Today’s text
John 14:15-17
If you love me you will keep my commandments. I shall ask the Father, and he will give you another Paraclete to be with you for ever, the Spirit of truth whom the world can never accept since it neither sees nor knows him; but you know him, because he is with you, he is in you.’
Prayer
I have seen the truth, my Brother; in rarest moments of blessedness its Spirit fills me.
The truth is the eyes of a mother gazing into the sleeping face of her new born. It is a loving tenderness before which all words are beggars.
The truth is the sparkling laughter of a two-year old, alight with the fire of joy. It is the abundance of meeting every moment without reserve.
This is the Spirit you send to be with and in us, Jesus, your Spirit: the Spirit of God’s loving delight, the Spirit of God’s great giving, the Spirit of God’s holy joy, the Spirit that bears us into the truth that we might live the truth you are.
It is your commandment that we might be as you, alive with the fire of loving delight. Such life is far beyond our cramped hearts. But you give the Spirit of truth that sweeps us into the flood of holy generosity flowing from the hidden heart of the universe.
So fill us, my Brother. Fill us to overflowing with whatever magic lies behind the eyes of the loving mother and the fiery sparkle of the child.
May we be as full of your truth as they, and you.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Monday, April 21, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Today’s text
John 14:5-11
Thomas said, 'Lord, we do not know where you are going, so how can we know the way?' Jesus said: I am the Way; I am Truth and Life. No one can come to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father too. From this moment you know him and have seen him. Philip said, 'Lord, show us the Father and then we shall be satisfied.' Jesus said to him, ‘Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? 'Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father, so how can you say, "Show us the Father"? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? What I say to you I do not speak of my own accord: it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his works. You must believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; or at least believe it on the evidence of these works. I am.
Prayer
Many ways beckon, Jesus. They promise to make us real, alive and significant, at least in our own eyes. There is the way of knowledge in which we wrap ourselves in words and concepts imagining we can tame reality to our categories.
There is the way of accomplishment in which we consider ourselves more worthy than others, admiring (as we do) the distance between us and those who have and thus are less.
There is the way of experience in which we pretend to be more real by what we have seen, done and absorbed into memory. There are even ways of claiming our pain to separate and hold ourselves above others, as if pain and finitude were not great levelers of all humanity.
There are not enough words to name all the ways we quest for that elusive life where we finally we become real and the anxious whispers of our emptiness are silenced.
Then there is your way, Jesus. You dwell as one with the Loving Mystery for whom we have no good name. You live in utter dependence on a love human flesh cannot command, partaking and sharing a wealth beyond all human endeavor.
You live knowing that all that belongs to this Loving Mystery is yours, and to this One you belong. In this fullness, you act and speak and give what is yours. And you tell me that you are the way, bidding me to trust, to believe and to live in the fullness you share.
May I dwell in your way, my Brother. Only then will my heart become so generous that I will finally be real, beyond this shadow.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 14:5-11
Thomas said, 'Lord, we do not know where you are going, so how can we know the way?' Jesus said: I am the Way; I am Truth and Life. No one can come to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father too. From this moment you know him and have seen him. Philip said, 'Lord, show us the Father and then we shall be satisfied.' Jesus said to him, ‘Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? 'Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father, so how can you say, "Show us the Father"? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? What I say to you I do not speak of my own accord: it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his works. You must believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; or at least believe it on the evidence of these works. I am.
Prayer
Many ways beckon, Jesus. They promise to make us real, alive and significant, at least in our own eyes. There is the way of knowledge in which we wrap ourselves in words and concepts imagining we can tame reality to our categories.
There is the way of accomplishment in which we consider ourselves more worthy than others, admiring (as we do) the distance between us and those who have and thus are less.
There is the way of experience in which we pretend to be more real by what we have seen, done and absorbed into memory. There are even ways of claiming our pain to separate and hold ourselves above others, as if pain and finitude were not great levelers of all humanity.
There are not enough words to name all the ways we quest for that elusive life where we finally we become real and the anxious whispers of our emptiness are silenced.
Then there is your way, Jesus. You dwell as one with the Loving Mystery for whom we have no good name. You live in utter dependence on a love human flesh cannot command, partaking and sharing a wealth beyond all human endeavor.
You live knowing that all that belongs to this Loving Mystery is yours, and to this One you belong. In this fullness, you act and speak and give what is yours. And you tell me that you are the way, bidding me to trust, to believe and to live in the fullness you share.
May I dwell in your way, my Brother. Only then will my heart become so generous that I will finally be real, beyond this shadow.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Today’s text
John 14:1-3
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father's house there are many places to live in; otherwise I would have told you. I am going now to prepare a place for you, and after I have gone and prepared you a place, I shall return to take you to myself, so that you may be with me where I am.
Prayer
I am in the basement again, Jesus. Sitting here, fingers poised for any the least word you might give me. Are you here?
You want me to be with you where you are. And I am richly consoled by this thought. The warmth of a love beyond my own races through me, whispering reassurance that my faith is not in vain. It tells me that I am not alone and never will be.
I am here with you. And always will be.
Your promise is for now and ever. You come again and again to take us to yourself, the place of our great belonging. And you come even now to me. Thank you. My early morning heart requires your nearness. I am not myself apart from you.
