Today’s text
John 15:4-5
Remain in me, as I in you. As a branch cannot bear fruit all by itself, unless it remains part of the vine, neither can you unless you remain in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me, with me in him, bears fruit in plenty; for cut off from me you can do nothing.
Reflection
This is my quiet space. My escape, my time … in a life when too little of my time seems my own.
None of my moments are mine, of course. It seems selfish and foolish to speak as if life is something I possess. I am not a possessor. Each moment is gift. The breath I breath is not my own.
In this quiet space where gentle music moves the heart, I know life, I know my heart and I know you, Holy One.
This is all the same knowing, not three separate things. I retreat here and my lungs expand, my heart grows quiet, and I am aware of a place I cannot see or describe but which I know is there, somewhere, somehow in me.
It is an intimate darkness where I know and feel your mystery. I know myself connected with you, no, not connected but part of you, inseparable, joined as a leaf in a vine, a flower on a stem.
And I am at peace. The noise of living and the voices of unfinished tasks do not disturb here. There is only me and you, and these tears that tell me I am well, at home and beloved.
My heart rests, knowing that this alone is life and that I should never settle for anything less.
So why, my brother, Jesus, should you tell me to remain, abide, live in the vine? I am part of the vine. My life flows from the vine. It is the essential and inevitable truth of every life.
But that’s it, right there. So many days I turn from the vine, the channel of infinite life and joy, of love unlimited.
Amid the anxiety that has driven me for years, I hurry about, failing to turn, quiet myself and enter that intimate darkness where I rest and watch and knowing I need to do nothing but receive and feel this oneness, this inseparable unity with you are the Source of my soul, of all life and love.
It is possible, even likely to live a life denying that we each a leaf on the vine, but it is a life of anxious striving and fear because it is lived without awareness of our essential truth: We are all part of the vine, who is the Source of our life and peace, our breath and joy.
You, Jesus, are the Source, the human face of the One, the Vine I know in this intimate darkness.
‘Remain, abide in me,’ you say. ‘Rest in me in me, for I am the vine of life. You will find the peace of an intimate quiet in which you will know the Love I am, the Love who wishes to flow in and fill you. Remain and dwell here in me, and your life will bear fruit.
It is from this restful awareness that life and beauty grows.
Pr. David L. Miller
http://prayingthemystery.blogspot.com/
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Friday, May 04, 2012
Tuesday, May 01, 2012
Tuesday May 1, 2012
Today’s text
1 John 4:7-9
My dear friends, let us love one another, since love is from God and everyone who loves is a child of God and knows God. Whoever fails to love does not know God, because God is love. This is the revelation of God's love for us, that God sent his only Son into the world that we might have life through him.
Reflection
It is only in loving that we know you, Lord, and it is only in knowing your love that we have life. You came to the world that we might have life.
So come to me this day that my heart might fall calm and in peace know what life is.
Morning comes again, a spring morning brimming with possibility. But you do not lead me into the sunrise but to this place of silence where I listen to my created soul, seeking to hear you have always existed and always will.
You use my own aching need to bring me here. I need to know you. I hunger to know you not with the mind but with the fullness of heart. Only full hearts know you.
The mind can grasp your possibility. It captures hints of your creative wonder. It grabs your coattails as you pass through our lives. Then, it stammers a few words about who you are, what you are like and what you are doing among us so that we can pretend that we understand something.
But we understand nothing, and all the books that surround me in this quiet space are mere echoes of your life.
True knowledge of you comes not by mind but only the in-filling of the heart by your fullness. Only then do we know the fullness of love whom you are. Only then does your living substance fill us and clear out the cobwebs death and darkness that cling like barnacles to the walls and corners of our souls.
So I come again to this silence, waiting for you who are love to awaken my awareness that love is the Source of my soul. Love is the source of spring mornings. Love is true knowledge of you. Love is the reason I am made, and giving life is the sole purpose of love.
I wait, knowing your love will come and awaken me, warm my heart and fill me that I may know you and truly live … for one more day. It's all I have, and all I need.
Pr. David L. Miller
1 John 4:7-9
My dear friends, let us love one another, since love is from God and everyone who loves is a child of God and knows God. Whoever fails to love does not know God, because God is love. This is the revelation of God's love for us, that God sent his only Son into the world that we might have life through him.
Reflection
It is only in loving that we know you, Lord, and it is only in knowing your love that we have life. You came to the world that we might have life.
So come to me this day that my heart might fall calm and in peace know what life is.
Morning comes again, a spring morning brimming with possibility. But you do not lead me into the sunrise but to this place of silence where I listen to my created soul, seeking to hear you have always existed and always will.
You use my own aching need to bring me here. I need to know you. I hunger to know you not with the mind but with the fullness of heart. Only full hearts know you.
The mind can grasp your possibility. It captures hints of your creative wonder. It grabs your coattails as you pass through our lives. Then, it stammers a few words about who you are, what you are like and what you are doing among us so that we can pretend that we understand something.
But we understand nothing, and all the books that surround me in this quiet space are mere echoes of your life.
True knowledge of you comes not by mind but only the in-filling of the heart by your fullness. Only then do we know the fullness of love whom you are. Only then does your living substance fill us and clear out the cobwebs death and darkness that cling like barnacles to the walls and corners of our souls.
So I come again to this silence, waiting for you who are love to awaken my awareness that love is the Source of my soul. Love is the source of spring mornings. Love is true knowledge of you. Love is the reason I am made, and giving life is the sole purpose of love.
I wait, knowing your love will come and awaken me, warm my heart and fill me that I may know you and truly live … for one more day. It's all I have, and all I need.
Pr. David L. Miller
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Today’s text
John 10:14-15
I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.
Reflection
I am the Good Shepherd.
All that is in me … I give you. The love I share with the Father … I share with you … that you may know.
I am the Good Shepherd.
Love is not something I do. Love is who I am. I do not love when it strikes me or when it is easy. I do not love only the worthy or the beautiful. I love, and this love is for you.
I am the Good Shepherd.
Friday, I learned again what this means. I was asked to visit a prisoner at the DuPage County Jail. He is the age of my children. Already, he is sentenced to 30 years. But he faces another charge for a violent assault that will likely keep him behind bars for the rest of his life.
The last time I made a prison visit my hair was brown, so I was nervous going to the jail. I didn’t know what I would find, or whether my ministry would be rejected and abused.
But my anxiety didn’t matter. I promised to go, and I went.
The visit was not earth shattering. No great conversion of heart occurred that I could see. We talked freely and laughed on occasion. We were as serious and honest with each other as we could be, given that we were totally unknown to each other moments before.
At the end of our time, we prayed. We put our hands up against the glass, me on one side and he on the other. We prayed for his trial, for courage and strength, for comfort and peace not only for him but for those he victimized. They also face a life sentence of reliving, again and again, the worst moments of their lives.
I wish I knew them. I would like to hear their story and pray with them, too.
There is no happy ending here that I can see, not for anyone.
But driving away from the jail, I knew in my bones what Jesus is means when he says, “I am the Good Shepherd who pours out his life for the sheep.”
He doesn’t ask if the sheep are good, or deserving, or worth the trouble. He doesn’t ask if they scare or disgust him. He just loves each one, the lost and the found, the victim and the criminal, me and you.
There is no hint of turning in Jesus. He doesn’t turn away. He is always turned toward us. His arms are open, no matter what. He lays down his life. Opening his heart, he lets all that is in him pour out … to us.
He wants us to know the love he shares with the Loving Mystery of God. He wants us—you—to know this great love, to share with you loving union of hearts he shares with the Mystery he calls ‘the Father.’
2
I want to know this union of hearts. I have wanted to know this since I was a young child. Sunday after Sunday, I looked at the painting over the ancient, green-painted piano in the church basement. It pictured Jesus sitting on a hillside, staring into space.
