no case against him.' The Jews replied, 'We have a Law, and according to that Law he ought to be put to death, because he has claimed to be Son of God.' When Pilate heard them say this his fears increased. Re-entering the Praetorium, he said to Jesus, 'Where do you come from?' But Jesus made no answer. Pilate then said to him, 'Are you refusing to speak to me? Surely you know I have power to release you and I have power to crucify you?' Jesus replied, 'You would have no power over me at all if it had not been given you from above; that is why the man who handed me over to you has the greater guilt.
Prayer
You are not from here, Jesus. You don’t act like we act. You don’t answer to powers that threaten to crush you. You don’t quail in fear. You refuse to speak until it suits you and the wild, holy purpose on which your soul is fixed.
That never leaves you. You never forget or lose track of who you are and what you are for. So you stand there, silent, making the powerful wait for your time, your pleasure, your voice.
And in silence we know: You are not from here. Your being naturally flows from a place we seldom visit, a region we do not inhabit. But you dwell there, and everything you now do reveals the realm of your abiding.
So tell me, where do you come from? Pilate’s question is mine for I, too, stand amazed. You stand in silent possession of your own soul, so unlike me. I want to know the place from which you come. For I wish to dwell there too.
So where are you from? Where do you dwell? Tell us.
But your words were always clear. You dwell in the bosom of the Loving Mystery. You come from God and now go to God. That Loving One is in you and you are enrapt in that Blest Mystery. This you know with silent certainty.
So go your ugly, brutal way, Jesus, ripped by the hands of hate. And with every word and act, with every silent knowing, show us where you are from, and we shall know the life you offer.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 19:5-11
Jesus then came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said, 'Here is the man.' When they saw him, the chief priests and the guards shouted, 'Crucify him! Crucify him!' Pilate said, 'Take him yourselves and crucify him: I find no case against him.' The Jews replied, 'We have a Law, and according to that Law he ought to be put to death, because he has claimed to be Son of God.' When Pilate heard them say this his fears increased. Re-entering the Praetorium, he said to Jesus, 'Where do you come from?' But Jesus made no answer. Pilate then said to him, 'Are you refusing to speak to me? Surely you know I have power to release you and I have power to crucify you?' Jesus replied, 'You would have no power over me at all if it had not been given you from above; that is why the man who handed me over to you has the greater guilt.
Prayer
You are not from here, Jesus. You don’t act like we act. You don’t answer to powers that threaten to crush you. You don’t quail in fear. You refuse to speak until it suits you and the wild, holy purpose on which your soul is fixed.
That never leaves you. You never forget or lose track of who you are and what you are for. So you stand there, silent, making the powerful wait for your time, your pleasure, your voice.
And in silence we know: You are not from here. Your being naturally flows from a place we seldom visit, a region we do not inhabit. But you dwell there, and everything you now do reveals the realm of your abiding.
So tell me, where do you come from? Pilate’s question is mine for I, too, stand amazed. You stand in silent possession of your own soul, so unlike me. I want to know the place from which you come. For I wish to dwell there too.
So where are you from? Where do you dwell? Tell us.
But your words were always clear. You dwell in the bosom of the Loving Mystery. You come from God and now go to God. That Loving One is in you and you are enrapt in that Blest Mystery. This you know with silent certainty.
So go your ugly, brutal way, Jesus, ripped by the hands of hate. And with every word and act, with every silent knowing, show us where you are from, and we shall know the life you offer.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Today’s text
John 19:1-5
Pilate then had Jesus taken away and scourged; and after this, the soldiers twisted some thorns into a crown and put it on his head and dressed him in a purple robe. They kept coming up to him and saying, 'Hail, king of the Jews!' and slapping him in the face. Pilate came outside again and said to them, 'Look, I am going to bring him out to you to let you see that I find no case against him.' Jesus then came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said, 'Here is the man.'
Prayer
Here is the man.
What do I see as you stand there, Jesus? Is your head up or down? Hanging down, I’m sure. I have seen human beings who have been beaten. Their heads always hang. Their eyes linger on the soil of earth to which they have been reduced.
They wear sadness like an old coat; unmitigated melancholy droops from their shoulders. Their lives are but a burden to born. Joy has left. Vitality has fled. They squirm in the rough grip of a malevolence they neither understand nor control. Life is a passion to be endured, not a gift to embrace.
That is how you look to me, Jesus. You are as clear to me as my fingers on the keys. You are the man, and tears mark my sadness over the many you resemble. You suffer the passion of human souls who want only to live, but cannot enter the silent promise of the goodness they once felt in their flesh.
You are the man, every man, every woman, creation itself in travail. Beaten and bloodied. Discounted and disparaged. Far separated from those dear who treasured your smile, your nearness. Gripped by hands that care nothing for you. Yet, standing among and with us all. And standing there you bring the revelation of Eternity to wordless fulfillment.
Thank you for the love that stirs my soul as I see you descending the depths of human sorrow. Thank you for the realization that I love you, a love awakened by the beauty of all you have allowed me to see in you.
Grant that we should never fail to see the mystery of divine beauty in the pains you suffer. For then our souls would be dead. And we want to live.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 19:1-5
Pilate then had Jesus taken away and scourged; and after this, the soldiers twisted some thorns into a crown and put it on his head and dressed him in a purple robe. They kept coming up to him and saying, 'Hail, king of the Jews!' and slapping him in the face. Pilate came outside again and said to them, 'Look, I am going to bring him out to you to let you see that I find no case against him.' Jesus then came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said, 'Here is the man.'
Prayer
Here is the man.
What do I see as you stand there, Jesus? Is your head up or down? Hanging down, I’m sure. I have seen human beings who have been beaten. Their heads always hang. Their eyes linger on the soil of earth to which they have been reduced.
They wear sadness like an old coat; unmitigated melancholy droops from their shoulders. Their lives are but a burden to born. Joy has left. Vitality has fled. They squirm in the rough grip of a malevolence they neither understand nor control. Life is a passion to be endured, not a gift to embrace.
That is how you look to me, Jesus. You are as clear to me as my fingers on the keys. You are the man, and tears mark my sadness over the many you resemble. You suffer the passion of human souls who want only to live, but cannot enter the silent promise of the goodness they once felt in their flesh.
You are the man, every man, every woman, creation itself in travail. Beaten and bloodied. Discounted and disparaged. Far separated from those dear who treasured your smile, your nearness. Gripped by hands that care nothing for you. Yet, standing among and with us all. And standing there you bring the revelation of Eternity to wordless fulfillment.
Thank you for the love that stirs my soul as I see you descending the depths of human sorrow. Thank you for the realization that I love you, a love awakened by the beauty of all you have allowed me to see in you.
Grant that we should never fail to see the mystery of divine beauty in the pains you suffer. For then our souls would be dead. And we want to live.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, March 14, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 21:6-11
So the disciples went and did as Jesus had told them. They brought the donkey and the colt, then they laid their cloaks on their backs and he took his seat on them. Great crowds of people spread their cloaks on the road, while others were cutting branches from the trees and spreading them in his path. The crowds who went in front of him and those who followed were all shouting: Hosanna to the son of David! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord! And when he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil as people asked, 'Who is this?' and the crowds answered, 'This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.'
Prayer
I look. I watch. And desire is awakened. To be with them, bowing down, spreading my coat on the road before you with dozens of denizens of this all-too-human race: There I am, in my place of belonging.
Bowing in humble reverence before your approach, I find myself, my heart, my home. And the soul grows quiet, needing nothing.
The scene reduces me to truest identity: one soul among many, humbly offering such small service, a silent act of humble worship filled whole by the sum of all that I am.
Bending down on the road, crumpled coat at my feet, I would smooth out the wrinkles that it may lay even and low as you pass, feeling nothing but greatest honor and joy that you should tread on my coat, the sacred emblem of a soul who loves you. And needs you.
Receive my worship; hear my silent praise as I stand dumb in wonder at the glory you are. For my soul does not ask who you are. I know. And there is no knowledge more blessed.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 21:6-11
So the disciples went and did as Jesus had told them. They brought the donkey and the colt, then they laid their cloaks on their backs and he took his seat on them. Great crowds of people spread their cloaks on the road, while others were cutting branches from the trees and spreading them in his path. The crowds who went in front of him and those who followed were all shouting: Hosanna to the son of David! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord! And when he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil as people asked, 'Who is this?' and the crowds answered, 'This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.'
Prayer
I look. I watch. And desire is awakened. To be with them, bowing down, spreading my coat on the road before you with dozens of denizens of this all-too-human race: There I am, in my place of belonging.
Bowing in humble reverence before your approach, I find myself, my heart, my home. And the soul grows quiet, needing nothing.
The scene reduces me to truest identity: one soul among many, humbly offering such small service, a silent act of humble worship filled whole by the sum of all that I am.
Bending down on the road, crumpled coat at my feet, I would smooth out the wrinkles that it may lay even and low as you pass, feeling nothing but greatest honor and joy that you should tread on my coat, the sacred emblem of a soul who loves you. And needs you.