But I ask: Come also to those whose faces trouble my own. They lose themselves as disease strips ability and memory away, leaving but the husk of the fullness that once was theirs … and ours.
I don’t know how you might come to them this day, taking them into the heart of your nearness. We who love them would be consoled to see and know how such blessing happens, especially for those who have forgotten how to hope and those who can no longer name their beloved.
But most often we neither see nor know. So with tears of wild hope we trust your promise that they, too, shall be with you where you are. This day and ever.
And we know that this place is grace beyond all human measure.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 14:1-3
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father's house there are many places to live in; otherwise I would have told you. I am going now to prepare a place for you, and after I have gone and prepared you a place, I shall return to take you to myself, so that you may be with me where I am.
Prayer
I am in the basement again, Jesus. Sitting here, fingers poised for any the least word you might give me. Are you here?
You want me to be with you where you are. And I am richly consoled by this thought. The warmth of a love beyond my own races through me, whispering reassurance that my faith is not in vain. It tells me that I am not alone and never will be.
I am here with you. And always will be.
Your promise is for now and ever. You come again and again to take us to yourself, the place of our great belonging. And you come even now to me. Thank you. My early morning heart requires your nearness. I am not myself apart from you.
But I ask: Come also to those whose faces trouble my own. They lose themselves as disease strips ability and memory away, leaving but the husk of the fullness that once was theirs … and ours.
I don’t know how you might come to them this day, taking them into the heart of your nearness. We who love them would be consoled to see and know how such blessing happens, especially for those who have forgotten how to hope and those who can no longer name their beloved.
But most often we neither see nor know. So with tears of wild hope we trust your promise that they, too, shall be with you where you are. This day and ever.
And we know that this place is grace beyond all human measure.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, April 14, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Today’s text
John 14:1-3
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father's house there are many places to live in; otherwise I would have told you. I am going now to prepare a place for you, and after I have gone and prepared you a place, I shall return to take you to myself, so that you may be with me where I am.
Prayer
The morning comes. Foggy consciousness clears as the shower stings the body to life. Too soon the day’s demands crowd the mind, making it an inhospitable place even for its own resident, me.
You speak of a dwelling place, Jesus, which you prepare for us that we may be with you. You seem to point to a time well ahead and a realm more exalted than the mundane round of daily duty.
But my morning need moves me to hear you afresh. In the house of the All Loving One there are many rooms where we may live. And I would live in one here and now.
I want, no, I need my soul to be a hospitable dwelling where the mind can rest at peace even as it grapples to order the day as see to life’s labors. I need this soul to be a place of welcome for me and for all I encounter in the coming hours.
So I ask: Can you make of me a fit dwelling place for human habitation? Will you clear out the anxious rush, the fears and grudges, the insecurities and prejudices that I may dwell even now in the house of the All Loving?
For I would dwell with you. Only so do am I a place where I and others may truly live.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 14:1-3
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father's house there are many places to live in; otherwise I would have told you. I am going now to prepare a place for you, and after I have gone and prepared you a place, I shall return to take you to myself, so that you may be with me where I am.
Prayer
The morning comes. Foggy consciousness clears as the shower stings the body to life. Too soon the day’s demands crowd the mind, making it an inhospitable place even for its own resident, me.
You speak of a dwelling place, Jesus, which you prepare for us that we may be with you. You seem to point to a time well ahead and a realm more exalted than the mundane round of daily duty.
But my morning need moves me to hear you afresh. In the house of the All Loving One there are many rooms where we may live. And I would live in one here and now.
I want, no, I need my soul to be a hospitable dwelling where the mind can rest at peace even as it grapples to order the day as see to life’s labors. I need this soul to be a place of welcome for me and for all I encounter in the coming hours.
So I ask: Can you make of me a fit dwelling place for human habitation? Will you clear out the anxious rush, the fears and grudges, the insecurities and prejudices that I may dwell even now in the house of the All Loving?
For I would dwell with you. Only so do am I a place where I and others may truly live.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, April 11, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Today’s text
John 10:7-10
Jesus spoke to them again: In all truth I tell you, I am the gate of the sheepfold. All who have come before me are thieves and bandits, but the sheep took no notice of them. I am the gate. Anyone who enters through me will be safe: such a one will go in and out and will find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come so that they may have life and have it to the full.
Prayer
I rise again, my Friend. I have rested secure in your heart. Thank you.
Yesterday brought more joy than expected. Far more. Today will bring tears of remembrance and sober awareness of our human state. Again we will find that the power of our love (so mighty) cannot prevent tragedy and the passing of golden days we wanted never to end.
I pass through you into this day. I acknowledge your nearness as I walk through the gate of early morning into a world less calm and embracing than this quiet cell where I raise my heart to you.
I wish I could say I passed into every day this way. I don’t. But today I do, hearing you say that, no matter what befalls, I walk into fields of promise where I will find nurture. Pasture, you call it.
And as you do a thousand images of the rolling hills of Northwest Illinois come into view. And I am there on the land that made me much of what I am. Thank you for this too.
But it is not the land for which I most thank you or the gifts it continues to give me. I most thank you for your abiding. I thank you that I may pass into every new day through you, hearing your voice telling me that it is for abundance you come.