It was a poor painting, but spiritually rich. It helped awaken a longing in my heart to share the quiet deep feeling I saw in Jesus as he sat in silence knowing God’s love flowing through him.
I wanted to know what he knew, to feel what he felt, to be filled as he was filled. And this is what he wants for you.
So seldom do we have this, though. There is no turning in Jesus. But there is in us. We turn away. We forget. We neglect and fail to care for our relationship with him.
Life gets busy. We give ourselves to everything that demands our immediate attention, surrendering to all our life and work and recreation seem to require.
Busy and distracted, we turn away from our aching need to rest everyday in the Good Shepherd. We fail to return each day to find our place in his protective love, in his receiving arms, in the quiet acceptance where we feel totally known and completely safe.
Then something happens. Life outside the arms of the Good Shepherd gets hard. Failures and disappointments whisper in the night. Grief and loss, heart wounds and future fears trouble our souls, and the empty ache within tells us we have neglected the one we most need.
We hunger for intimacy with the Good Shepherd, but we can’t feel him near because we have gotten out of the habit of putting first things first.
So we return, again, to the places where we know him, to the music where he sings his love into our soul, to the people whose voices resonate with the Love that fills him, to words of grace he speaks, to a picture or place whose beauty becomes his eyes of mercy looking into our souls and filling us with the wonder of all that is in him.
It is such moments that we know him again, feeling the love of the Good Shepherd.
In such moments, we sit on that hill with Jesus and all that he is flows into us and makes us human again. The shackles of our fear fall away, and we breathe deeply, drinking in the good air of earth. With each breath, he laughs at the joy of giving us life.
And we know … Jesus is the Good Shepherd. He invites to sit quietly with him, to chant his name, to speak the depth of our joy and pain, to open our empty hearts and hands and receive all that is in him.
And as we receive, we know … we are totally known and completely safe.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 10:14-15
I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.
Reflection
I am the Good Shepherd.
All that is in me … I give you. The love I share with the Father … I share with you … that you may know.
I am the Good Shepherd.
Love is not something I do. Love is who I am. I do not love when it strikes me or when it is easy. I do not love only the worthy or the beautiful. I love, and this love is for you.
I am the Good Shepherd.
Friday, I learned again what this means. I was asked to visit a prisoner at the DuPage County Jail. He is the age of my children. Already, he is sentenced to 30 years. But he faces another charge for a violent assault that will likely keep him behind bars for the rest of his life.
The last time I made a prison visit my hair was brown, so I was nervous going to the jail. I didn’t know what I would find, or whether my ministry would be rejected and abused.
But my anxiety didn’t matter. I promised to go, and I went.
The visit was not earth shattering. No great conversion of heart occurred that I could see. We talked freely and laughed on occasion. We were as serious and honest with each other as we could be, given that we were totally unknown to each other moments before.
At the end of our time, we prayed. We put our hands up against the glass, me on one side and he on the other. We prayed for his trial, for courage and strength, for comfort and peace not only for him but for those he victimized. They also face a life sentence of reliving, again and again, the worst moments of their lives.
I wish I knew them. I would like to hear their story and pray with them, too.
There is no happy ending here that I can see, not for anyone.
But driving away from the jail, I knew in my bones what Jesus is means when he says, “I am the Good Shepherd who pours out his life for the sheep.”
He doesn’t ask if the sheep are good, or deserving, or worth the trouble. He doesn’t ask if they scare or disgust him. He just loves each one, the lost and the found, the victim and the criminal, me and you.
There is no hint of turning in Jesus. He doesn’t turn away. He is always turned toward us. His arms are open, no matter what. He lays down his life. Opening his heart, he lets all that is in him pour out … to us.
He wants us to know the love he shares with the Loving Mystery of God. He wants us—you—to know this great love, to share with you loving union of hearts he shares with the Mystery he calls ‘the Father.’
2
I want to know this union of hearts. I have wanted to know this since I was a young child. Sunday after Sunday, I looked at the painting over the ancient, green-painted piano in the church basement. It pictured Jesus sitting on a hillside, staring into space.
It was a poor painting, but spiritually rich. It helped awaken a longing in my heart to share the quiet deep feeling I saw in Jesus as he sat in silence knowing God’s love flowing through him.
I wanted to know what he knew, to feel what he felt, to be filled as he was filled. And this is what he wants for you.
So seldom do we have this, though. There is no turning in Jesus. But there is in us. We turn away. We forget. We neglect and fail to care for our relationship with him.
Life gets busy. We give ourselves to everything that demands our immediate attention, surrendering to all our life and work and recreation seem to require.
Busy and distracted, we turn away from our aching need to rest everyday in the Good Shepherd. We fail to return each day to find our place in his protective love, in his receiving arms, in the quiet acceptance where we feel totally known and completely safe.
Then something happens. Life outside the arms of the Good Shepherd gets hard. Failures and disappointments whisper in the night. Grief and loss, heart wounds and future fears trouble our souls, and the empty ache within tells us we have neglected the one we most need.
We hunger for intimacy with the Good Shepherd, but we can’t feel him near because we have gotten out of the habit of putting first things first.
So we return, again, to the places where we know him, to the music where he sings his love into our soul, to the people whose voices resonate with the Love that fills him, to words of grace he speaks, to a picture or place whose beauty becomes his eyes of mercy looking into our souls and filling us with the wonder of all that is in him.
It is such moments that we know him again, feeling the love of the Good Shepherd.
In such moments, we sit on that hill with Jesus and all that he is flows into us and makes us human again. The shackles of our fear fall away, and we breathe deeply, drinking in the good air of earth. With each breath, he laughs at the joy of giving us life.
And we know … Jesus is the Good Shepherd. He invites to sit quietly with him, to chant his name, to speak the depth of our joy and pain, to open our empty hearts and hands and receive all that is in him.
And as we receive, we know … we are totally known and completely safe.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Today's text
John 10:14
I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.
Reflection: What happens inside
It happened again last Sunday. I stepped to the altar at the close of worship, bowed and spoke two words. “Thank you.”
The words are not planned or calculated. No one hears them, since the final song is being sung. But the words are always there; appearing from a part of my soul I don’t control but can only notice.
“Thank you for letting me part of this.”
For the hour of worship, I have inhabited a space where unfettered grace holds sway, where the anxieties of competition, disease, struggle and uncertain futures are washed away in the flood of a love from the boundless heart of God.
Once more I have received what I need lest I forget who I am, where I come from and for what I am made.
Sometimes, often lately, the hour of worship feels like a bubble in time. Together we step into a space that is not just physical but profoundly spiritual and liberating.
Inside this space things happen that don’t or cannot happen outside this space. Words are spoken that feel forced and awkward elsewhere. People touch and hug struggling friends they haven’t seen all week. Sorrow can be named and prayed, and sufferers can be blessed.
The flurry and worries of daily life may control our time and minds outside this space, but not inside.
When we come inside we enter a realm, a physical and spiritual space where the love of God holds sway, where gentle grace pours healing oil on wounds, whether old or fresh, and human hands reach out to bless.
Inside, laughter at human foibles and frailties sparkles in the air because we know our failures and fears are held in Love Immeasurable. Inside, we know that we are welcome and loved, treasured and delighted in by the Loving Mystery whose grace shines in the face of Jesus--and in the faces around us who know and love him.
Inside this holy space, babies grab my glasses when I take them from their fathers’ arms to baptize them.
Inside, faces are named as they file forward and open empty hands to receive a food that fills the heart with the awareness of that Love who welcomes every part of them. Inside, arms encircle the shoulders of those whose eyes are still moist at the pain of goodbye.