Receive my worship; hear my silent praise as I stand dumb in wonder at the glory you are. For my soul does not ask who you are. I know. And there is no knowledge more blessed.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 21:6-9
So the disciples went and did as Jesus had told them. They brought the donkey and the colt, then they laid their cloaks on their backs and he took his seat on them. Great crowds of people spread their cloaks on the road, while others were cutting branches from the trees and spreading them in his path. The crowds who went in front of him and those who followed were all shouting: Hosanna to the son of David! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord!
Prayer
Yes, most blessed. My heart clambers for you. For you my spirit cries out with a voice vast as the sky. My silent heart restlessly calls in the morning, stirred by the craving of a thousand ages, speaking the desire as everlasting as the ancient hills you walked.
Come.
Come, you who bear the name of the Lord. Come bearing the secret source and resting place of the world’s anxious soul. Come convince our hearts that you want to come to us, to me, to be for us that secret someone without whom we cannot truly live.
Come.
Come and quiet the primeval protests of our souls insisting, as they do, that there must be more, something, someone who can answer the incessant question for which we have no words.
Come.
Come and free us from the agitation of our unsatisfied searching. Come, and our hearts will fly open and call out with a voice vast as the sky, ‘Hosanna. You do come, and to us. Let us see you, and know ourselves for the first time.’
Come, Hosanna, love us with that love only eternity knows.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 21:6-9
So the disciples went and did as Jesus had told them. They brought the donkey and the colt, then they laid their cloaks on their backs and he took his seat on them. Great crowds of people spread their cloaks on the road, while others were cutting branches from the trees and spreading them in his path. The crowds who went in front of him and those who followed were all shouting: Hosanna to the son of David! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord!
Prayer
Yes, most blessed. My heart clambers for you. For you my spirit cries out with a voice vast as the sky. My silent heart restlessly calls in the morning, stirred by the craving of a thousand ages, speaking the desire as everlasting as the ancient hills you walked.
Come.
Come, you who bear the name of the Lord. Come bearing the secret source and resting place of the world’s anxious soul. Come convince our hearts that you want to come to us, to me, to be for us that secret someone without whom we cannot truly live.
Come.
Come and quiet the primeval protests of our souls insisting, as they do, that there must be more, something, someone who can answer the incessant question for which we have no words.
Come.
Come and free us from the agitation of our unsatisfied searching. Come, and our hearts will fly open and call out with a voice vast as the sky, ‘Hosanna. You do come, and to us. Let us see you, and know ourselves for the first time.’
Come, Hosanna, love us with that love only eternity knows.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Today’s text
Matthew 21:1-5
When they were near Jerusalem and had come to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, ‘Go to the village facing you, and you will at once find a tethered donkey and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, you are to say, “The Master needs them and will send them back at once.” ‘This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet: Say to the daughter of Zion: Look, your king is approaching, humble and riding on a donkey and on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.
Prayer
We wander into far countries of thought and emotion, humoring the internal dragons of our nature, feeding and indulging them. The thoughts we think, the words and scenes we play out in our minds: these, we know.
And we know our ways are not yours. Our indulgent angers and passions for personal victory over others are self-defensive tactics, protecting us from fears and wounds we refuse to face. And we continue to flee them, even when we know you await us precisely at the point of our fears. You are there, pleading, ‘come.’
How do you come to people like us, Jesus, the wandering wayward whose thoughts, plans and emotions are far from you?
Humble, you approach, refusing to stand on ceremony or principle. You come with grace and in grace. You offer God’s kindest embrace, and you offer it in utter gracefulness, not in disgust for what we make of ourselves and our souls.
You approach not in righteous indignation. That is our way. You draw near, seeking to melt our souls in the molten love of eternity that refuses to condemn, even me.
So let us hear and heed the voice of your humble wonder, for you ride on, silently whispering, “Come. Come near and know a love you will never understand. Come, and I will make you human.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 21:1-5
When they were near Jerusalem and had come to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, ‘Go to the village facing you, and you will at once find a tethered donkey and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, you are to say, “The Master needs them and will send them back at once.” ‘This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet: Say to the daughter of Zion: Look, your king is approaching, humble and riding on a donkey and on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.
Prayer
We wander into far countries of thought and emotion, humoring the internal dragons of our nature, feeding and indulging them. The thoughts we think, the words and scenes we play out in our minds: these, we know.
And we know our ways are not yours. Our indulgent angers and passions for personal victory over others are self-defensive tactics, protecting us from fears and wounds we refuse to face. And we continue to flee them, even when we know you await us precisely at the point of our fears. You are there, pleading, ‘come.’
How do you come to people like us, Jesus, the wandering wayward whose thoughts, plans and emotions are far from you?
Humble, you approach, refusing to stand on ceremony or principle. You come with grace and in grace. You offer God’s kindest embrace, and you offer it in utter gracefulness, not in disgust for what we make of ourselves and our souls.
You approach not in righteous indignation. That is our way. You draw near, seeking to melt our souls in the molten love of eternity that refuses to condemn, even me.
So let us hear and heed the voice of your humble wonder, for you ride on, silently whispering, “Come. Come near and know a love you will never understand. Come, and I will make you human.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, March 07, 2008
Friday, March 7, 2008
Today's text
John 11:38-46
Sighing again, Jesus reached the tomb: it was a cave with a stone to close the opening. Jesus said, 'Take the stone away.' Martha, the dead man's sister, said to him, 'Lord, by now he will smell; this is the fourth day since he died.' Jesus replied, 'Have I not told you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?' So they took the stone away. Then Jesus lifted up his eyes and said: Father, I thank you for hearing my prayer. I myself knew that you hear me always, but I speak for the sake of all these who are standing around me, so that they may believe it was you who sent me. When he had said this, he cried in a loud voice, 'Lazarus, come out!' The dead man came out, his feet and hands bound with strips of material, and a cloth over his face. Jesus said to them, 'Unbind him, let him go free.' Many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what he did, believed in him, but some of them went to the Pharisees to tell them what Jesus had done.
Prayer
You are freedom, the unbinding of the body, the loosening of the soul. You are freedom, Jesus. In you there is no desire to bind the hearts of humankind, except to you, the one in whom we find perfect liberty.
You roll away stones of oppression from our hearts and bodies. Your name is life and peace. Your heart is given to release the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve from marauding death, the final enemy of our freedom.
In you we are free, called from tombs of isolation and fear by a love the grave cannot hold. In you we find the liberation of hope. Our souls fly open and free into a broad space wider than the sky, crystal blue and expansive as the love you are.
Surrounded, enveloped, lifted, encompassed by you on all sides, loving your beauty and seeing the beauty of you in all that is: This is freedom.
Speak to us, Liberator of Life. Speak to us from the depths of your eternal desire, and we, too, shall come out, stumbling from our tombs, our hearts finally free to know and be the love you are. Then we shall know the joy you have always intended for us.
You are freedom. May we live today in the perfect liberty of your love.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 11:38-46
Sighing again, Jesus reached the tomb: it was a cave with a stone to close the opening. Jesus said, 'Take the stone away.' Martha, the dead man's sister, said to him, 'Lord, by now he will smell; this is the fourth day since he died.' Jesus replied, 'Have I not told you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?' So they took the stone away. Then Jesus lifted up his eyes and said: Father, I thank you for hearing my prayer. I myself knew that you hear me always, but I speak for the sake of all these who are standing around me, so that they may believe it was you who sent me. When he had said this, he cried in a loud voice, 'Lazarus, come out!' The dead man came out, his feet and hands bound with strips of material, and a cloth over his face. Jesus said to them, 'Unbind him, let him go free.' Many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what he did, believed in him, but some of them went to the Pharisees to tell them what Jesus had done.
Prayer
You are freedom, the unbinding of the body, the loosening of the soul. You are freedom, Jesus. In you there is no desire to bind the hearts of humankind, except to you, the one in whom we find perfect liberty.
You roll away stones of oppression from our hearts and bodies. Your name is life and peace. Your heart is given to release the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve from marauding death, the final enemy of our freedom.
In you we are free, called from tombs of isolation and fear by a love the grave cannot hold. In you we find the liberation of hope. Our souls fly open and free into a broad space wider than the sky, crystal blue and expansive as the love you are.
Surrounded, enveloped, lifted, encompassed by you on all sides, loving your beauty and seeing the beauty of you in all that is: This is freedom.
Speak to us, Liberator of Life. Speak to us from the depths of your eternal desire, and we, too, shall come out, stumbling from our tombs, our hearts finally free to know and be the love you are. Then we shall know the joy you have always intended for us.
You are freedom. May we live today in the perfect liberty of your love.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Today's text
John 11:30-37
Jesus had not yet come into the village; he was still at the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who were in the house comforting Mary saw her get up so quickly and go out, they followed her, thinking that she was going to the tomb to weep there. Mary went to Jesus, and as soon as she saw him she threw herself at his feet, saying, 'Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.' At the sight of her tears, and those of the Jews who had come with her, Jesus was greatly distressed, and with a profound sigh he said, 'Where have you put him?' They said, 'Lord, come and see.' Jesus wept; and the Jews said, 'See how much he loved him!' But there were some who remarked, 'He opened the eyes of the blind man. Could he not have prevented this man's death?'
Prayer
The tables turn. At the beginning, Jesus, you invited those who would follow you to “come and see” where you live. And now it is you who are invited to the place of the dead: “Lord, come and see.”