And it is the abundance of your divine heart that I will find on all the fields of my life, as I enter each day through you.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 10:7-10
Jesus spoke to them again: In all truth I tell you, I am the gate of the sheepfold. All who have come before me are thieves and bandits, but the sheep took no notice of them. I am the gate. Anyone who enters through me will be safe: such a one will go in and out and will find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come so that they may have life and have it to the full.
Prayer
I rise again, my Friend. I have rested secure in your heart. Thank you.
Yesterday brought more joy than expected. Far more. Today will bring tears of remembrance and sober awareness of our human state. Again we will find that the power of our love (so mighty) cannot prevent tragedy and the passing of golden days we wanted never to end.
I pass through you into this day. I acknowledge your nearness as I walk through the gate of early morning into a world less calm and embracing than this quiet cell where I raise my heart to you.
I wish I could say I passed into every day this way. I don’t. But today I do, hearing you say that, no matter what befalls, I walk into fields of promise where I will find nurture. Pasture, you call it.
And as you do a thousand images of the rolling hills of Northwest Illinois come into view. And I am there on the land that made me much of what I am. Thank you for this too.
But it is not the land for which I most thank you or the gifts it continues to give me. I most thank you for your abiding. I thank you that I may pass into every new day through you, hearing your voice telling me that it is for abundance you come.
And it is the abundance of your divine heart that I will find on all the fields of my life, as I enter each day through you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Today’s text
John 10:1-5
[Jesus said] 'In all truth I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold through the gate, but climbs in some other way, is a thief and a bandit. He who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the flock; the gatekeeper lets him in, the sheep hear his voice, one by one he calls his own sheep and leads them out. When he has brought out all those that are his, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow because they know his voice. They will never follow a stranger, but will run away from him because they do not recognize the voice of strangers.'
Prayer
I am moved, dear Friend, by this most intimate familiarity. You call us by name, one by one. You know us. You want us. You desire our presence, our nearness, our following.
And we, blessed to hear you, draw near because we know the sound of your voice. We know you. We want to be with you, for here we are safe. Regardless what befalls us, we are safely enrapt in a love eternal and true.
Jesus, the timbre of your words creates a gracious circle of divine love. And we dwell at the center of that circle, knowing: No one who dwells within that gentle space shall ever be in death’s clutches. Not now. Not ever. You promised.
I know what it is to hear a voice I love, a voice that loves me. My whole being settles into a holy space where I know what you intend every human soul to know. The heart finds its home.
So today I see myself and my beloved at the center of that holy circle, and I listen to your voice calling our names. One by one. And I know: we are safe in a love we shall never fathom.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 10:1-5
[Jesus said] 'In all truth I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold through the gate, but climbs in some other way, is a thief and a bandit. He who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the flock; the gatekeeper lets him in, the sheep hear his voice, one by one he calls his own sheep and leads them out. When he has brought out all those that are his, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow because they know his voice. They will never follow a stranger, but will run away from him because they do not recognize the voice of strangers.'
Prayer
I am moved, dear Friend, by this most intimate familiarity. You call us by name, one by one. You know us. You want us. You desire our presence, our nearness, our following.
And we, blessed to hear you, draw near because we know the sound of your voice. We know you. We want to be with you, for here we are safe. Regardless what befalls us, we are safely enrapt in a love eternal and true.
Jesus, the timbre of your words creates a gracious circle of divine love. And we dwell at the center of that circle, knowing: No one who dwells within that gentle space shall ever be in death’s clutches. Not now. Not ever. You promised.
I know what it is to hear a voice I love, a voice that loves me. My whole being settles into a holy space where I know what you intend every human soul to know. The heart finds its home.
So today I see myself and my beloved at the center of that holy circle, and I listen to your voice calling our names. One by one. And I know: we are safe in a love we shall never fathom.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Today’s text
John 10:1-5
[Jesus said] 'In all truth I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold through the gate, but climbs in some other way, is a thief and a bandit. He who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the flock; the gatekeeper lets him in, the sheep hear his voice, one by one he calls his own sheep and leads them out. When he has brought out all those that are his, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow because they know his voice. They will never follow a stranger, but will run away from him because they do not recognize the voice of strangers.'
Prayer
How is that we know the voice of the shepherd, Jesus, your voice? What gives it away? And why do many not recognize your voice as the resounding of Deep calling to deep?
Perhaps the answer to the riddle is right there. Dwelling far from the deep cry of their own souls, their hearts do not resonate at the sight of you as mine does.
There is no self-congratulation in those words, Jesus, only gratitude. The reality that something in me actually can and does hear you is a mystery well beyond my comprehension.
But this I know: When I hear of you, when I look at you, Deep does in fact call to deep. It is as if there is a space in me that only you fit … or fill, and in knowing you I become whole, no longer needing something I cannot name.
So I long to hear your voice, not voices merely speaking about you. That’s no substitute for you.
I am made for you. You made me for yourself. And I wonder: Are you, too, more whole when I am at home in your heart and not off wandering in far places? I often think so.