Inside, children hug me, talk back to me, make fun of me and become sacraments of a Love far greater they--or I--can possible understand.
Inside, we sing to the mountains and the seas, lifting our voices, raising our hearts to proclaim the day blessed, a day when all the world rejoices in the gift of life and the truth of Love.
Inside, we take the hand of the person next to us, hold it up and pray an old prayer that has crossed billions of lips, “Our Father … .” Praying together, we feel oneness with another human soul and all those other souls who breathe and need, who fear and laugh, who live and die knowing there is One from whom we come and to whom we go, One who is Love Unbounded.
Inside, our hearts fall open again, and we are able to forgive (or at least to try) the failures and sins of those who have hurt us, recognizing that we are as human as flawed as those who sin against us.
Inside, we become human beings again. The shackles of our fears drop away, and we breathe deeply, drinking in the good air of earth. And with each breath, God laughs at the joy of giving us life.
Inside, we know. We know the Love God is, the Love for which we are intended, the Love we are privileged to share, the joy of that sharing and the hope that the grace that fills our gathering will, in God’s time, thoroughly fill us and all that is.
Until that day, we need to come inside, to step into this space where grace holds sway that our hearts may again be made human and learn to say, “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
Pr. David L. Miller
John 10:14
I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.
Reflection: What happens inside
It happened again last Sunday. I stepped to the altar at the close of worship, bowed and spoke two words. “Thank you.”
The words are not planned or calculated. No one hears them, since the final song is being sung. But the words are always there; appearing from a part of my soul I don’t control but can only notice.
“Thank you for letting me part of this.”
For the hour of worship, I have inhabited a space where unfettered grace holds sway, where the anxieties of competition, disease, struggle and uncertain futures are washed away in the flood of a love from the boundless heart of God.
Once more I have received what I need lest I forget who I am, where I come from and for what I am made.
Sometimes, often lately, the hour of worship feels like a bubble in time. Together we step into a space that is not just physical but profoundly spiritual and liberating.
Inside this space things happen that don’t or cannot happen outside this space. Words are spoken that feel forced and awkward elsewhere. People touch and hug struggling friends they haven’t seen all week. Sorrow can be named and prayed, and sufferers can be blessed.
The flurry and worries of daily life may control our time and minds outside this space, but not inside.
When we come inside we enter a realm, a physical and spiritual space where the love of God holds sway, where gentle grace pours healing oil on wounds, whether old or fresh, and human hands reach out to bless.
Inside, laughter at human foibles and frailties sparkles in the air because we know our failures and fears are held in Love Immeasurable. Inside, we know that we are welcome and loved, treasured and delighted in by the Loving Mystery whose grace shines in the face of Jesus--and in the faces around us who know and love him.
Inside this holy space, babies grab my glasses when I take them from their fathers’ arms to baptize them.
Inside, faces are named as they file forward and open empty hands to receive a food that fills the heart with the awareness of that Love who welcomes every part of them. Inside, arms encircle the shoulders of those whose eyes are still moist at the pain of goodbye.
Inside, children hug me, talk back to me, make fun of me and become sacraments of a Love far greater they--or I--can possible understand.
Inside, we sing to the mountains and the seas, lifting our voices, raising our hearts to proclaim the day blessed, a day when all the world rejoices in the gift of life and the truth of Love.
Inside, we take the hand of the person next to us, hold it up and pray an old prayer that has crossed billions of lips, “Our Father … .” Praying together, we feel oneness with another human soul and all those other souls who breathe and need, who fear and laugh, who live and die knowing there is One from whom we come and to whom we go, One who is Love Unbounded.
Inside, our hearts fall open again, and we are able to forgive (or at least to try) the failures and sins of those who have hurt us, recognizing that we are as human as flawed as those who sin against us.
Inside, we become human beings again. The shackles of our fears drop away, and we breathe deeply, drinking in the good air of earth. And with each breath, God laughs at the joy of giving us life.
Inside, we know. We know the Love God is, the Love for which we are intended, the Love we are privileged to share, the joy of that sharing and the hope that the grace that fills our gathering will, in God’s time, thoroughly fill us and all that is.
Until that day, we need to come inside, to step into this space where grace holds sway that our hearts may again be made human and learn to say, “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Today’s text
John 10:11-12
I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep. The hired man, since he is not the shepherd and the sheep do not belong to him, abandons the sheep as soon as he sees a wolf coming, and runs away, and then the wolf attacks and scatters the sheep.
Reflection
There are things we do and things we are. Jesus is the good shepherd, the one who is unconditional commitment, unfettered love for his friends.
Love is not something he does. Love is what he is. It is his nature, his truth, the center of his being. It is not what he chooses to give here or there when the notion strikes him, but the essence of who he is.
So, too, it is the essence of our relationship with him.
There is no turning away for him. He is always turned toward us. His arm are always open, no matter what.
We turn away. We forget. We fail to care for our relationship with him.
Life gets busy, and we cut back where it is easiest. We give ourselves to everything that demands our immediate attention, surrendering to all that life and work seem to require of us.
Busy and distracted, we turn from our aching need to rest everyday in the One who is always good, in his protective love, in his receiving arms, in the quiet acceptance where we feel totally known and completely safe.
Life outside the arms of the good shepherd gets hard. Failures and disappointments whisper in the night. Grief and pains, heart wounds and future fears trouble our souls, and the empty ache within tells us we have neglected the one we most need.
We hunger for intimacy with the Good Shepherd, but we can’t feel him near because we have gotten out of the habit of putting first things first.
So we return, again, to the places where we know him, to the music where he sings his love into our soul, to the people whose voices resonate with the Love that fills him, to words of grace he speaks, to a picture or place whose beauty becomes his eyes of mercy looking right into our souls and filling us with the wonder of all that is in him.
Then, again, we know you, Jesus, and we know you are always good, a word which also means beautiful. You are the beautiful shepherd, whose beauty is the love you are, the love that beckons us to come and rest, to come and know the goodness of a peaceful heart where we are safe, totally safe.
In awareness of such safety, we know you, Jesus. We know what we need to know.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 10:11-12
I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep. The hired man, since he is not the shepherd and the sheep do not belong to him, abandons the sheep as soon as he sees a wolf coming, and runs away, and then the wolf attacks and scatters the sheep.
Reflection
There are things we do and things we are. Jesus is the good shepherd, the one who is unconditional commitment, unfettered love for his friends.
Love is not something he does. Love is what he is. It is his nature, his truth, the center of his being. It is not what he chooses to give here or there when the notion strikes him, but the essence of who he is.
So, too, it is the essence of our relationship with him.
There is no turning away for him. He is always turned toward us. His arm are always open, no matter what.
We turn away. We forget. We fail to care for our relationship with him.
Life gets busy, and we cut back where it is easiest. We give ourselves to everything that demands our immediate attention, surrendering to all that life and work seem to require of us.
Busy and distracted, we turn from our aching need to rest everyday in the One who is always good, in his protective love, in his receiving arms, in the quiet acceptance where we feel totally known and completely safe.
Life outside the arms of the good shepherd gets hard. Failures and disappointments whisper in the night. Grief and pains, heart wounds and future fears trouble our souls, and the empty ache within tells us we have neglected the one we most need.
We hunger for intimacy with the Good Shepherd, but we can’t feel him near because we have gotten out of the habit of putting first things first.
So we return, again, to the places where we know him, to the music where he sings his love into our soul, to the people whose voices resonate with the Love that fills him, to words of grace he speaks, to a picture or place whose beauty becomes his eyes of mercy looking right into our souls and filling us with the wonder of all that is in him.
Then, again, we know you, Jesus, and we know you are always good, a word which also means beautiful. You are the beautiful shepherd, whose beauty is the love you are, the love that beckons us to come and rest, to come and know the goodness of a peaceful heart where we are safe, totally safe.