Yes, please do. Come and see the tombs of earth where we lay our dead. Come and see the hidden vaults of soul where lie our lost loves, vanquished hopes and oozing wounds.
Come and see the drug addict who struggles to keep his eyes open to talk with me in the coffee shop. Come and see where our relationships lie fractured and ruined. Come and see where hungry bellies swell and forgotten souls die.
Come and see where our hearts hate. Come and see our interminable warfare and inability to live in peace, nation to nation or soul to soul.
Come and see the place of the dead.
And you do. You see it all with holy eyes that weep with a love that refuses to be consoled. And in your tears we see the face of the Eternity, the Hidden Ground of Love who sees and loves it all without exception or pause.
Let us see your face, Jesus, that we may know the passion in which we and all are held. Fan our hope for resurrection into a living flame. Only you can.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 11:30-37
Jesus had not yet come into the village; he was still at the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who were in the house comforting Mary saw her get up so quickly and go out, they followed her, thinking that she was going to the tomb to weep there. Mary went to Jesus, and as soon as she saw him she threw herself at his feet, saying, 'Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.' At the sight of her tears, and those of the Jews who had come with her, Jesus was greatly distressed, and with a profound sigh he said, 'Where have you put him?' They said, 'Lord, come and see.' Jesus wept; and the Jews said, 'See how much he loved him!' But there were some who remarked, 'He opened the eyes of the blind man. Could he not have prevented this man's death?'
Prayer
The tables turn. At the beginning, Jesus, you invited those who would follow you to “come and see” where you live. And now it is you who are invited to the place of the dead: “Lord, come and see.”
Yes, please do. Come and see the tombs of earth where we lay our dead. Come and see the hidden vaults of soul where lie our lost loves, vanquished hopes and oozing wounds.
Come and see the drug addict who struggles to keep his eyes open to talk with me in the coffee shop. Come and see where our relationships lie fractured and ruined. Come and see where hungry bellies swell and forgotten souls die.
Come and see where our hearts hate. Come and see our interminable warfare and inability to live in peace, nation to nation or soul to soul.
Come and see the place of the dead.
And you do. You see it all with holy eyes that weep with a love that refuses to be consoled. And in your tears we see the face of the Eternity, the Hidden Ground of Love who sees and loves it all without exception or pause.
Let us see your face, Jesus, that we may know the passion in which we and all are held. Fan our hope for resurrection into a living flame. Only you can.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Today's text
John 11:17-26
On arriving, Jesus found that Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days already. …When Martha heard that Jesus was coming she went to meet him. Mary remained sitting in the house. Martha said to Jesus, 'Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died, but even now I know that God will grant whatever you ask of him.' Jesus said to her, 'Your brother will rise again.' Martha said, 'I know he will rise again at the resurrection on the last day.' Jesus said: I am the resurrection. Anyone who believes in me, even though that person dies, will live, and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this? 'Yes, Lord,' she said, 'I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who was to come into this world.'
Prayer
You are life, dearest Friend. Where you are the dead breathe. And I know it.
There are dead places in me, my Friend, scorched stretches of soul burnt lifeless. I have a hard time saying the reasons how or why. The days wound us in a thousand ways.
Voices from within and without penetrate the heart and taunt, whispering, sometimes shouting that I am hopelessly flawed and constantly failing, that I will never reach the measure of that unknown something I think I should be, that I am doomed to lose what I need, living a half-life. At best.
My soul believes the voices, and I die.
Such is not a death unto life, just death, scorched flesh, red-brown and brittle, empty husks of yester-life, dried milk weed in the dead of winter.
And then.
And then I know you near, surrounding and enveloping me, husk and all. Scorched flesh grows soft and supple as the nectar of your love fills each tiny vein. And sweetest air fills the lungs with the freshness of new day.
And I believe the truth, not mere lies: You are the resurrection. In you, I do not die. And never will.
So let my heart not wander from you. I want to live with the life you are. Dear friend, fill every vein.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 11:17-26
On arriving, Jesus found that Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days already. …When Martha heard that Jesus was coming she went to meet him. Mary remained sitting in the house. Martha said to Jesus, 'Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died, but even now I know that God will grant whatever you ask of him.' Jesus said to her, 'Your brother will rise again.' Martha said, 'I know he will rise again at the resurrection on the last day.' Jesus said: I am the resurrection. Anyone who believes in me, even though that person dies, will live, and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this? 'Yes, Lord,' she said, 'I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who was to come into this world.'
Prayer
You are life, dearest Friend. Where you are the dead breathe. And I know it.
There are dead places in me, my Friend, scorched stretches of soul burnt lifeless. I have a hard time saying the reasons how or why. The days wound us in a thousand ways.
Voices from within and without penetrate the heart and taunt, whispering, sometimes shouting that I am hopelessly flawed and constantly failing, that I will never reach the measure of that unknown something I think I should be, that I am doomed to lose what I need, living a half-life. At best.
My soul believes the voices, and I die.
Such is not a death unto life, just death, scorched flesh, red-brown and brittle, empty husks of yester-life, dried milk weed in the dead of winter.
And then.
And then I know you near, surrounding and enveloping me, husk and all. Scorched flesh grows soft and supple as the nectar of your love fills each tiny vein. And sweetest air fills the lungs with the freshness of new day.
And I believe the truth, not mere lies: You are the resurrection. In you, I do not die. And never will.
So let my heart not wander from you. I want to live with the life you are. Dear friend, fill every vein.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Today's text
John 11:1-7
There was a man named Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister, Martha, and he was ill. It was the same Mary, the sister of the sick man Lazarus, who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair. The sisters sent this message to Jesus, 'Lord, the man you love is ill.' On receiving the message, Jesus said, 'This sickness will not end in death, but it is for God's glory so that through it the Son of God may be glorified.' Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, yet when he heard that he was ill he stayed where he was for two more days before saying to the disciples, 'Let us go back to Judea.'
Prayer
Your spirit is calm, Jesus. Your mind is quiet. Invite me into the oasis of peace that you inhabit. I want to be with you there.
I long for your assurance. You did not rush off to your friend’s side at word of his illness. That could mark you as cold. But that is not what I see.
I see self-possession and certainty. I see deep interior knowledge of what is and what will be. Your soul is a great well filled with this knowing, a liquid assurance that caresses every corner leaving no empty pockets of nagging anxiety.
So you wait, knowing death will not finally deface your friend. You wait, quietly certain that the Loving One will be glorified in you, through the only thing that can glorify the Loving One--an act of astounding love.
That is you assurance, my Friend. You abide so close to the heart of the Loving Mystery that you know that the end is always glory. The end is the revelation of the Love who abides and always will.
Such is the secret of your composure. So let us live so near to your heart that we, too, may know and dwell in your peace.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 11:1-7
There was a man named Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister, Martha, and he was ill. It was the same Mary, the sister of the sick man Lazarus, who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair. The sisters sent this message to Jesus, 'Lord, the man you love is ill.' On receiving the message, Jesus said, 'This sickness will not end in death, but it is for God's glory so that through it the Son of God may be glorified.' Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, yet when he heard that he was ill he stayed where he was for two more days before saying to the disciples, 'Let us go back to Judea.'
Prayer
Your spirit is calm, Jesus. Your mind is quiet. Invite me into the oasis of peace that you inhabit. I want to be with you there.
I long for your assurance. You did not rush off to your friend’s side at word of his illness. That could mark you as cold. But that is not what I see.
I see self-possession and certainty. I see deep interior knowledge of what is and what will be. Your soul is a great well filled with this knowing, a liquid assurance that caresses every corner leaving no empty pockets of nagging anxiety.
So you wait, knowing death will not finally deface your friend. You wait, quietly certain that the Loving One will be glorified in you, through the only thing that can glorify the Loving One--an act of astounding love.
That is you assurance, my Friend. You abide so close to the heart of the Loving Mystery that you know that the end is always glory. The end is the revelation of the Love who abides and always will.
Such is the secret of your composure. So let us live so near to your heart that we, too, may know and dwell in your peace.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, February 29, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Today's text
John 9:11-16
He answered, 'The man called Jesus made a paste, daubed my eyes with it and said to me, ‘Go off and wash at Siloam;’ so I went, and when I washed I gained my sight.' They asked, 'Where is he?' He answered, 'I don't know.' They brought to the Pharisees the man who had been blind. It had been a Sabbath day when Jesus made the paste and opened the man's eyes, so when the Pharisees asked him how he had gained his sight, he said, 'He put a paste on my eyes, and I washed, and I can see.' Then some of the Pharisees said, ‘That man cannot be from God: he does not keep the Sabbath.' Others said, 'How can a sinner produce signs like this?' And there was division among them.
Prayer
There are signs of your nearness that are unmistakable, Jesus. They cannot be faked or manufactured by act of will.
Joy is central among those signs. You appear, and there is joy. You heal, and there is joy. You stir this soul of mine in the morning hours, and I am lifted into unnatural joy.
Unnatural? Yes, for it is disconnected with and unrelated to any outward circumstances. It comes not in the absence of struggles but in their midst. I sense you near and all that weighs the soul evaporates in a sea of joyous Presence and liberty of soul.
There is no obvious word of joy for this man given his sight, but how could it be otherwise? You touched him and opened his eyes to the color of the world and the contour of your gracious face. Who can look on these and not know joy?