Please consider that no disrespect. I have no desire to diminish the confounding wonder you are to me. I am simply aware that you seem to want me as much as I need you.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 10:1-5
[Jesus said] 'In all truth I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold through the gate, but climbs in some other way, is a thief and a bandit. He who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the flock; the gatekeeper lets him in, the sheep hear his voice, one by one he calls his own sheep and leads them out. When he has brought out all those that are his, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow because they know his voice. They will never follow a stranger, but will run away from him because they do not recognize the voice of strangers.'
Prayer
How is that we know the voice of the shepherd, Jesus, your voice? What gives it away? And why do many not recognize your voice as the resounding of Deep calling to deep?
Perhaps the answer to the riddle is right there. Dwelling far from the deep cry of their own souls, their hearts do not resonate at the sight of you as mine does.
There is no self-congratulation in those words, Jesus, only gratitude. The reality that something in me actually can and does hear you is a mystery well beyond my comprehension.
But this I know: When I hear of you, when I look at you, Deep does in fact call to deep. It is as if there is a space in me that only you fit … or fill, and in knowing you I become whole, no longer needing something I cannot name.
So I long to hear your voice, not voices merely speaking about you. That’s no substitute for you.
I am made for you. You made me for yourself. And I wonder: Are you, too, more whole when I am at home in your heart and not off wandering in far places? I often think so.
Please consider that no disrespect. I have no desire to diminish the confounding wonder you are to me. I am simply aware that you seem to want me as much as I need you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, April 04, 2008
Friday, April 4, 2008
Today’s text
Luke 24:28-35
When they drew near to the village to which they were going, [Jesus] made as if to go on; but they pressed him to stay with them saying, 'It is nearly evening, and the day is almost over.' So he went in to stay with them. Now while he was with them at table, he took the bread and said the blessing; then he broke it and handed it to them. And their eyes were opened and they recognized him; but he had vanished from their sight. Then they said to each other, 'Did not our hearts burn within us as he talked to us on the road and explained the scriptures to us?' They set out that instant and returned to Jerusalem. There they found the Eleven assembled together with their companions, who said to them, 'The Lord has indeed risen and has appeared to Simon.' Then they told their story of what had happened on the road and how they had recognized him at the breaking of bread.
Prayer
The truth of this moment echoes through the ages, my risen Friend. I have sat at tables with friends, a circle of human souls whose hearts were open to share bread and life. As the wine poured, conversation became communion, glistening with a grace ancient and true.
And I knew this is the life you intend. This is the glory of your life. This makes and keeps us human. This moment is shadowed by eternity. And my heart involuntarily gave thanks for the advance view of what you have in mind, what will be when we all share your life.
I know you at such tables, Jesus. I know you beyond word and concept as truest intuition of eternity. And I need to know nothing more, no sermons or instruction, no long words in longer books or symbols in glass, no mediated understandings. For nothing captures the intimate knowing of such moments, nothing but an open heart.
Hearts set afire by you at tables of holy intimacy and eternal generosity: that is what you make of us at your table of feasting, and every table of such blessed generosity and welcome is yours, a glistening moment of startling revelation, eternity in time.
So may it be for us today and every day. For it is there that you smile and say, “Welcome home.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 24:28-35
When they drew near to the village to which they were going, [Jesus] made as if to go on; but they pressed him to stay with them saying, 'It is nearly evening, and the day is almost over.' So he went in to stay with them. Now while he was with them at table, he took the bread and said the blessing; then he broke it and handed it to them. And their eyes were opened and they recognized him; but he had vanished from their sight. Then they said to each other, 'Did not our hearts burn within us as he talked to us on the road and explained the scriptures to us?' They set out that instant and returned to Jerusalem. There they found the Eleven assembled together with their companions, who said to them, 'The Lord has indeed risen and has appeared to Simon.' Then they told their story of what had happened on the road and how they had recognized him at the breaking of bread.
Prayer
The truth of this moment echoes through the ages, my risen Friend. I have sat at tables with friends, a circle of human souls whose hearts were open to share bread and life. As the wine poured, conversation became communion, glistening with a grace ancient and true.
And I knew this is the life you intend. This is the glory of your life. This makes and keeps us human. This moment is shadowed by eternity. And my heart involuntarily gave thanks for the advance view of what you have in mind, what will be when we all share your life.
I know you at such tables, Jesus. I know you beyond word and concept as truest intuition of eternity. And I need to know nothing more, no sermons or instruction, no long words in longer books or symbols in glass, no mediated understandings. For nothing captures the intimate knowing of such moments, nothing but an open heart.
Hearts set afire by you at tables of holy intimacy and eternal generosity: that is what you make of us at your table of feasting, and every table of such blessed generosity and welcome is yours, a glistening moment of startling revelation, eternity in time.
So may it be for us today and every day. For it is there that you smile and say, “Welcome home.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Today’s text
Luke 24:25-32
Then Jesus said to them, 'You foolish men! So slow to believe all that the prophets have said! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer before entering into his glory?' Then, starting with Moses and going through all the prophets, he explained to them the passages throughout the scriptures that were about himself. When they drew near to the village to which they were going, he made as if to go on; but they pressed him to stay with them saying, 'It is nearly evening, and the day is almost over.' So he went in to stay with them. Now while he was with them at table, he took the bread and said the blessing; then he broke it and handed it to them. And their eyes were opened and they recognized him; but he had vanished from their sight. Then they said to each other, 'Did not our hearts burn within us as he talked to us on the road and explained the scriptures to us?'