In awareness of such safety, we know you, Jesus. We know what we need to know.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Today’s text
1 John 3:2
My dear friends, we are already God's children, but what we shall be in the future has not yet been revealed. We are well aware that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he really is.
Reflection
Let me see you this day, Jesus. Savoring the sight of your love and beauty, I become as you are.
The sight of you invites us into the inner reality of your life where you are of one mind and heart with the Loving Mystery whom no one has ever seen.
Seeing you is a transformation through which we pass from one state of being to another.
In you, we glimpse the glory of our true humanity, the fullness of what the human soul was created to be. The worry and flurry, the doubt and despair that grips us was never to be our destiny.
But it is our condition in the state of sin. Sin is not this or that moral wrongdoing but a state of the soul’s abiding in which we dwell outside the marvelous awareness that we are always one with the Infinite Source of all life and love.
Our lives are an expression of the divine presence. Our souls are open at the bottom so that the fullness of God might rush in like a river, filling us, so that the substance of our soul and the substance of God’s soul is the same.
But we-- I--close our souls so that all that God is cannot flow into all that we are. We pull away, separating ourselves, failing to return each day to the places of filling, the doors and windows through which divine substance flows, washing away our fears and making us fully human, giving us the laughter of free souls who know the secret of Eternity in their flesh and bone.
But you, Jesus, never closed your heart from the divine heart. This is who and how you were in the world. Your soul remained ever open and flowing with the love that is the substance of the Eternal One.
This is what we shall be and what we become when we truly see and know you. We see a truly human being, and we see the wonder of God, all at once.
In seeing, our souls open up. And the trickle of divine life in us becomes a rivulet, then a brook, then a stream, then a deep river, and amid joy and freedom, we become as you are.
So whatever else I see today. Let me see you.
Pr. David L. Miller
1 John 3:2
My dear friends, we are already God's children, but what we shall be in the future has not yet been revealed. We are well aware that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he really is.
Reflection
Let me see you this day, Jesus. Savoring the sight of your love and beauty, I become as you are.
The sight of you invites us into the inner reality of your life where you are of one mind and heart with the Loving Mystery whom no one has ever seen.
Seeing you is a transformation through which we pass from one state of being to another.
In you, we glimpse the glory of our true humanity, the fullness of what the human soul was created to be. The worry and flurry, the doubt and despair that grips us was never to be our destiny.
But it is our condition in the state of sin. Sin is not this or that moral wrongdoing but a state of the soul’s abiding in which we dwell outside the marvelous awareness that we are always one with the Infinite Source of all life and love.
Our lives are an expression of the divine presence. Our souls are open at the bottom so that the fullness of God might rush in like a river, filling us, so that the substance of our soul and the substance of God’s soul is the same.
But we-- I--close our souls so that all that God is cannot flow into all that we are. We pull away, separating ourselves, failing to return each day to the places of filling, the doors and windows through which divine substance flows, washing away our fears and making us fully human, giving us the laughter of free souls who know the secret of Eternity in their flesh and bone.
But you, Jesus, never closed your heart from the divine heart. This is who and how you were in the world. Your soul remained ever open and flowing with the love that is the substance of the Eternal One.
This is what we shall be and what we become when we truly see and know you. We see a truly human being, and we see the wonder of God, all at once.
In seeing, our souls open up. And the trickle of divine life in us becomes a rivulet, then a brook, then a stream, then a deep river, and amid joy and freedom, we become as you are.
So whatever else I see today. Let me see you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Today’s text
1 John 3:1
You must see what great love the Father has lavished on us by letting us be called God's children -- which is what we are! The reason why the world does not acknowledge us is that it did not acknowledge him.
Reflection
Do I want to be known, or is it too frightening? For too long I have hidden that which I am. For decades I have been afraid to reveal this inner heart where I am filled and overwhelmed by your great divine heart.
I hide the hunger and the struggle to know the fullness of Love you are, to live beyond every anxiety, loving with the love you are.
I hide my heart, waiting for moments when I know the person in the other chair, the people to whom I am speaking might accept me or have a glimmer of understanding of what moves me.
I do not fear misunderstanding so much as dismissal and rejection. I want to be taken seriously, but what is taken most seriously in this world is that which can be counted: money, the score of recent games, concrete things that seem real because they can be seen and handled and make a practical difference in the nuts and bolts of daily existence.
But what of this inner awareness of grace and love; what of the hunger to know oneself resting in Love Unlimited; what of the experience of abiding … of feeling one’s heart enveloped in that Eternal Mystery, the Uncreated Love you intuitively know is your Source, your Home, your sweetest and truest desire?
What of the fulfillment and joy you find in that inner space where nothing separates your heart and that great Mysterious Heart? How does one speak of this reality, which is the most important truth of your and all life? It cannot be described except in vague, vaporous terms that appear to have no concrete reference the rest of the world understands?
Is it possible to describe such truth without sounding, well, like a flake?
For it sounds flaky even in the ears of the conventionally religious for whom God is something ‘out there’ to believe in, not this wind of Love that blows everywhere, even through the cobwebs of your own soul.
The world cannot acknowledge the wonder of Love Unlimited because it did not see and touch, feel and know Love Incarnate, the wonder of the mind of God in human form, in you, my brother, Jesus.
Did you fear their rejection and failure to see? It is hard to imagine that, yet there were moments at the end of your life when you prayed to be delivered from the suffering wrought by those who neither understood nor cared to do so.
Still, you went forward, knowing what you knew, being the soul you are, living from the depths of the Loving Mystery who filled you, and they destroyed you … or tried.
I have not been this brave, or should I say this filled with the One who is Love so that others’ opinions and actions no longer mattered?
But there are moments when this is true. There are moments when nothing else matters but knowing the One who is Love Unbounded--knowing that, like you, I am beloved of God from all eternity.
May I know such moments today and be the soul you call me to be, beyond every fear that hems in my heart.
Pr. David L. Miller
1 John 3:1
You must see what great love the Father has lavished on us by letting us be called God's children -- which is what we are! The reason why the world does not acknowledge us is that it did not acknowledge him.
Reflection
Do I want to be known, or is it too frightening? For too long I have hidden that which I am. For decades I have been afraid to reveal this inner heart where I am filled and overwhelmed by your great divine heart.
I hide the hunger and the struggle to know the fullness of Love you are, to live beyond every anxiety, loving with the love you are.
I hide my heart, waiting for moments when I know the person in the other chair, the people to whom I am speaking might accept me or have a glimmer of understanding of what moves me.
I do not fear misunderstanding so much as dismissal and rejection. I want to be taken seriously, but what is taken most seriously in this world is that which can be counted: money, the score of recent games, concrete things that seem real because they can be seen and handled and make a practical difference in the nuts and bolts of daily existence.
But what of this inner awareness of grace and love; what of the hunger to know oneself resting in Love Unlimited; what of the experience of abiding … of feeling one’s heart enveloped in that Eternal Mystery, the Uncreated Love you intuitively know is your Source, your Home, your sweetest and truest desire?
What of the fulfillment and joy you find in that inner space where nothing separates your heart and that great Mysterious Heart? How does one speak of this reality, which is the most important truth of your and all life? It cannot be described except in vague, vaporous terms that appear to have no concrete reference the rest of the world understands?
Is it possible to describe such truth without sounding, well, like a flake?
For it sounds flaky even in the ears of the conventionally religious for whom God is something ‘out there’ to believe in, not this wind of Love that blows everywhere, even through the cobwebs of your own soul.
The world cannot acknowledge the wonder of Love Unlimited because it did not see and touch, feel and know Love Incarnate, the wonder of the mind of God in human form, in you, my brother, Jesus.