Well, there are some. Kill joys they are, who cannot abide the joy of hearts you exalt because it would mean the end of their systems and ascendancies, their power and their control. The hunger to destroy the joy of souls is also unmistakable. It is born of the enemy of our souls, your enemy, living also within us.
May your morning joy evict this assassin from our hearts. You made us for the liberty of joy in your presence. May our hearts brim with the unmistakable mark of your nearness.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 9:11-16
He answered, 'The man called Jesus made a paste, daubed my eyes with it and said to me, ‘Go off and wash at Siloam;’ so I went, and when I washed I gained my sight.' They asked, 'Where is he?' He answered, 'I don't know.' They brought to the Pharisees the man who had been blind. It had been a Sabbath day when Jesus made the paste and opened the man's eyes, so when the Pharisees asked him how he had gained his sight, he said, 'He put a paste on my eyes, and I washed, and I can see.' Then some of the Pharisees said, ‘That man cannot be from God: he does not keep the Sabbath.' Others said, 'How can a sinner produce signs like this?' And there was division among them.
Prayer
There are signs of your nearness that are unmistakable, Jesus. They cannot be faked or manufactured by act of will.
Joy is central among those signs. You appear, and there is joy. You heal, and there is joy. You stir this soul of mine in the morning hours, and I am lifted into unnatural joy.
Unnatural? Yes, for it is disconnected with and unrelated to any outward circumstances. It comes not in the absence of struggles but in their midst. I sense you near and all that weighs the soul evaporates in a sea of joyous Presence and liberty of soul.
There is no obvious word of joy for this man given his sight, but how could it be otherwise? You touched him and opened his eyes to the color of the world and the contour of your gracious face. Who can look on these and not know joy?
Well, there are some. Kill joys they are, who cannot abide the joy of hearts you exalt because it would mean the end of their systems and ascendancies, their power and their control. The hunger to destroy the joy of souls is also unmistakable. It is born of the enemy of our souls, your enemy, living also within us.
May your morning joy evict this assassin from our hearts. You made us for the liberty of joy in your presence. May our hearts brim with the unmistakable mark of your nearness.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Today's text
John 9:7-11
Having said this, [Jesus] spat on the ground, made a paste with the spittle, put this over the eyes of the blind man, and said to him, 'Go and wash in the Pool of Siloam' (the name means 'one who has been sent'). So he went off and washed and came back able to see. His neighbors and the people who used to see him before (for he was a beggar) said, 'Isn't this the man who used to sit and beg?' Some said, 'Yes, it is the same one.' Others said, 'No, but he looks just like him.' The man himself said, 'Yes, I am the one.' So they said to him, 'Then how is it that your eyes were opened?' He answered, 'The man called Jesus made a paste, daubed my eyes with it and said to me, "Go off and wash at Siloam"; so I went, and when I washed I gained my sight.'
Prayer
I am the man. The one who cannot see, the one healed, the one who is confused, the one who has no good answer for how it happened: I am the man.
I am startled by the joy of being illumined by unspeakable grace, no longer needing to wonder who or what has made me and thrown me into existence, no long wondering what Earth is for or what is intended for me, for all. No longer distracted by unanswerable questions that agitate the heart and keep me far from home.
I see you Jesus and am swept into the joy of knowing, not facts or ideas but Presence Abiding. All you are and intend is here for us, not in a long ago story but in revelation of what is … now.
You are the light of the world, the great work of the Loving Mystery no eye has seen. We see you and see what is, the love that envelops our lives in all things and times.
So let us see. Let us see you. And seeing you, let us see all that is and all we are floating in the sea of your eternal mercy.
Illumine our hearts.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 9:7-11
Having said this, [Jesus] spat on the ground, made a paste with the spittle, put this over the eyes of the blind man, and said to him, 'Go and wash in the Pool of Siloam' (the name means 'one who has been sent'). So he went off and washed and came back able to see. His neighbors and the people who used to see him before (for he was a beggar) said, 'Isn't this the man who used to sit and beg?' Some said, 'Yes, it is the same one.' Others said, 'No, but he looks just like him.' The man himself said, 'Yes, I am the one.' So they said to him, 'Then how is it that your eyes were opened?' He answered, 'The man called Jesus made a paste, daubed my eyes with it and said to me, "Go off and wash at Siloam"; so I went, and when I washed I gained my sight.'
Prayer
I am the man. The one who cannot see, the one healed, the one who is confused, the one who has no good answer for how it happened: I am the man.
I am startled by the joy of being illumined by unspeakable grace, no longer needing to wonder who or what has made me and thrown me into existence, no long wondering what Earth is for or what is intended for me, for all. No longer distracted by unanswerable questions that agitate the heart and keep me far from home.
I see you Jesus and am swept into the joy of knowing, not facts or ideas but Presence Abiding. All you are and intend is here for us, not in a long ago story but in revelation of what is … now.
You are the light of the world, the great work of the Loving Mystery no eye has seen. We see you and see what is, the love that envelops our lives in all things and times.
So let us see. Let us see you. And seeing you, let us see all that is and all we are floating in the sea of your eternal mercy.
Illumine our hearts.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Today's text
John 9:4-7
'As long as day lasts we must carry out the work of the one who sent me; the night will soon be here when no one can work. As long as I am in the world I am the light of the world.' Having said this, [Jesus] spat on the ground, made a paste with the spittle, put this over the eyes of the blind man, and said to him, 'Go and wash in the Pool of Siloam' (the name means 'one who has been sent'). So he went off and washed and came back able to see.
Prayer
In seeing you, I see. All else is blindness.
So I look and what do I see? You send a blind man to wash his mud-caked eyes. It is a fitting metaphor for our normal sight. We are blinded by the encrusted accumulation of living, of sighing through the days, of tripping unaware over the wonder of our lives, of failing to reverence the holiness of every face we meet.
The day comes, and we foolishly imagine it is nothing special, not feeling the love that breathes us, not seeing the light in whose illumination all is hope and gift.
You are the light of the world, the light of the soul, the illumination of heart and mind in which we see and know ourselves and peer through the tangled enigmas of our existence to know, finally, that all is well.
You are light, and in you we see who made us and for what we are made. In your illumination, we glimpse the glory that is every human life and life itself. In the warmth of your glowing, we feel the destiny for which you intend us.
So let me look at you, Jesus, and see. All else is blindness.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 9:4-7
'As long as day lasts we must carry out the work of the one who sent me; the night will soon be here when no one can work. As long as I am in the world I am the light of the world.' Having said this, [Jesus] spat on the ground, made a paste with the spittle, put this over the eyes of the blind man, and said to him, 'Go and wash in the Pool of Siloam' (the name means 'one who has been sent'). So he went off and washed and came back able to see.
Prayer
In seeing you, I see. All else is blindness.
So I look and what do I see? You send a blind man to wash his mud-caked eyes. It is a fitting metaphor for our normal sight. We are blinded by the encrusted accumulation of living, of sighing through the days, of tripping unaware over the wonder of our lives, of failing to reverence the holiness of every face we meet.
The day comes, and we foolishly imagine it is nothing special, not feeling the love that breathes us, not seeing the light in whose illumination all is hope and gift.
You are the light of the world, the light of the soul, the illumination of heart and mind in which we see and know ourselves and peer through the tangled enigmas of our existence to know, finally, that all is well.
You are light, and in you we see who made us and for what we are made. In your illumination, we glimpse the glory that is every human life and life itself. In the warmth of your glowing, we feel the destiny for which you intend us.
So let me look at you, Jesus, and see. All else is blindness.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, February 25, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Today's text
John 9:1-3
As he went along, he saw a man who had been blind from birth. His disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he should have been born blind?' 'Neither he nor his parents sinned,' Jesus answered, 'he was born blind so that the works of God might be revealed in him.
Prayer
So that the works of God might be revealed: For what are we born if not this?
You liberate my heart, Jesus. Your words send me soaring. Great riddles are rendered insignificant. The enigma of suffering is transcended, no long tripping the mind or freezing the heart.
You ignore, too, the distinctions to which self-justifying ego cleaves; skill, intelligence, accomplishment, gender, race, status--they make no difference to you.
Nor, it seems, do the outward circumstances of our lives. Am I sick or well, strong or weak, comfortable or poor? Is my work hard or does it flow like water? Do my senses fail me, or are they sharp as when I was 21? Do I enjoy others favor or am I the object of disdain?
You make no distinction. Regardless of circumstances, I was born for this: that your works, Loving One, might be revealed in me.
Do you cause our weakness, our blindness, our sickness, our disrespect, our struggles, our failures of body and soul?
You do not answer, Jesus. You know: Our questions are mere side shows of human wondering. They distract from the center: I am here to do your works, to glorify your name, to lift high the love that lifts me.
Free us from unanswerable enigmas that our hearts may soar free and our lives may be filled with the works for which you made us.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 9:1-3
As he went along, he saw a man who had been blind from birth. His disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he should have been born blind?' 'Neither he nor his parents sinned,' Jesus answered, 'he was born blind so that the works of God might be revealed in him.
Prayer
So that the works of God might be revealed: For what are we born if not this?