Prayer
Stay with us Jesus. We don’t do very well without you.
A wave of anxiety certainly rushed through your Emmaus friends as you were taking your leave, going your way. I can feel it even now all these centuries later, for I share it. It is mine too.
Stay with us. Don’t leave us. Didn’t our hearts burn when we were with this mysterious stranger. And Jesus, you are always a stranger to us. Who can understand you?
But we do understand the joy of your presence, the bliss of your nearness. We understand the heavy weights of soul that fly away, lighter than air, in moments when we know you as close as our breath.
We know the love that enfolds us, evaporates our fears and bears us back into our worlds brimming with courage and gentleness. This is well known. Saints and martyrs and even schlumps like me have known your risenness, and prayed: Stay with us.
It is a prayer you create and honor, containing everything necessary.
So, my dearest Friend, stay. Stay even when we must take leave from each other. We need you more than we can say.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 24:25-32
Then Jesus said to them, 'You foolish men! So slow to believe all that the prophets have said! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer before entering into his glory?' Then, starting with Moses and going through all the prophets, he explained to them the passages throughout the scriptures that were about himself. When they drew near to the village to which they were going, he made as if to go on; but they pressed him to stay with them saying, 'It is nearly evening, and the day is almost over.' So he went in to stay with them. Now while he was with them at table, he took the bread and said the blessing; then he broke it and handed it to them. And their eyes were opened and they recognized him; but he had vanished from their sight. Then they said to each other, 'Did not our hearts burn within us as he talked to us on the road and explained the scriptures to us?'
Prayer
Stay with us Jesus. We don’t do very well without you.
A wave of anxiety certainly rushed through your Emmaus friends as you were taking your leave, going your way. I can feel it even now all these centuries later, for I share it. It is mine too.
Stay with us. Don’t leave us. Didn’t our hearts burn when we were with this mysterious stranger. And Jesus, you are always a stranger to us. Who can understand you?
But we do understand the joy of your presence, the bliss of your nearness. We understand the heavy weights of soul that fly away, lighter than air, in moments when we know you as close as our breath.
We know the love that enfolds us, evaporates our fears and bears us back into our worlds brimming with courage and gentleness. This is well known. Saints and martyrs and even schlumps like me have known your risenness, and prayed: Stay with us.
It is a prayer you create and honor, containing everything necessary.
So, my dearest Friend, stay. Stay even when we must take leave from each other. We need you more than we can say.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Today’s text
Luke 24:18-24
Then one of them, called Cleopas, answered him, 'You must be the only person staying in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have been happening there these last few days.' [Jesus] asked, 'What things?' They answered, 'All about Jesus of Nazareth, who showed himself a prophet powerful in action and speech before God and the whole people; and how our chief priests and our leaders handed him over to be sentenced to death, and had him crucified. Our own hope had been that he would be the one to set Israel free. And this is not all: two whole days have now gone by since it all happened; and some women from our group have astounded us: they went to the tomb in the early morning, and when they could not find the body, they came back to tell us they had seen a vision of angels who declared he was alive. Some of our friends went to the tomb and found everything exactly as the women had reported, but of him they saw nothing.'
Prayer
Sad words, Jesus: “Our own hope had been …. Past tense, over and done.
We had hoped that he would set us free. It is hard to know their precise meaning. Did they want you to cast out the Romans occupiers? Establish a new order where everyone would rest secure under their own olive tree and each walk the street in safety and peace?
Two thousand years separate me from them Jesus, but they are barely a breath away. Not even that. They are human as I, and flesh, craving freedom for body and soul. They seek a wide and open space where their hearts might swell and breathe the fullness of this mystery we call life.
It is an old desire, Jesus, as ancient as the everlasting hills. And it finds fulfillment in seeing you. You open that wide space where we might live free as free souls.
Your first friends knew that. They knew the freedom and hope that spring to life in your nearness. It is not surprising that their hearts should leap at a silly tale of angels and resurrection. They had hoped you were the one who brings freedom, even from the final threat all life must face.
You had liberated their hope to fly that high. And mine.
Liberate our hope, dearest Friend. Free our souls to seek you even in the dead places of life where it seems nothing can live.
Open that wide and open space where we might breathe.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 24:18-24
Then one of them, called Cleopas, answered him, 'You must be the only person staying in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have been happening there these last few days.' [Jesus] asked, 'What things?' They answered, 'All about Jesus of Nazareth, who showed himself a prophet powerful in action and speech before God and the whole people; and how our chief priests and our leaders handed him over to be sentenced to death, and had him crucified. Our own hope had been that he would be the one to set Israel free. And this is not all: two whole days have now gone by since it all happened; and some women from our group have astounded us: they went to the tomb in the early morning, and when they could not find the body, they came back to tell us they had seen a vision of angels who declared he was alive. Some of our friends went to the tomb and found everything exactly as the women had reported, but of him they saw nothing.'
Prayer
Sad words, Jesus: “Our own hope had been …. Past tense, over and done.
We had hoped that he would set us free. It is hard to know their precise meaning. Did they want you to cast out the Romans occupiers? Establish a new order where everyone would rest secure under their own olive tree and each walk the street in safety and peace?