Did you fear their rejection and failure to see? It is hard to imagine that, yet there were moments at the end of your life when you prayed to be delivered from the suffering wrought by those who neither understood nor cared to do so.
Still, you went forward, knowing what you knew, being the soul you are, living from the depths of the Loving Mystery who filled you, and they destroyed you … or tried.
I have not been this brave, or should I say this filled with the One who is Love so that others’ opinions and actions no longer mattered?
But there are moments when this is true. There are moments when nothing else matters but knowing the One who is Love Unbounded--knowing that, like you, I am beloved of God from all eternity.
May I know such moments today and be the soul you call me to be, beyond every fear that hems in my heart.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Today’s text
1 John 3:1
You must see what great love the Father has lavished on us by letting us be called God's children -- which is what we are! The reason why the world does not acknowledge us is that it did not acknowledge him.
Reflection
Beloved, the word rolls from my lips. I have no better word for the fullness of my heart when I know myself in you, Holy One.
A fullness comes into me, allowing no room for anything else but the awareness of love, of you who are love. Everything else goes away, and every thought, if any occur, is bathed in the love which you are. I see all that is as beloved, loved beyond all measure.
These are moments of truly knowing you, Blessed Mystery. Knowing the love in which you hold me and everything, I know you, the life you are. I share immediate, intimate communion in the love that is the substance of your Being.
And I am happy … and free, so free at heart.
But there is something else, a deep internal ‘must’ appears when my heart is full, and I know that I am your beloved.
The fullness of love that fills me must be shared so that all I see and touch might be filled with awareness that they, too, are beloved, embraced by the mystery of your life.
This ‘must’ is not a burden. It is not an external law that works against my nature. Filled with the Love you, this becomes my nature, even as it is yours eternally.
You must love for you are Love. Your love cannot be contained. It must spill out in ultimate and constant generosity.
In this, I know you, Holy One. You are Love Uncontainable. The substance of your life is this love that pours out endlessly, seeking to fill all that is, a love that finds me in my wayward wandering.
The whole world is your sacrament, Loving Mystery, the means of your expression. I never know when or what will again fill me with the Love you are. I only know that you will.
Last Sunday, I held precious new life in my arms, a little boy, Benjamin. I baptized him into the Ultimate Mystery, the Love which has no name but who comes to us as Father, Son and Spirit.
Tears formed as I lifted Benjamin from the font and marked him with the sign of the cross in holy oil: “Benjamin, beloved child of God from all eternity you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.”
Having spoken the words, I held him to my face and kissed him. I loved him with the love that is in me, the Love that you are, my Lord.
I yearned for this child, wanting him to be filled with the wonder of life and the beauty of all that he is. I wanted him to know great love surrounding him all the days of his life. I wanted him to share in the resurrected life of Jesus--hoping he would always know he is beloved by you since before the birth of the worlds.
And in that moment, I knew the love you are, Holy One, for this is the very same thing you want for this little child … and for me.
Pr. David L. Miller
1 John 3:1
You must see what great love the Father has lavished on us by letting us be called God's children -- which is what we are! The reason why the world does not acknowledge us is that it did not acknowledge him.
Reflection
Beloved, the word rolls from my lips. I have no better word for the fullness of my heart when I know myself in you, Holy One.
A fullness comes into me, allowing no room for anything else but the awareness of love, of you who are love. Everything else goes away, and every thought, if any occur, is bathed in the love which you are. I see all that is as beloved, loved beyond all measure.
These are moments of truly knowing you, Blessed Mystery. Knowing the love in which you hold me and everything, I know you, the life you are. I share immediate, intimate communion in the love that is the substance of your Being.
And I am happy … and free, so free at heart.
But there is something else, a deep internal ‘must’ appears when my heart is full, and I know that I am your beloved.
The fullness of love that fills me must be shared so that all I see and touch might be filled with awareness that they, too, are beloved, embraced by the mystery of your life.
This ‘must’ is not a burden. It is not an external law that works against my nature. Filled with the Love you, this becomes my nature, even as it is yours eternally.
You must love for you are Love. Your love cannot be contained. It must spill out in ultimate and constant generosity.
In this, I know you, Holy One. You are Love Uncontainable. The substance of your life is this love that pours out endlessly, seeking to fill all that is, a love that finds me in my wayward wandering.
The whole world is your sacrament, Loving Mystery, the means of your expression. I never know when or what will again fill me with the Love you are. I only know that you will.
Last Sunday, I held precious new life in my arms, a little boy, Benjamin. I baptized him into the Ultimate Mystery, the Love which has no name but who comes to us as Father, Son and Spirit.
Tears formed as I lifted Benjamin from the font and marked him with the sign of the cross in holy oil: “Benjamin, beloved child of God from all eternity you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.”
Having spoken the words, I held him to my face and kissed him. I loved him with the love that is in me, the Love that you are, my Lord.
I yearned for this child, wanting him to be filled with the wonder of life and the beauty of all that he is. I wanted him to know great love surrounding him all the days of his life. I wanted him to share in the resurrected life of Jesus--hoping he would always know he is beloved by you since before the birth of the worlds.
And in that moment, I knew the love you are, Holy One, for this is the very same thing you want for this little child … and for me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Today’s text
1 John 1:4-5
Our life is shared with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. We are writing this to you so that our joy may be complete. This is what we have heard from him and are declaring to you: God is light, and there is no darkness in him at all.
Reflection
Each morning I pull back the corner of the drapes in the bedroom and look east, into the coming day. I want to see the pale blue of clear days just before the sun rises above the trees.
I don’t always get what I want. Some mornings promise only gray skies. That’s alright, but my heart is brighter on days when the air is clear and the sky transparent, eagerly waiting for the sun to fill the Earth with light.
And to fill me.
I, too, am filled with light on such mornings, and I know what it is to be light, to know the light of God far beyond the promising light of morning.
You are light, Holy One. I know your light as interior experience, an intuition not only on bright but gray days as well.
But this day is bright, as are all days when I know you as internal brightness, the joyful lilt of heart that is ready to welcome each face the day brings, receiving all that comes with a gentle and open spirit beyond all defensiveness and fear.
Filled with light and joy, knowing not an iota of anxiety, I … I love. Love flows freely because my heart is filled with the light you are. In this state, I begin to see as you see, to understand as you understand, to love as you love.
I sense how you see me and all that is. You hold us in loving joy, in this appreciative delight that fills me. I experience a lightness of being, lightness of soul, and all that is shines in its created beauty.
My eye and heart is open and eager not to grasp the day and claim it as my own, but to gently receive it, appreciating each moment as a holy gift.
I am free from every need to be something, prove something or do something other than to bask in the light that fills me--and to know the joy of the One who is light.
You are light, Holy One, and there is no darkness in you. Flood my heart with light all this day that I may continue to taste the joy that is in you.
Pr. David L. Miller
1 John 1:4-5
Our life is shared with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. We are writing this to you so that our joy may be complete. This is what we have heard from him and are declaring to you: God is light, and there is no darkness in him at all.
Reflection
Each morning I pull back the corner of the drapes in the bedroom and look east, into the coming day. I want to see the pale blue of clear days just before the sun rises above the trees.
I don’t always get what I want. Some mornings promise only gray skies. That’s alright, but my heart is brighter on days when the air is clear and the sky transparent, eagerly waiting for the sun to fill the Earth with light.
And to fill me.
I, too, am filled with light on such mornings, and I know what it is to be light, to know the light of God far beyond the promising light of morning.
You are light, Holy One. I know your light as interior experience, an intuition not only on bright but gray days as well.
But this day is bright, as are all days when I know you as internal brightness, the joyful lilt of heart that is ready to welcome each face the day brings, receiving all that comes with a gentle and open spirit beyond all defensiveness and fear.