You liberate my heart, Jesus. Your words send me soaring. Great riddles are rendered insignificant. The enigma of suffering is transcended, no long tripping the mind or freezing the heart.
You ignore, too, the distinctions to which self-justifying ego cleaves; skill, intelligence, accomplishment, gender, race, status--they make no difference to you.
Nor, it seems, do the outward circumstances of our lives. Am I sick or well, strong or weak, comfortable or poor? Is my work hard or does it flow like water? Do my senses fail me, or are they sharp as when I was 21? Do I enjoy others favor or am I the object of disdain?
You make no distinction. Regardless of circumstances, I was born for this: that your works, Loving One, might be revealed in me.
Do you cause our weakness, our blindness, our sickness, our disrespect, our struggles, our failures of body and soul?
You do not answer, Jesus. You know: Our questions are mere side shows of human wondering. They distract from the center: I am here to do your works, to glorify your name, to lift high the love that lifts me.
Free us from unanswerable enigmas that our hearts may soar free and our lives may be filled with the works for which you made us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Today's text
John 4:21-24
Jesus said: Believe me, … the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know; for salvation comes from the Jews. But the hour is coming-indeed is already here-when true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth: that is the kind of worshipper the Father seeks. God is spirit, and those who worship must worship in spirit and truth.
Prayer
I cannot give you proper worship, Holy One, except that you will it and fill me with the Spirit you are. And you do so will. And you do so fill.
It is not my spirit that calls to you each morning. Even my fevered cries for help are not the longing of a human soul: no, they are the Soul of Eternity within, stirring and calling from my depths to the depths of your immensity.
A circle is formed: your Spirit within calls to you who are ever beyond me. And you who are beyond respond in love to you who abide within.
A circle: you within and you beyond. Your voice within me calling with my voice to you who seek my life, my worship, my gratitude that I may live, abundantly.
Your indwelling Spirit speaks from my depths, to cry to you, give you praise and seek your intimacy that you and I may be caught up in a circle of loving nearness.
Such is worship in spirit, and it is truest worship. And my fondest thanks is to wake each day to discover again your Spirit within calling, seeking, longing for you who are that Spirit beyond.
This day, let my enduring gratitude give you proper praise.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 4:21-24
Jesus said: Believe me, … the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know; for salvation comes from the Jews. But the hour is coming-indeed is already here-when true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth: that is the kind of worshipper the Father seeks. God is spirit, and those who worship must worship in spirit and truth.
Prayer
I cannot give you proper worship, Holy One, except that you will it and fill me with the Spirit you are. And you do so will. And you do so fill.
It is not my spirit that calls to you each morning. Even my fevered cries for help are not the longing of a human soul: no, they are the Soul of Eternity within, stirring and calling from my depths to the depths of your immensity.
A circle is formed: your Spirit within calls to you who are ever beyond me. And you who are beyond respond in love to you who abide within.
A circle: you within and you beyond. Your voice within me calling with my voice to you who seek my life, my worship, my gratitude that I may live, abundantly.
Your indwelling Spirit speaks from my depths, to cry to you, give you praise and seek your intimacy that you and I may be caught up in a circle of loving nearness.
Such is worship in spirit, and it is truest worship. And my fondest thanks is to wake each day to discover again your Spirit within calling, seeking, longing for you who are that Spirit beyond.
This day, let my enduring gratitude give you proper praise.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Today's text
John 4:10-15
Jesus replied to her: If you only knew what God is offering and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me something to drink,' you would have been the one to ask, and he would have given you living water. 'You have no bucket, sir,' she answered, 'and the well is deep: how do you get this living water? Are you a greater man than our father Jacob, who gave us this well and drank from it himself with his sons and his cattle?' Jesus replied: Whoever drinks this water will be thirsty again; but no one who drinks the water that I shall give will ever be thirsty again: the water that I shall give will become a spring of water within, welling up for eternal life. 'Sir,' said the woman, 'give me some of that water, so that I may never be thirsty or come here again to draw water.’
Prayer
What is this water you give, Jesus, if not the life that fills you?
Your heart is fully open at its base to the Eternal Spring, the infinitely Loving Source of all that is. The root of your soul is a broad door opening into immeasurable eternity, into the abyss of the One who is Life. And from darkest depths flows a river of Life through your life.
And this you would do to me? You would open my heart to the heavy currents of divinity that they should well into my depths, making this life a bubbling fountain of the Eternal Spring.
The weight of such divinity will explode the choked arteries of my heart. Your currents are too heavy, too thick, too rapid. I cannot contain them. They are too much for me. I cannot control them. They will destroy what I am.
‘I know,’ you say, and smile.
And what can I say? ‘Dear Friend, give me this water always that I may never be thirsty.’ For I tire of this thirst.
But to slake this thirst means opening to the heavy currents of the Uncontainable. They wash away most of what we are. But still we pray: Show me the places, Eternal Spring, where the dearest freshness of everlasting newness may well in me.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 4:10-15
Jesus replied to her: If you only knew what God is offering and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me something to drink,' you would have been the one to ask, and he would have given you living water. 'You have no bucket, sir,' she answered, 'and the well is deep: how do you get this living water? Are you a greater man than our father Jacob, who gave us this well and drank from it himself with his sons and his cattle?' Jesus replied: Whoever drinks this water will be thirsty again; but no one who drinks the water that I shall give will ever be thirsty again: the water that I shall give will become a spring of water within, welling up for eternal life. 'Sir,' said the woman, 'give me some of that water, so that I may never be thirsty or come here again to draw water.’
Prayer
What is this water you give, Jesus, if not the life that fills you?
Your heart is fully open at its base to the Eternal Spring, the infinitely Loving Source of all that is. The root of your soul is a broad door opening into immeasurable eternity, into the abyss of the One who is Life. And from darkest depths flows a river of Life through your life.
And this you would do to me? You would open my heart to the heavy currents of divinity that they should well into my depths, making this life a bubbling fountain of the Eternal Spring.
The weight of such divinity will explode the choked arteries of my heart. Your currents are too heavy, too thick, too rapid. I cannot contain them. They are too much for me. I cannot control them. They will destroy what I am.
‘I know,’ you say, and smile.
And what can I say? ‘Dear Friend, give me this water always that I may never be thirsty.’ For I tire of this thirst.
But to slake this thirst means opening to the heavy currents of the Uncontainable. They wash away most of what we are. But still we pray: Show me the places, Eternal Spring, where the dearest freshness of everlasting newness may well in me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Today's text
John 4:5-10
On the way he came to the Samaritan town called Sychar near the land that Jacob gave to his son Joseph. Jacob's well was there and Jesus, tired by the journey, sat down by the well. It was about the sixth hour. When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, 'Give me something to drink.' His disciples had gone into the town to buy food. The Samaritan woman said to him, 'You are a Jew. How is it that you ask me, a Samaritan, for something to drink?' - Jews, of course, do not associate with Samaritans. Jesus replied to her: If you only knew what God is offering and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me something to drink,' you would have been the one to ask, and he would have given you living water.
Prayer
It is you who ask to drink, Jesus. But in asking a divine offer is made. You ask for water, but your request is not for this nectar of life but that you may give the drink you bear: living water.
You give that water that bubbles and flows from ancient cataracts of soul that our lives not wither like husks in the heat of the day.
And we? We bring our mid-winter weariness to your well. It is not heat that wears us down but winter’s long grayness and our incessant labors. We are bone cold and crave rest, wanting to sit with you by the well as you talk to the woman … and us.
We want just to be with you, listening to your voice and to feel the life you are bubbling up again, living water that fills the soul with joy and the arm with purpose.
So let us sit with you this day, if only for a moment or two, so we can hear your voice, “Give me a drink.” For that voice is your own within our own, inviting us to the life you intend for us. The living water you delight to give.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 4:5-10
On the way he came to the Samaritan town called Sychar near the land that Jacob gave to his son Joseph. Jacob's well was there and Jesus, tired by the journey, sat down by the well. It was about the sixth hour. When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, 'Give me something to drink.' His disciples had gone into the town to buy food. The Samaritan woman said to him, 'You are a Jew. How is it that you ask me, a Samaritan, for something to drink?' - Jews, of course, do not associate with Samaritans. Jesus replied to her: If you only knew what God is offering and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me something to drink,' you would have been the one to ask, and he would have given you living water.
Prayer
It is you who ask to drink, Jesus. But in asking a divine offer is made. You ask for water, but your request is not for this nectar of life but that you may give the drink you bear: living water.
You give that water that bubbles and flows from ancient cataracts of soul that our lives not wither like husks in the heat of the day.
And we? We bring our mid-winter weariness to your well. It is not heat that wears us down but winter’s long grayness and our incessant labors. We are bone cold and crave rest, wanting to sit with you by the well as you talk to the woman … and us.
We want just to be with you, listening to your voice and to feel the life you are bubbling up again, living water that fills the soul with joy and the arm with purpose.
So let us sit with you this day, if only for a moment or two, so we can hear your voice, “Give me a drink.” For that voice is your own within our own, inviting us to the life you intend for us. The living water you delight to give.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, February 15, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
Today's text
John 3:17
For God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but so that through him the world might be saved.
Prayer
We are so unlike you, Loving Mystery.