Two thousand years separate me from them Jesus, but they are barely a breath away. Not even that. They are human as I, and flesh, craving freedom for body and soul. They seek a wide and open space where their hearts might swell and breathe the fullness of this mystery we call life.
It is an old desire, Jesus, as ancient as the everlasting hills. And it finds fulfillment in seeing you. You open that wide space where we might live free as free souls.
Your first friends knew that. They knew the freedom and hope that spring to life in your nearness. It is not surprising that their hearts should leap at a silly tale of angels and resurrection. They had hoped you were the one who brings freedom, even from the final threat all life must face.
You had liberated their hope to fly that high. And mine.
Liberate our hope, dearest Friend. Free our souls to seek you even in the dead places of life where it seems nothing can live.
Open that wide and open space where we might breathe.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Today’s text
Luke 24:13-17
Now that very same day, two of them were on their way to a village called Emmaus, seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking together about all that had happened. And it happened that as they were talking together and discussing it, Jesus himself came up and walked by their side; but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him. He said to them, 'What are all these things that you are discussing as you walk along?' They stopped, their faces downcast.
Prayer
Why, my Lord? Why should they be kept from seeing you, the balm for our aching eyes? It is as if you prevented them from seeing. Or is this simply a way of saying they were still unable to see?
It seems clear, though, that they were kept from recognizing you. But if so, you kept them from seeing a presence that could not endure to reveal a presence that will endure to the end of earthly days.
So you kept them in the dark until they should see light. And there they struggled to understand what they had witnessed, your destruction and the collapse of their hopes.
It seems cruel. And my desire is to hurry to the happy end of the story where their eyes are open. But that would be false.
Truth is the waiting, the struggling, the confusion, the wanting. Yes, always the wanting for light to pierce the darkness of our hearts and minds that we may see and know you.
I don’t like the waiting struggle, my Risen Friend. But that is where I live much of my time. It can become a downcast state. Still, I smile, and often, knowing it is you for whom I wait. That is the one knowledge your Emmaus friends did not yet have.
But I do. So I lift my eyes from earth’s sad dust. Soon enough, the time again will be right to see and recognize you. For your risen presence endures to the end of the age and the closing of my tired eyes.
Pr. David L. Miller
Luke 24:13-17
Now that very same day, two of them were on their way to a village called Emmaus, seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking together about all that had happened. And it happened that as they were talking together and discussing it, Jesus himself came up and walked by their side; but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him. He said to them, 'What are all these things that you are discussing as you walk along?' They stopped, their faces downcast.
Prayer
Why, my Lord? Why should they be kept from seeing you, the balm for our aching eyes? It is as if you prevented them from seeing. Or is this simply a way of saying they were still unable to see?
It seems clear, though, that they were kept from recognizing you. But if so, you kept them from seeing a presence that could not endure to reveal a presence that will endure to the end of earthly days.
So you kept them in the dark until they should see light. And there they struggled to understand what they had witnessed, your destruction and the collapse of their hopes.
It seems cruel. And my desire is to hurry to the happy end of the story where their eyes are open. But that would be false.
Truth is the waiting, the struggling, the confusion, the wanting. Yes, always the wanting for light to pierce the darkness of our hearts and minds that we may see and know you.
I don’t like the waiting struggle, my Risen Friend. But that is where I live much of my time. It can become a downcast state. Still, I smile, and often, knowing it is you for whom I wait. That is the one knowledge your Emmaus friends did not yet have.
But I do. So I lift my eyes from earth’s sad dust. Soon enough, the time again will be right to see and recognize you. For your risen presence endures to the end of the age and the closing of my tired eyes.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, March 28, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Today’s text
John 20:24-29
Thomas, called the Twin, who was one of the Twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples said to him, 'We have seen the Lord,' but he answered, 'Unless I can see the holes that the nails made in his hands and can put my finger into the holes they made, and unless I can put my hand into his side, I refuse to believe.' Eight days later the disciples were in the house again and Thomas was with them. The doors were closed, but Jesus came in and stood among them. 'Peace be with you,' he said. Then he spoke to Thomas, 'Put your finger here; look, here are my hands. Give me your hand; put it into my side. Do not be unbelieving any more but believe.' Thomas replied, 'My Lord and my God!' Jesus said to him: You believe because you can see me. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.
Prayer
My Lord, I am Thomas. And it brings me no shame, only joy. I believe because I have seen and continue to see. Is not seeing … something … the source of faith for all us?
There are few of us who would not trade places with Thomas. I want to be the one who touches your ruined hands, who grasps your broken feet and gazes at your side.
I want to see you alive again. I hunger to hear your voice inviting me touch and know. My eyes ache to see the marks of love glorified and be moved, as now, to tears, which praise you in ways my mouth cannot. Thank you for them. They are your gift.
And thank you that, I, like Thomas, have seen you alive. I see the wonder of your resurrection in good and gentle souls who throughout my days have welcomed me to touch their hands and feet, souls and lives. There I touch and taste and know that you are good … and alive.
I keep bumping into a strange, translucent love in odds places and unexpected moments, in friends’ hearts and strangers’ smiles. And each time it fills me with a joy and an unwavering hope that evokes awareness of something that cannot be confined to our time, to any time.