Filled with light and joy, knowing not an iota of anxiety, I … I love. Love flows freely because my heart is filled with the light you are. In this state, I begin to see as you see, to understand as you understand, to love as you love.
I sense how you see me and all that is. You hold us in loving joy, in this appreciative delight that fills me. I experience a lightness of being, lightness of soul, and all that is shines in its created beauty.
My eye and heart is open and eager not to grasp the day and claim it as my own, but to gently receive it, appreciating each moment as a holy gift.
I am free from every need to be something, prove something or do something other than to bask in the light that fills me--and to know the joy of the One who is light.
You are light, Holy One, and there is no darkness in you. Flood my heart with light all this day that I may continue to taste the joy that is in you.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Today’s text
1 John 1:1-4
Something which has existed since the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our own eyes, which we have watched and touched with our own hands, the Word of life -- this is our theme. That life was made visible; we saw it and are giving our testimony, declaring to you the eternal life, which was present to the Father and has been revealed to us. We are declaring to you what we have seen and heard, so that you too may share our life. Our life is shared with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. We are writing this to you so that our joy may be complete.
Reflection
The place of joy is not a place but a movement, a flow, ever changing and always new. Joy is not a point of arrival but a way of being and living, the way of sharing life and emotion, experience and wisdom.
Joy happens when you are caught in … or surrender to the flow of love and life that moves from the Infinite Source to the Son, Jesus, who is the gracious face of the Eternal Mystery who cannot be seen or touched or known.
Love and life flows from the Father, the Source, the Eternal Mystery, to the Son … and onto us. Jesus shares intimate fellowship with the Father whose being flows into him … and onto us as we live in communion with him and all those who enjoy communion with him.
The result is joy. It cannot be otherwise. In the communion of receiving and sharing the love and life of our Source, we are at home, a home that is not a place but a way of being.
The way is receiving, again and again. No, constantly, each day allowing the flow of love from the Father wash over us and move us however and in whatever direction it may take us, nudge us.
The way of joy is to flow with the current of life and love from God, which means not grasping or holding fast to the life we have received or to whom we think we are.
We hold our lives as in an open hand, allowing what is there, what is in us and who we are to flow onto others that the life that is in us and the love we know is a current coursing from us to others.
Just so, we are part of the river, joined in the common current of love and life that emerges from the Source, the Father, the Infinite Mystery, the Eternal One.
Joy is being, knowing and feeling oneself in such shared fellowship where who and what we are is shared, flowing to others even as their wisdom, struggle and grace, their pains and joys flow from them to us and others in this stream of life.
Our lives are not a possession to be grasped tightly in fearful hands. Grasping brings more fear; opening heart and mind to receive and share is the way of joy through which the river grows wide and deep.
Pr. David L. Miller
1 John 1:1-4
Something which has existed since the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our own eyes, which we have watched and touched with our own hands, the Word of life -- this is our theme. That life was made visible; we saw it and are giving our testimony, declaring to you the eternal life, which was present to the Father and has been revealed to us. We are declaring to you what we have seen and heard, so that you too may share our life. Our life is shared with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. We are writing this to you so that our joy may be complete.
Reflection
The place of joy is not a place but a movement, a flow, ever changing and always new. Joy is not a point of arrival but a way of being and living, the way of sharing life and emotion, experience and wisdom.
Joy happens when you are caught in … or surrender to the flow of love and life that moves from the Infinite Source to the Son, Jesus, who is the gracious face of the Eternal Mystery who cannot be seen or touched or known.
Love and life flows from the Father, the Source, the Eternal Mystery, to the Son … and onto us. Jesus shares intimate fellowship with the Father whose being flows into him … and onto us as we live in communion with him and all those who enjoy communion with him.
The result is joy. It cannot be otherwise. In the communion of receiving and sharing the love and life of our Source, we are at home, a home that is not a place but a way of being.
The way is receiving, again and again. No, constantly, each day allowing the flow of love from the Father wash over us and move us however and in whatever direction it may take us, nudge us.
The way of joy is to flow with the current of life and love from God, which means not grasping or holding fast to the life we have received or to whom we think we are.
We hold our lives as in an open hand, allowing what is there, what is in us and who we are to flow onto others that the life that is in us and the love we know is a current coursing from us to others.
Just so, we are part of the river, joined in the common current of love and life that emerges from the Source, the Father, the Infinite Mystery, the Eternal One.
Joy is being, knowing and feeling oneself in such shared fellowship where who and what we are is shared, flowing to others even as their wisdom, struggle and grace, their pains and joys flow from them to us and others in this stream of life.
Our lives are not a possession to be grasped tightly in fearful hands. Grasping brings more fear; opening heart and mind to receive and share is the way of joy through which the river grows wide and deep.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Today’s text
1 John 1:1-3
Something which has existed since the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our own eyes, which we have watched and touched with our own hands, the Word of life -- this is our theme. That life was made visible; we saw it and are giving our testimony, declaring to you the eternal life, which was present to the Father and has been revealed to us. We are declaring to you what we have seen and heard, so that you too may share our life. Our life is shared with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ.
Reflection
I envy those who saw and knew Jesus in the first generations of the church.
I don’t want to live in that more primitive time. I like our modern comforts. But I would have been deeply moved to sit at the feet of people who actually knew Jesus, touched him and felt what it was l like to be near him.
Even at this distance, I imagine the amazement in their faces and the glow in their eyes at the wonder they felt. I see and hear as they struggle for words to speak what they saw and felt and knew.
And I see myself in rapt attention, waiting for their words and presence to carry me away into the Eternal Presence where the soul tingles with joy in the awareness of being in God, inside the eternal and all-loving.
I can imagine and feel this only because I have sat at the feet of those whose bearing and words conveyed the presence of that which was from the beginning. I have known those who lived in such close communion with God, the Father, and Jesus, his son, so that eternity was in them, visible and touchable, touching me.
Their presence bore the Presence of the unseen God. Their faces shared the light that filled the face of Jesus. They knew what it was to share wordless communion with the Holy Presence, and their presence shared the light and warmth of the Holy Presence of those who were near.
We share and speak what have seen and known, what we have touched and what has touched us.
I need not return to the first century to know the hearts who knew Jesus alive and risen. I need only be with those who live in communion with him, to hear their words and listen to what is in their hearts.
Time is no obstacle to seeing and knowing him. He is as near as the light in the eyes of those who love him, as close as those who abide in the mystery of eternal love.
Pr. David L. Miller
1 John 1:1-3
Something which has existed since the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our own eyes, which we have watched and touched with our own hands, the Word of life -- this is our theme. That life was made visible; we saw it and are giving our testimony, declaring to you the eternal life, which was present to the Father and has been revealed to us. We are declaring to you what we have seen and heard, so that you too may share our life. Our life is shared with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ.
Reflection
I envy those who saw and knew Jesus in the first generations of the church.
I don’t want to live in that more primitive time. I like our modern comforts. But I would have been deeply moved to sit at the feet of people who actually knew Jesus, touched him and felt what it was l like to be near him.
Even at this distance, I imagine the amazement in their faces and the glow in their eyes at the wonder they felt. I see and hear as they struggle for words to speak what they saw and felt and knew.
And I see myself in rapt attention, waiting for their words and presence to carry me away into the Eternal Presence where the soul tingles with joy in the awareness of being in God, inside the eternal and all-loving.
I can imagine and feel this only because I have sat at the feet of those whose bearing and words conveyed the presence of that which was from the beginning. I have known those who lived in such close communion with God, the Father, and Jesus, his son, so that eternity was in them, visible and touchable, touching me.
Their presence bore the Presence of the unseen God. Their faces shared the light that filled the face of Jesus. They knew what it was to share wordless communion with the Holy Presence, and their presence shared the light and warmth of the Holy Presence of those who were near.