How much time do we spend a day, a week, a year … judging? What is breakdown in my words--70 percent blessing and 30 percent judging? The other way around? Do I bless more souls on an average day than I wound?
And every judgment flows from the seeping wounds of ego. Our anxious, unfulfilled selves, knowing we are barely lovable, seek acceptability in every judgment we pass as we try to reassure ourselves that we are okay, or at least better than the targets of our verdicts.
A young man walks into a classroom in a quiet college town and randomly kills, seven dead now. And I wonder: is this his judgment on the world, on himself? Is it the radical acting out of sick, wounded ego succumbing to final despair?
I don’t know. I just know, my Lord, that our judgments do no good. They don’t help … anyone. When we judge we don’t convince our hearts that we are okay, while others are not. It is but a knowing lie we tell ourselves. A lie that continues the wounding of your world, leaving lacerated souls in our wake, who, in their own place and way, act out their wounds. And the whole ugly cycle goes on.
Except for you, you break the cycle. You enter our world not to judge (we already have plenty of that) but to save those who cannot end the wounding cycle.
You come to us with the blessing of free forgiveness and warm inclusion into the embrace of your love. That love embraces the dead and the killers, the wounded and the wounding, the grieving, the confused and the outraged.
And in that love we find the freedom to give up our judging ways. For you heal the wounds that drive us to wound.
So grant us grace, Loving Mystery, to rest in that love for which we have no concepts, and end, as best we can, the whole ugly cycle.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:17
For God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but so that through him the world might be saved.
Prayer
We are so unlike you, Loving Mystery.
How much time do we spend a day, a week, a year … judging? What is breakdown in my words--70 percent blessing and 30 percent judging? The other way around? Do I bless more souls on an average day than I wound?
And every judgment flows from the seeping wounds of ego. Our anxious, unfulfilled selves, knowing we are barely lovable, seek acceptability in every judgment we pass as we try to reassure ourselves that we are okay, or at least better than the targets of our verdicts.
A young man walks into a classroom in a quiet college town and randomly kills, seven dead now. And I wonder: is this his judgment on the world, on himself? Is it the radical acting out of sick, wounded ego succumbing to final despair?
I don’t know. I just know, my Lord, that our judgments do no good. They don’t help … anyone. When we judge we don’t convince our hearts that we are okay, while others are not. It is but a knowing lie we tell ourselves. A lie that continues the wounding of your world, leaving lacerated souls in our wake, who, in their own place and way, act out their wounds. And the whole ugly cycle goes on.
Except for you, you break the cycle. You enter our world not to judge (we already have plenty of that) but to save those who cannot end the wounding cycle.
You come to us with the blessing of free forgiveness and warm inclusion into the embrace of your love. That love embraces the dead and the killers, the wounded and the wounding, the grieving, the confused and the outraged.
And in that love we find the freedom to give up our judging ways. For you heal the wounds that drive us to wound.
So grant us grace, Loving Mystery, to rest in that love for which we have no concepts, and end, as best we can, the whole ugly cycle.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Today's text
John 3:13-17
No one has gone up to heaven except the one who came down from heaven, the Son of man; as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so must the Son of man be lifted up so that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him. For this is how God loved the world: he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. For God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but so that through him the world might be saved.
Prayer
I want to be John’s editor, Dear Friend. He needs to adjust his tense.
‘This is how God loved’? Really, John, you miss your opportunity to transform our vision. You pull your punch, failing to say without qualification what is clearly your intent.
Just come out and say it: Not this is how God loved, but this is how God loves, eternally and without surcease. The loving is not once and done, but from first dawn of morning to our final gasping breath, and eternally beyond.
Beyond time. Beyond space. Beyond being and nonbeing. Beyond the immensity of this universe. Beyond the yawning dark stretch of freezing space. Beyond human misery, cruelty and apathy.
Beyond all that we are, all that has happened to us or ever will. Beyond it all: You love and keep on loving.
And not this or that: but this world, the messy, dirty, disordered one that plops in my driveway each morning when the paper boy makes his round.
You love this world and gave not this or that, but the life you are. All for our taking.
And it goes on forever, the life and the love.
Together, may we know them today.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:13-17
No one has gone up to heaven except the one who came down from heaven, the Son of man; as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so must the Son of man be lifted up so that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him. For this is how God loved the world: he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. For God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but so that through him the world might be saved.
Prayer
I want to be John’s editor, Dear Friend. He needs to adjust his tense.
‘This is how God loved’? Really, John, you miss your opportunity to transform our vision. You pull your punch, failing to say without qualification what is clearly your intent.
Just come out and say it: Not this is how God loved, but this is how God loves, eternally and without surcease. The loving is not once and done, but from first dawn of morning to our final gasping breath, and eternally beyond.
Beyond time. Beyond space. Beyond being and nonbeing. Beyond the immensity of this universe. Beyond the yawning dark stretch of freezing space. Beyond human misery, cruelty and apathy.
Beyond all that we are, all that has happened to us or ever will. Beyond it all: You love and keep on loving.
And not this or that: but this world, the messy, dirty, disordered one that plops in my driveway each morning when the paper boy makes his round.
You love this world and gave not this or that, but the life you are. All for our taking.
And it goes on forever, the life and the love.
Together, may we know them today.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Today's text
John 3:5-8
Jesus replied: In all truth I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born through water and the Spirit; what is born of human nature is human; what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be surprised when I say: You must be born from above. The wind blows where it pleases; you can hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.
Prayer
The wind blows where it wills, where you will, Blessed One. And it blows here.
Fingers over the keys, perched and waiting for words to flow from inmost source, the heart fills and overflows. Peace prevails. Love bubbles.
And again I know the wordless truth you are.
I have nothing to say; no words will do. Nothing can be said beyond gratitude for the awareness that You Are. You Are this life that comes and fills the heart making me new as gentle music fills the room and lightness my body.
I know your delight: to fill all you love with this life and lightness of being, that all may join the dance of your love in time and space.
The wind of your life blows from an eternal desire to carry all of us off in its flow. Impermeable boundaries of race and religion, nation and clan cannot stop you. The holy wind passes through them all, seeking every crack and opening. And we cannot stop it.
For you blow even through the corridors of this heart, coming unbidden by anything save your love for me.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:5-8
Jesus replied: In all truth I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born through water and the Spirit; what is born of human nature is human; what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be surprised when I say: You must be born from above. The wind blows where it pleases; you can hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.
Prayer
The wind blows where it wills, where you will, Blessed One. And it blows here.
Fingers over the keys, perched and waiting for words to flow from inmost source, the heart fills and overflows. Peace prevails. Love bubbles.
And again I know the wordless truth you are.
I have nothing to say; no words will do. Nothing can be said beyond gratitude for the awareness that You Are. You Are this life that comes and fills the heart making me new as gentle music fills the room and lightness my body.
I know your delight: to fill all you love with this life and lightness of being, that all may join the dance of your love in time and space.
The wind of your life blows from an eternal desire to carry all of us off in its flow. Impermeable boundaries of race and religion, nation and clan cannot stop you. The holy wind passes through them all, seeking every crack and opening. And we cannot stop it.
For you blow even through the corridors of this heart, coming unbidden by anything save your love for me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Today's text
John 3:1-4
There was one of the Pharisees called Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews, who came to Jesus by night and said, 'Rabbi, we know that you have come from God as a teacher; for no one could perform the signs that you do unless God were with him.' Jesus answered: In all truth I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above. Nicodemus said, 'How can anyone who is already old be born?
Prayer
Morning comes. The sun has not yet split the darkness and sent it scurrying into the far corners where it waits it’s time. And I? I am new, born again, from on high.
I walk into this space and decades of encrustation fall from the soul. Unburdened by the weight of yesterday or the freight of fear, no anxiety or regret grips the heart, which flies so free tears fall.
And why? I don’t care. Analysis distances the soul from your sweet gift. Basking is better. Resting is best, sitting enveloped in the cloud of newness that makes the heart young.
I have known young and old. And I know they have nothing to do with the calendar page. I have closed death’s eyes of souls eternally young, fresh and supple even in dying. And I have wearied under the cynical weight of hearts from whom enthusiasm and expectation had long fled, though youth endured.
How can anyone who is already old be born fresh and new? I don’t know how, only who.
I enter your nearness, and my heart knows only morning. Dear Friend, may I grow old with a morning heart.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:1-4
There was one of the Pharisees called Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews, who came to Jesus by night and said, 'Rabbi, we know that you have come from God as a teacher; for no one could perform the signs that you do unless God were with him.' Jesus answered: In all truth I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above. Nicodemus said, 'How can anyone who is already old be born?
Prayer
Morning comes. The sun has not yet split the darkness and sent it scurrying into the far corners where it waits it’s time. And I? I am new, born again, from on high.
I walk into this space and decades of encrustation fall from the soul. Unburdened by the weight of yesterday or the freight of fear, no anxiety or regret grips the heart, which flies so free tears fall.
And why? I don’t care. Analysis distances the soul from your sweet gift. Basking is better. Resting is best, sitting enveloped in the cloud of newness that makes the heart young.
I have known young and old. And I know they have nothing to do with the calendar page. I have closed death’s eyes of souls eternally young, fresh and supple even in dying. And I have wearied under the cynical weight of hearts from whom enthusiasm and expectation had long fled, though youth endured.