It is the same joy and hope I know when I watch you speaking one word to your friends, “Peace.”
So I see, and believe, and say, “My Lord and My God.”
I am Thomas. And there is no shame in me, only joy.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 20:24-29
Thomas, called the Twin, who was one of the Twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples said to him, 'We have seen the Lord,' but he answered, 'Unless I can see the holes that the nails made in his hands and can put my finger into the holes they made, and unless I can put my hand into his side, I refuse to believe.' Eight days later the disciples were in the house again and Thomas was with them. The doors were closed, but Jesus came in and stood among them. 'Peace be with you,' he said. Then he spoke to Thomas, 'Put your finger here; look, here are my hands. Give me your hand; put it into my side. Do not be unbelieving any more but believe.' Thomas replied, 'My Lord and my God!' Jesus said to him: You believe because you can see me. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.
Prayer
My Lord, I am Thomas. And it brings me no shame, only joy. I believe because I have seen and continue to see. Is not seeing … something … the source of faith for all us?
There are few of us who would not trade places with Thomas. I want to be the one who touches your ruined hands, who grasps your broken feet and gazes at your side.
I want to see you alive again. I hunger to hear your voice inviting me touch and know. My eyes ache to see the marks of love glorified and be moved, as now, to tears, which praise you in ways my mouth cannot. Thank you for them. They are your gift.
And thank you that, I, like Thomas, have seen you alive. I see the wonder of your resurrection in good and gentle souls who throughout my days have welcomed me to touch their hands and feet, souls and lives. There I touch and taste and know that you are good … and alive.
I keep bumping into a strange, translucent love in odds places and unexpected moments, in friends’ hearts and strangers’ smiles. And each time it fills me with a joy and an unwavering hope that evokes awareness of something that cannot be confined to our time, to any time.
It is the same joy and hope I know when I watch you speaking one word to your friends, “Peace.”
So I see, and believe, and say, “My Lord and My God.”
I am Thomas. And there is no shame in me, only joy.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Today’s text
John 20:19-23
In the evening of that same day, the first day of the week, the doors were closed in the room where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews. Jesus came and stood among them. He said to them, 'Peace be with you,' and, after saying this, he showed them his hands and his side. The disciples were filled with joy at seeing the Lord, and he said to them again, 'Peace be with you. 'As the Father sent me, so am I sending you.' After saying this he breathed on them and said: Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone's sins, they are forgiven; if you retain anyone's sins, they are retained.
Prayer
I see now what holiness is, my Friend. Many spirits haunt human hearts. We see and feel them: the proud and arrogant, the humble and gentle, the fearful and melancholy, the joyous and generous.
You give the Holy Spirit, granting your beloved authority to forgive sins or retain them. But the desire of your holiness is clear. You hunger to release me into freedom. The Spirit that is Holy sets human hearts free to live. She enlarges the life in our lungs, and I have seen and known it.
It is a holy and precious thing to release a human soul from the weight of shame and guilt. I have looked them in the eye, Jesus, and spoken: Your sins are forgiven, full and free.
The words are powerful. They have effect.
Lightness of being enters the room where unholy heaviness just reigned. The soul straightens up and draws the fullness of breath into constricted lungs. They suck it in, unable to get enough. Their tight face relaxes. A small smile replaces the frown lately there and expands across their face. They are alive again, truly, and free.
You see this, Jesus, and smile. This is holy. This is the breath the Spirit breathes. Holiness is this human soul, fully alive. And holiness is the Spirit that seeks fullness of life and being for all you love.
Breathe this Spirit in us that we may be … and make free. Then we truly will glorify your risen name.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 20:19-23
In the evening of that same day, the first day of the week, the doors were closed in the room where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews. Jesus came and stood among them. He said to them, 'Peace be with you,' and, after saying this, he showed them his hands and his side. The disciples were filled with joy at seeing the Lord, and he said to them again, 'Peace be with you. 'As the Father sent me, so am I sending you.' After saying this he breathed on them and said: Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone's sins, they are forgiven; if you retain anyone's sins, they are retained.
Prayer
I see now what holiness is, my Friend. Many spirits haunt human hearts. We see and feel them: the proud and arrogant, the humble and gentle, the fearful and melancholy, the joyous and generous.
You give the Holy Spirit, granting your beloved authority to forgive sins or retain them. But the desire of your holiness is clear. You hunger to release me into freedom. The Spirit that is Holy sets human hearts free to live. She enlarges the life in our lungs, and I have seen and known it.
It is a holy and precious thing to release a human soul from the weight of shame and guilt. I have looked them in the eye, Jesus, and spoken: Your sins are forgiven, full and free.
The words are powerful. They have effect.
Lightness of being enters the room where unholy heaviness just reigned. The soul straightens up and draws the fullness of breath into constricted lungs. They suck it in, unable to get enough. Their tight face relaxes. A small smile replaces the frown lately there and expands across their face. They are alive again, truly, and free.
You see this, Jesus, and smile. This is holy. This is the breath the Spirit breathes. Holiness is this human soul, fully alive. And holiness is the Spirit that seeks fullness of life and being for all you love.