We share and speak what have seen and known, what we have touched and what has touched us.
I need not return to the first century to know the hearts who knew Jesus alive and risen. I need only be with those who live in communion with him, to hear their words and listen to what is in their hearts.
Time is no obstacle to seeing and knowing him. He is as near as the light in the eyes of those who love him, as close as those who abide in the mystery of eternal love.
Pr. David L. Miller
Saturday, April 07, 2012
April 8, 2012
Today's text
Mark 16:1-8
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?' But when they looked they saw that the stone -- which was very big -- had already been rolled back. On entering the tomb they saw a young man in a white robe seated on the right-hand side, and they were struck with amazement. But he said to them, 'There is no need to be so amazed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: he has risen, he is not here. See, here is the place where they laid him. But you must go and tell his disciples and Peter, "He is going ahead of you to Galilee; that is where you will see him, just as he told you." ' And the women came out and ran away from the tomb because they were frightened out of their wits; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Reflection
There are some people you just love, and I love these people, these three, who walk to Jesus tomb.
I love them because they look so much like other faces I have known, faces I have known around the world; faces I’ve laughed and cried with, faces I have known and loved, right here … in this place.
I have seen these faces tracked with tears, faces that know the pains of living and loving and laying to rest someone they loved more than they thought.
The faces of the three who come to Jesus tomb are like this, and I love them for the love I see in them.
They come to the place of death to perform an act of love, to anoint their tortured, lifeless friend, Jesus, a final blessing for one who loved them completely, totally, despite their confusion, doubt, betrayal and failure to understand or be of much help to him.
I want the same thing for them that I want for every face I meet in the communion line each week. I want this same thing for every person I have seen standing at the foot of a grave, and for every soul who enters my office space bearing the wounds and weight life lays on human beings.
I want the stone that crushes them to be moved away. But who will roll away the stone?
Who will roll away the stone that weighs our souls and entombs our hearts? I need someone, something to roll away the stone that weighs me down, that entombs my heart.
For I am like you. I want to live.
II
So often, I don’t.
I am held down by the stone that traps me in my tomb. It is failure, failure to be the person I am, failure to share the love I feel, the goodness I know in myself and others. There is fear that life is passing me by, that I have failed to live because I have been too afraid … to share the love I feel from the living Christ, afraid of rejection or of being dismissed, devalued and unaccepted.
There are other stones that trap you in the place of death, where joy does not come.
Our stones are the weight of the past and the fear of the future, the wounds and regrets we bear that won’t let us go. Our stones are the pains of the present and anxieties about tomorrow that weigh so heavily we can’t breathe deeply and feel freedom and peace, confidence and joy.
You can name the stones that entomb you: Deaths you continue to grieve; disappointments, losses and failures that refuse to release their grip; fears about growing old and sick; heart wounds inflicted by those who may not have a clue that their words stick to us like glue. Our stones are the hard work of caring for loved ones and work that wears us down and erodes our joy; then there is the doubt that God is real or good, or that God will come to us when we hurt and need.
Who will roll away the stone? It’s the Easter question. Often, our most honest prayer is, “Good Lord, move that stone.”
III
Let me tell you why I am here, why I am a pastor and why I bother to struggle to talk about things I will never understand.
I have met a power that moves stones, a power that is not force but love. I have seen it, felt it and been set free by it.
I hunger for it because I need that love to come and release me from my tomb again and again lest my heart grow weary and joyless.
I find this love exactly where the messenger at the tomb says it will be found, in Galilee.
Don’t look for Jesus in a tomb, the messenger says, and don’t be so afraid and confused. There is no need. Go to Galilee. There you will see him, feel him, know him. There you will meet the Jesus who lives and moves stones away that you may live.
Galilee was home for Jesus’ friends, the place of their normal life and work. There they … you … will see him.
Open your eyes; open your heart that you may see him where he is … in the places you live.
He will meet you in a love that is new every morning, whispering in your soul that your hunger for the fullness of life and joy is not an illusion but the gift the risen Jesus will give you each day.
The love of God that filled Jesus is risen and released into creation. He flows into relationships and seeps into the structures and fabric of all reality. The love that he is labors in the depths of matter and in every circumstance of our lives.
We live in the environment of Jesus risen presence. The risen One surrounds us like an ocean of love and grace, working in hidden and unseen ways amid the daily and the drab, the demands and destruction.
He is there in seemingly forsaken moments of pain and loss when we don’t see or feel him, when all we have is the promise that sooner or later we will see and know him again in our Galilee.
He will meet us, sometimes when we least expect.
But we will know him … because our hearts will be lifted by love and the stones that hold us down will be rolled away … and we will know what it is to feel alive and free.
I meet my risen Lord in the words, the tears, the blessing, the hope I see in you.
For you, the people of this congregation, are my Galilee, the place of common life where I have been told to go looking for Jesus.
If you want to see Jesus, don’t run away and pretend you can be Christian all by yourself. Hang out with people who love him, who want to feel him, who are moved by the great love that is in him.
Listen to them, pray with them, play with them, drink and laugh with them, share your hopes and hurts with them. Sooner or later you will look into their eyes and see the Love that made the stars staring back at you.
You will know the Love that kills death and moves stones from heavy hearts.
And you will know that Jesus is risen … and is out there ahead of you ... in Galilee.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 16:1-8
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?' But when they looked they saw that the stone -- which was very big -- had already been rolled back. On entering the tomb they saw a young man in a white robe seated on the right-hand side, and they were struck with amazement. But he said to them, 'There is no need to be so amazed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: he has risen, he is not here. See, here is the place where they laid him. But you must go and tell his disciples and Peter, "He is going ahead of you to Galilee; that is where you will see him, just as he told you." ' And the women came out and ran away from the tomb because they were frightened out of their wits; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Reflection
There are some people you just love, and I love these people, these three, who walk to Jesus tomb.
I love them because they look so much like other faces I have known, faces I have known around the world; faces I’ve laughed and cried with, faces I have known and loved, right here … in this place.
I have seen these faces tracked with tears, faces that know the pains of living and loving and laying to rest someone they loved more than they thought.
The faces of the three who come to Jesus tomb are like this, and I love them for the love I see in them.
They come to the place of death to perform an act of love, to anoint their tortured, lifeless friend, Jesus, a final blessing for one who loved them completely, totally, despite their confusion, doubt, betrayal and failure to understand or be of much help to him.
I want the same thing for them that I want for every face I meet in the communion line each week. I want this same thing for every person I have seen standing at the foot of a grave, and for every soul who enters my office space bearing the wounds and weight life lays on human beings.
I want the stone that crushes them to be moved away. But who will roll away the stone?
Who will roll away the stone that weighs our souls and entombs our hearts? I need someone, something to roll away the stone that weighs me down, that entombs my heart.
For I am like you. I want to live.
II
So often, I don’t.
I am held down by the stone that traps me in my tomb. It is failure, failure to be the person I am, failure to share the love I feel, the goodness I know in myself and others. There is fear that life is passing me by, that I have failed to live because I have been too afraid … to share the love I feel from the living Christ, afraid of rejection or of being dismissed, devalued and unaccepted.
There are other stones that trap you in the place of death, where joy does not come.
Our stones are the weight of the past and the fear of the future, the wounds and regrets we bear that won’t let us go. Our stones are the pains of the present and anxieties about tomorrow that weigh so heavily we can’t breathe deeply and feel freedom and peace, confidence and joy.
You can name the stones that entomb you: Deaths you continue to grieve; disappointments, losses and failures that refuse to release their grip; fears about growing old and sick; heart wounds inflicted by those who may not have a clue that their words stick to us like glue. Our stones are the hard work of caring for loved ones and work that wears us down and erodes our joy; then there is the doubt that God is real or good, or that God will come to us when we hurt and need.