How can anyone who is already old be born fresh and new? I don’t know how, only who.
I enter your nearness, and my heart knows only morning. Dear Friend, may I grow old with a morning heart.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, February 11, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Today's text
John 3:1-4
There was one of the Pharisees called Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews, who came to Jesus by night and said, 'Rabbi, we know that you have come from God as a teacher; for no one could perform the signs that you do unless God were with him.' Jesus answered: In all truth I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above. Nicodemus said, 'How can anyone who is already old be born? Is it possible to go back into the womb again and be born?'
Prayer
No one can see the kingdom … . No, and yet Nicodemus, hiding in the cloak of night, sees and knows you, Jesus. He knows that you stand in the presence of the All-Merciful One. He sees, but doesn’t know that or what he sees.
Yet, his soul is being born from God. The birth pangs have begun; new birth is in process or he would not—he could not—know that you are from God, with God.
He cannot yet know that the blessed future of God’s determined promise already appears right before him. The Spirit has not yet worked such sight that he may see and be born anew to the mystery of your rule that stands looking him in the eye. For you bring the delight of God’s heart to human space and time.
Would that we, too, could see it, and see it always and in all things.
But we cannot: unless, of course, we are born anew, from on high, so that with illumined and confounded eyes we witness the delight of God’s desire coming true in our midst, in the eyes and souls of those we walk quickly by, in the entangled circumstances of our days.
So many things block our vision, most notably our disbelief that you, O Loving One, should bring your kingdom to circumstances of our lives for which we have long stopped hoping for redemption and transformation.
So give us hope to believe that believing we may see, and seeing that may share in your holy kingdom, here and now where we least expect it.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:1-4
There was one of the Pharisees called Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews, who came to Jesus by night and said, 'Rabbi, we know that you have come from God as a teacher; for no one could perform the signs that you do unless God were with him.' Jesus answered: In all truth I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above. Nicodemus said, 'How can anyone who is already old be born? Is it possible to go back into the womb again and be born?'
Prayer
No one can see the kingdom … . No, and yet Nicodemus, hiding in the cloak of night, sees and knows you, Jesus. He knows that you stand in the presence of the All-Merciful One. He sees, but doesn’t know that or what he sees.
Yet, his soul is being born from God. The birth pangs have begun; new birth is in process or he would not—he could not—know that you are from God, with God.
He cannot yet know that the blessed future of God’s determined promise already appears right before him. The Spirit has not yet worked such sight that he may see and be born anew to the mystery of your rule that stands looking him in the eye. For you bring the delight of God’s heart to human space and time.
Would that we, too, could see it, and see it always and in all things.
But we cannot: unless, of course, we are born anew, from on high, so that with illumined and confounded eyes we witness the delight of God’s desire coming true in our midst, in the eyes and souls of those we walk quickly by, in the entangled circumstances of our days.
So many things block our vision, most notably our disbelief that you, O Loving One, should bring your kingdom to circumstances of our lives for which we have long stopped hoping for redemption and transformation.
So give us hope to believe that believing we may see, and seeing that may share in your holy kingdom, here and now where we least expect it.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, February 08, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 4:5-7
The devil then took him to the holy city and set him on the parapet of the Temple. If you are Son of God,' he said, 'throw yourself down; for scripture says: He has given his angels orders about you, and they will carry you in their arms in case you trip over a stone.' Jesus said to him, 'Scripture also says: Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'
Prayer
Why do I seek you in the morning?
Each day I come, begging the blessing that is in your hand, praying for myself and my beloved, this day for the health of an unborn grandson, dwelling perhaps under threat even in the warmth of my daughter’s womb.
Save them. Save them both, I pray. Bring us to the day of celebration.
But I know: Knowing you is no guarantee that the wings of your desire will carry me and mine unscathed by the blows and grief that comes to every life. Neither our faith nor your love saves us from the pains of being what we are: human, fragile, mortal.
We cannot coerce you into violating the dictates of your creation with your own promise of enduring compassion. We cannot use your word to stave off the consequences of our folly or fragility.
Your grace invites us not to test your love but to trust it in the darkness. To hold it fast in the shadow lands of mortal existence, and to know: You are, and You are Love, and we shall know You.
So I seek you in the morning.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 4:5-7
The devil then took him to the holy city and set him on the parapet of the Temple. If you are Son of God,' he said, 'throw yourself down; for scripture says: He has given his angels orders about you, and they will carry you in their arms in case you trip over a stone.' Jesus said to him, 'Scripture also says: Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'
Prayer
Why do I seek you in the morning?
Each day I come, begging the blessing that is in your hand, praying for myself and my beloved, this day for the health of an unborn grandson, dwelling perhaps under threat even in the warmth of my daughter’s womb.
Save them. Save them both, I pray. Bring us to the day of celebration.
But I know: Knowing you is no guarantee that the wings of your desire will carry me and mine unscathed by the blows and grief that comes to every life. Neither our faith nor your love saves us from the pains of being what we are: human, fragile, mortal.
We cannot coerce you into violating the dictates of your creation with your own promise of enduring compassion. We cannot use your word to stave off the consequences of our folly or fragility.
Your grace invites us not to test your love but to trust it in the darkness. To hold it fast in the shadow lands of mortal existence, and to know: You are, and You are Love, and we shall know You.
So I seek you in the morning.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 4:1-4
Then Jesus was led by the Spirit out into the desert to be put to the test by the devil. He fasted for forty days and forty nights, after which he was hungry, and the tester came and said to him, 'If you are Son of God, tell these stones to turn into loaves.' But he replied, 'Scripture says: Human beings live not on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.'
Prayer
If you are the Son of God … . Temptations come and go, Dear Friend, and all of them attack our identity. Who am I? Am I really who others say of me, or what I myself think? And is this word or act consonant with who I am? Or does it express a stranger foreign to my own soul?
And this soul that is me: What is it if not an expression of your word, your act, your purpose?
Made by and through your loving word I live (truly and only) on every word you speak. Living outside your word I dwell in the shadow lands of despair and confusion, where I do not know the truth with which you would fill me so that I know and become your loving delight. You are that truth.
So I will listen to you tell me who I am: sinner forgiven, fallen but friend, fool but cherished, mortal but beloved for eternity, confused but claimed, despairing but ever held in your loving delight.
Your word, your encompassing compassion gets the last word over me every time. I am yours, beloved, even as Jesus, my brother and Lord. Let me throw that into the damnedable teeth of every temptation that comes.
And for the sake of your grace, tell me again who I am that, like my brother Jesus, I may never forget.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 4:1-4
Then Jesus was led by the Spirit out into the desert to be put to the test by the devil. He fasted for forty days and forty nights, after which he was hungry, and the tester came and said to him, 'If you are Son of God, tell these stones to turn into loaves.' But he replied, 'Scripture says: Human beings live not on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.'
Prayer
If you are the Son of God … . Temptations come and go, Dear Friend, and all of them attack our identity. Who am I? Am I really who others say of me, or what I myself think? And is this word or act consonant with who I am? Or does it express a stranger foreign to my own soul?
And this soul that is me: What is it if not an expression of your word, your act, your purpose?
Made by and through your loving word I live (truly and only) on every word you speak. Living outside your word I dwell in the shadow lands of despair and confusion, where I do not know the truth with which you would fill me so that I know and become your loving delight. You are that truth.
So I will listen to you tell me who I am: sinner forgiven, fallen but friend, fool but cherished, mortal but beloved for eternity, confused but claimed, despairing but ever held in your loving delight.
Your word, your encompassing compassion gets the last word over me every time. I am yours, beloved, even as Jesus, my brother and Lord. Let me throw that into the damnedable teeth of every temptation that comes.
And for the sake of your grace, tell me again who I am that, like my brother Jesus, I may never forget.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 6:5-6
'And when you pray, do not imitate the hypocrites: they love to say their prayers standing up in the synagogues and at the street corners for people to see them. In truth I tell you, they have had their reward. But when you pray, go to your private room, shut yourself in, and so pray to your Father who is in that secret place, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.
Prayer
There are no more precious moments of life than those I spend in your nearness, Loving Mystery. I know: I always stand in your nearness, for we are never separate from you. Separation from you is the abyss of non-being.
But I live too many of my moments in the shadow land, lacking sweet awareness of the love that surrounds and envelops me every moment. Too often the soul sleeps, unconscious of the Hidden Ground of Love who, moment-to-moment, breathes me into being.
You are that Hidden Ground, ever in the shadows but ever there. And stopping even for a moment I know you there by secret intuition, without seeing a thing.
I am a different soul when I live aware; free and full, generous and present I am, calm (as I can be) and certain of the One I need to live.
Prayer is the exquisite wonder of entering awareness of the Love who breathes me and all life, who surrounds and envelops, embraces and abides.
A rare gift, prayer. And you give it for our joy. How dare we profane it for some lesser purpose than abiding with you? May I honor you daily with truest prayer from a heart of gratitude.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 6:5-6
'And when you pray, do not imitate the hypocrites: they love to say their prayers standing up in the synagogues and at the street corners for people to see them. In truth I tell you, they have had their reward. But when you pray, go to your private room, shut yourself in, and so pray to your Father who is in that secret place, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.