Breathe this Spirit in us that we may be … and make free. Then we truly will glorify your risen name.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Today’s text
John 20:19-23
In the evening of that same day, the first day of the week, the doors were closed in the room where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews. Jesus came and stood among them. He said to them, 'Peace be with you,' and, after saying this, he showed them his hands and his side. The disciples were filled with joy at seeing the Lord, and he said to them again, 'Peace be with you. 'As the Father sent me, so am I sending you.' After saying this he breathed on them and said: Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone's sins, they are forgiven; if you retain anyone's sins, they are retained.
Prayer
I do not know why we are not more proud of our wounds. We, too, have scarred hands, injured sides and broken hearts. We hide them mostly; fearing people will see our pain and know our weakness. Vulnerable we are, and we all know it. Yet, we hide.
But here you stand, Jesus, exposing the marks of your weakness. And there is no shame in you, no hiding. You offer your broken body as gift. And so it is, a gift of love.
Your ruined hands and gaping side are love’s wounds, won in the bitter battle of love with all that is not. You love much, so you suffer much. That’s the way it is for us, too, Jesus. It’s the human state.
Not even your resurrection removes your wounds. They remain, transfigured, but still there. Marks of love glorified, each speaking the compassion you are. They cannot be wiped clean without destroying your identity, your truth, the healing you bear.
And you shall bear your wounds through all eternity. And we? Our wounds move us to you for healing. Heal them, Jesus, but let love’s wounds remain. They are the best part of me.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 20:19-23
In the evening of that same day, the first day of the week, the doors were closed in the room where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews. Jesus came and stood among them. He said to them, 'Peace be with you,' and, after saying this, he showed them his hands and his side. The disciples were filled with joy at seeing the Lord, and he said to them again, 'Peace be with you. 'As the Father sent me, so am I sending you.' After saying this he breathed on them and said: Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone's sins, they are forgiven; if you retain anyone's sins, they are retained.
Prayer
I do not know why we are not more proud of our wounds. We, too, have scarred hands, injured sides and broken hearts. We hide them mostly; fearing people will see our pain and know our weakness. Vulnerable we are, and we all know it. Yet, we hide.
But here you stand, Jesus, exposing the marks of your weakness. And there is no shame in you, no hiding. You offer your broken body as gift. And so it is, a gift of love.
Your ruined hands and gaping side are love’s wounds, won in the bitter battle of love with all that is not. You love much, so you suffer much. That’s the way it is for us, too, Jesus. It’s the human state.
Not even your resurrection removes your wounds. They remain, transfigured, but still there. Marks of love glorified, each speaking the compassion you are. They cannot be wiped clean without destroying your identity, your truth, the healing you bear.
And you shall bear your wounds through all eternity. And we? Our wounds move us to you for healing. Heal them, Jesus, but let love’s wounds remain. They are the best part of me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, March 24, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Today’s text
John 20:18-20
So Mary of Magdala told the disciples, 'I have seen the Lord,' and that he had said these things to her. In the evening of that same day, the first day of the week, the doors were closed in the room where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews. Jesus came and stood among them. He said to them, 'Peace be with you,' and, after saying this, he showed them his hands and his side. The disciples were filled with joy at seeing the Lord,
Prayer
You speak, Risen One, and the word is that for which our hearts pine: ‘Peace.’
Stillness fills the soul as I sit and listen to your voice: ‘Peace be with you.’
The quiet timbre of the word echoes through corridors of the mind. It exorcises the fevered rancor of daily living, emptying the noise, clearing space to be, just to be, setting all at rest.
And I sink into your words: Peace. Peace be with me. Peace be with me.
Peace: over and again, repeating your first risen word as the secret knowledge you impart to the soul. Peace: freeing me to humbly be that which you have made, neither more than less. The soul quiets, at rest.
Freedom comes at the sound of your voice bearing the first and most central word you would have me hear and know well: Peace.
You create in me this quiet space where I dwell at rest with you, where I can welcome all you love, where our joy together may abound.
So let me ever hear your first risen word.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 20:18-20
So Mary of Magdala told the disciples, 'I have seen the Lord,' and that he had said these things to her. In the evening of that same day, the first day of the week, the doors were closed in the room where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews. Jesus came and stood among them. He said to them, 'Peace be with you,' and, after saying this, he showed them his hands and his side. The disciples were filled with joy at seeing the Lord,
Prayer
You speak, Risen One, and the word is that for which our hearts pine: ‘Peace.’
Stillness fills the soul as I sit and listen to your voice: ‘Peace be with you.’
The quiet timbre of the word echoes through corridors of the mind. It exorcises the fevered rancor of daily living, emptying the noise, clearing space to be, just to be, setting all at rest.
And I sink into your words: Peace. Peace be with me. Peace be with me.
Peace: over and again, repeating your first risen word as the secret knowledge you impart to the soul. Peace: freeing me to humbly be that which you have made, neither more than less. The soul quiets, at rest.
Freedom comes at the sound of your voice bearing the first and most central word you would have me hear and know well: Peace.
You create in me this quiet space where I dwell at rest with you, where I can welcome all you love, where our joy together may abound.
So let me ever hear your first risen word.
Pr. David L. Miller
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
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
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
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
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