Prayer
There are no more precious moments of life than those I spend in your nearness, Loving Mystery. I know: I always stand in your nearness, for we are never separate from you. Separation from you is the abyss of non-being.
But I live too many of my moments in the shadow land, lacking sweet awareness of the love that surrounds and envelops me every moment. Too often the soul sleeps, unconscious of the Hidden Ground of Love who, moment-to-moment, breathes me into being.
You are that Hidden Ground, ever in the shadows but ever there. And stopping even for a moment I know you there by secret intuition, without seeing a thing.
I am a different soul when I live aware; free and full, generous and present I am, calm (as I can be) and certain of the One I need to live.
Prayer is the exquisite wonder of entering awareness of the Love who breathes me and all life, who surrounds and envelops, embraces and abides.
A rare gift, prayer. And you give it for our joy. How dare we profane it for some lesser purpose than abiding with you? May I honor you daily with truest prayer from a heart of gratitude.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, February 04, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 6:1-4
Be careful not to parade your uprightness in public to attract attention; otherwise you will lose all reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give alms, do not have it trumpeted before you; this is what the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets to win human admiration. In truth I tell you, they have had their reward. But when you give alms, your left hand must not know what your right is doing; your almsgiving must be secret, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.
Prayer
You call me beyond myself to that which I cannot do, Jesus. You invite me to unitive action, to utter oneness, so that I am fully absorbed, totally given to where I am and what I am doing—with no part of me left over to watch or judge.
So seldom is this true for me. My heart is not one but divided, fractured, given in part to the person or matter at hand while other parts stand back, watching, judging or carefully observing the reactions of others.
I hunger for one thing, to be one thing, to do one thing: to be where I am, doing what I am doing, fully absorbed, totally given, my consciousness undivided and pure, willing but one thing.
I wake from my bed in the early hours, focused and ready. Yet quickly, again, unforeseen circumstances and needful demands frazzle focus and splinter the mind. Attention scatters; the heart divides; peace flees, and again I am more part of this world’s brokenness than of its healing.
So at this mid-day, recollect my heart and mind, drenching them again in the ocean of your graciousness. For there I rest knowing only One … you.
Then, again, if only for a little while, I can be where I am, doing what I am doing, one with you and finally with myself, giving this recollected heart to each task of the day, absorbed in your love.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 6:1-4
Be careful not to parade your uprightness in public to attract attention; otherwise you will lose all reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give alms, do not have it trumpeted before you; this is what the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets to win human admiration. In truth I tell you, they have had their reward. But when you give alms, your left hand must not know what your right is doing; your almsgiving must be secret, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.
Prayer
You call me beyond myself to that which I cannot do, Jesus. You invite me to unitive action, to utter oneness, so that I am fully absorbed, totally given to where I am and what I am doing—with no part of me left over to watch or judge.
So seldom is this true for me. My heart is not one but divided, fractured, given in part to the person or matter at hand while other parts stand back, watching, judging or carefully observing the reactions of others.
I hunger for one thing, to be one thing, to do one thing: to be where I am, doing what I am doing, fully absorbed, totally given, my consciousness undivided and pure, willing but one thing.
I wake from my bed in the early hours, focused and ready. Yet quickly, again, unforeseen circumstances and needful demands frazzle focus and splinter the mind. Attention scatters; the heart divides; peace flees, and again I am more part of this world’s brokenness than of its healing.
So at this mid-day, recollect my heart and mind, drenching them again in the ocean of your graciousness. For there I rest knowing only One … you.
Then, again, if only for a little while, I can be where I am, doing what I am doing, one with you and finally with myself, giving this recollected heart to each task of the day, absorbed in your love.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 17:1-7
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain by themselves. There in their presence he was transfigured: his face shone like the sun and his clothes became as dazzling as light. And suddenly Moses and Elijah appeared to them; they were talking with him. Then Peter spoke to Jesus. 'Lord,' he said, 'it is wonderful for us to be here; if you want me to, I will make three shelters here, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.' He was still speaking when suddenly a bright cloud covered them with shadow, and suddenly from the cloud there came a voice which said, 'This is my Son, the Beloved; he enjoys my favor. Listen to him.' When they heard this, the disciples fell on their faces, overcome with fear. But Jesus came up and touched them, saying, 'Stand up, do not be afraid.'
Prayer
‘Listen,’ you say. ‘Listen.’ And to whom? To him whom you name ‘Beloved.’ And by whom? By you who do not love but who is Love Itself.
You set my heart to hear the voice of the one Beloved of Love Illimitable.
And what can possibly come from your mouth, O Beloved? We cannot know or predict. Such love is ever beyond us. We know but this: There is one thing that you cannot do … not love.
You cannot do that, Beloved, for that would contradict your nature and the Mystery who illumines and shines from your core.
So I will listen to you, knowing that what I hear flows from a depth of love for me that I cannot fathom, believing that whatever befalls me I will fall nowhere outside you, trusting that even your hard call to suffer in your cause is laced with the love that shines eternally from your belovedness.
Today, Dear One, let me live in the light of your love that I may hear you and stand beyond my fears.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 17:1-7
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain by themselves. There in their presence he was transfigured: his face shone like the sun and his clothes became as dazzling as light. And suddenly Moses and Elijah appeared to them; they were talking with him. Then Peter spoke to Jesus. 'Lord,' he said, 'it is wonderful for us to be here; if you want me to, I will make three shelters here, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.' He was still speaking when suddenly a bright cloud covered them with shadow, and suddenly from the cloud there came a voice which said, 'This is my Son, the Beloved; he enjoys my favor. Listen to him.' When they heard this, the disciples fell on their faces, overcome with fear. But Jesus came up and touched them, saying, 'Stand up, do not be afraid.'
Prayer
‘Listen,’ you say. ‘Listen.’ And to whom? To him whom you name ‘Beloved.’ And by whom? By you who do not love but who is Love Itself.
You set my heart to hear the voice of the one Beloved of Love Illimitable.
And what can possibly come from your mouth, O Beloved? We cannot know or predict. Such love is ever beyond us. We know but this: There is one thing that you cannot do … not love.
You cannot do that, Beloved, for that would contradict your nature and the Mystery who illumines and shines from your core.
So I will listen to you, knowing that what I hear flows from a depth of love for me that I cannot fathom, believing that whatever befalls me I will fall nowhere outside you, trusting that even your hard call to suffer in your cause is laced with the love that shines eternally from your belovedness.
Today, Dear One, let me live in the light of your love that I may hear you and stand beyond my fears.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, February 4, 2008
Today's text
Matthew 6:1-4
Be careful not to parade your uprightness in public to attract attention; otherwise you will lose all reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give alms, do not have it trumpeted before you; this is what the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets to win human admiration. In truth I tell you, they have had their reward. But when you give alms, your left hand must not know what your right is doing; your almsgiving must be secret, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.
Prayer
You call me beyond myself to that which I cannot do, Jesus. You invite me to unitive action, to utter oneness, so that I am fully absorbed, totally given to where I am and what I am doing—with no part of me left over to watch or judge.
So seldom is this true for me. My heart is not one but divided, fractured, given in part to the person or matter at hand while other parts stand back, watching, judging or carefully observing the reactions of others.
I hunger for one thing, to be one thing, to do one thing: to be where I am, doing what I am doing, fully absorbed, totally given, my consciousness undivided and pure, willing but one thing.
I wake from my bed in the early hours, focused and ready. Yet quickly, again, unforeseen circumstances and needful demands frazzle focus and splinter the mind. Attention scatters; the heart divides; peace flees, and again I am more part of this world’s brokenness than of its healing.
So at this mid-day, recollect my heart and mind, drenching them again in the ocean of your graciousness. For there I rest knowing only One … you.
Then, again, if only for a little while, I can be where I am, doing what I am doing, one with you and finally with myself, giving this recollected heart to each task of the day, absorbed in your love.
Pr. David L. Miller
Matthew 6:1-4
Be careful not to parade your uprightness in public to attract attention; otherwise you will lose all reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give alms, do not have it trumpeted before you; this is what the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets to win human admiration. In truth I tell you, they have had their reward. But when you give alms, your left hand must not know what your right is doing; your almsgiving must be secret, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.
Prayer
You call me beyond myself to that which I cannot do, Jesus. You invite me to unitive action, to utter oneness, so that I am fully absorbed, totally given to where I am and what I am doing—with no part of me left over to watch or judge.
So seldom is this true for me. My heart is not one but divided, fractured, given in part to the person or matter at hand while other parts stand back, watching, judging or carefully observing the reactions of others.
I hunger for one thing, to be one thing, to do one thing: to be where I am, doing what I am doing, fully absorbed, totally given, my consciousness undivided and pure, willing but one thing.
I wake from my bed in the early hours, focused and ready. Yet quickly, again, unforeseen circumstances and needful demands frazzle focus and splinter the mind. Attention scatters; the heart divides; peace flees, and again I am more part of this world’s brokenness than of its healing.
So at this mid-day, recollect my heart and mind, drenching them again in the ocean of your graciousness. For there I rest knowing only One … you.
Then, again, if only for a little while, I can be where I am, doing what I am doing, one with you and finally with myself, giving this recollected heart to each task of the day, absorbed in your love.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, January 25, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
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
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
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
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