Who will roll away the stone? It’s the Easter question. Often, our most honest prayer is, “Good Lord, move that stone.”
III
Let me tell you why I am here, why I am a pastor and why I bother to struggle to talk about things I will never understand.
I have met a power that moves stones, a power that is not force but love. I have seen it, felt it and been set free by it.
I hunger for it because I need that love to come and release me from my tomb again and again lest my heart grow weary and joyless.
I find this love exactly where the messenger at the tomb says it will be found, in Galilee.
Don’t look for Jesus in a tomb, the messenger says, and don’t be so afraid and confused. There is no need. Go to Galilee. There you will see him, feel him, know him. There you will meet the Jesus who lives and moves stones away that you may live.
Galilee was home for Jesus’ friends, the place of their normal life and work. There they … you … will see him.
Open your eyes; open your heart that you may see him where he is … in the places you live.
He will meet you in a love that is new every morning, whispering in your soul that your hunger for the fullness of life and joy is not an illusion but the gift the risen Jesus will give you each day.
The love of God that filled Jesus is risen and released into creation. He flows into relationships and seeps into the structures and fabric of all reality. The love that he is labors in the depths of matter and in every circumstance of our lives.
We live in the environment of Jesus risen presence. The risen One surrounds us like an ocean of love and grace, working in hidden and unseen ways amid the daily and the drab, the demands and destruction.
He is there in seemingly forsaken moments of pain and loss when we don’t see or feel him, when all we have is the promise that sooner or later we will see and know him again in our Galilee.
He will meet us, sometimes when we least expect.
But we will know him … because our hearts will be lifted by love and the stones that hold us down will be rolled away … and we will know what it is to feel alive and free.
I meet my risen Lord in the words, the tears, the blessing, the hope I see in you.
For you, the people of this congregation, are my Galilee, the place of common life where I have been told to go looking for Jesus.
If you want to see Jesus, don’t run away and pretend you can be Christian all by yourself. Hang out with people who love him, who want to feel him, who are moved by the great love that is in him.
Listen to them, pray with them, play with them, drink and laugh with them, share your hopes and hurts with them. Sooner or later you will look into their eyes and see the Love that made the stars staring back at you.
You will know the Love that kills death and moves stones from heavy hearts.
And you will know that Jesus is risen … and is out there ahead of you ... in Galilee.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, April 05, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Today’s text
Mark 16:1-8
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?' But when they looked they saw that the stone -- which was very big -- had already been rolled back. On entering the tomb they saw a young man in a white robe seated on the right-hand side, and they were struck with amazement. But he said to them, 'There is no need to be so amazed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: he has risen, he is not here. See, here is the place where they laid him. But you must go and tell his disciples and Peter, "He is going ahead of you to Galilee; that is where you will see him, just as he told you." ' And the women came out and ran away from the tomb because they were frightened out of their wits; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Reflection
When is an ending not an ending? When it is the beginning. This is a beginning, an invitation to forever.
You do not appear in this story Jesus. You are missing in action. The Resurrection story is all about you, but you are not there.
The story ends with fearful people, who don’t know what is happening, being told to go find you, go where you may be found and known. Galilee is the name of the place.
It is the place where they began, where they first met you. You live there, and there they will know who you are, risen and alive, your risen nearness loving them and moving stones away from their lives that they, too, may live.
I want to live. I want the stone rolled away, the stone that holds me down, entombing my heart.
It’s name is failure, failure to be the soul you made me to be, failure to share the beauty, love and life that I can be at my very best but so seldom am, failure to connect with other hearts so that the goodness in them communes with the goodness in me, failure to find acceptance and connection with human hearts.
That’s my stone, and sometimes it is so heavy I can barely think and sleep flees.
There are other stones that trap human souls in the place of death, where joy does not come. Name your own. I need not try. You know them.
Our stones are the weight of the past and the fear of the future, the wounds and regrets we bear from long ago and that won’t let us go that we can breathe and feel freedom and peace, confidence and joy. They are the anxieties about the future that prevent us from living fully in the present moment.
Who will roll away the stone? What will roll away the stone? Only you, Lord, only the love that cannot be help captive, the love that is stronger than death.
And where do we find that? Only where you are, only where you live. And where is that? Galilee.
The messengers of the Resurrection send the fearful and trembling, the curious and the confused friends of Jesus back to Galilee, to the places where they were born, where they worked and sweated, lived and loved, fought and struggled to know joy.
There, in that common place, you live, Jesus. There, we know you as Lord of life whose love comes to us and removes the stones that entomb our hearts, there we meet you in the power and presence of a risen love that is new every morning and seeks us, whispering in our enslaved souls that our hunger for freedom, for the fullness of life and joy is not an illusion, not a fantasy but is the gift the risen Lord will give us … if we will go where he is, where he lives.
Go to Galilee, the places of our common lives. He lives there. You will see him.
The women flee the tomb and went to Jesus’ friends. They tell what they have seen. Then, the group goes into Galilee with eyes open and aching to see and be touched by a love that won’t quit, a love that moves stones away from human hearts and situations.
They go to meet Jesus. So must we, if we are to know the Resurrection of the One our hearts most need.
So keep your eyes open and your heart, too. For it is the heart that sees him. It is the heart’s hunger that pushes us to see Jesus living in the love that lifts human souls. It is the heart that keeps hoping and praying.
It is the heart that recognizes Jesus each time we feel the weight of stones being lifted from our heart, every time we feel ourselves being saved from sadness and brought to joy--such saving moments happen in the Galilees of our lives because Jesus is risen.
The end of the story is only the beginning of knowing and seeing him, forever.
He is Lord, and the love that is in him will fill you and all that is.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 16:1-8
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?' But when they looked they saw that the stone -- which was very big -- had already been rolled back. On entering the tomb they saw a young man in a white robe seated on the right-hand side, and they were struck with amazement. But he said to them, 'There is no need to be so amazed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: he has risen, he is not here. See, here is the place where they laid him. But you must go and tell his disciples and Peter, "He is going ahead of you to Galilee; that is where you will see him, just as he told you." ' And the women came out and ran away from the tomb because they were frightened out of their wits; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Reflection
When is an ending not an ending? When it is the beginning. This is a beginning, an invitation to forever.
You do not appear in this story Jesus. You are missing in action. The Resurrection story is all about you, but you are not there.
The story ends with fearful people, who don’t know what is happening, being told to go find you, go where you may be found and known. Galilee is the name of the place.
It is the place where they began, where they first met you. You live there, and there they will know who you are, risen and alive, your risen nearness loving them and moving stones away from their lives that they, too, may live.
I want to live. I want the stone rolled away, the stone that holds me down, entombing my heart.
It’s name is failure, failure to be the soul you made me to be, failure to share the beauty, love and life that I can be at my very best but so seldom am, failure to connect with other hearts so that the goodness in them communes with the goodness in me, failure to find acceptance and connection with human hearts.
That’s my stone, and sometimes it is so heavy I can barely think and sleep flees.
There are other stones that trap human souls in the place of death, where joy does not come. Name your own. I need not try. You know them.
Our stones are the weight of the past and the fear of the future, the wounds and regrets we bear from long ago and that won’t let us go that we can breathe and feel freedom and peace, confidence and joy. They are the anxieties about the future that prevent us from living fully in the present moment.
Who will roll away the stone? What will roll away the stone? Only you, Lord, only the love that cannot be help captive, the love that is stronger than death.
And where do we find that? Only where you are, only where you live. And where is that? Galilee.
The messengers of the Resurrection send the fearful and trembling, the curious and the confused friends of Jesus back to Galilee, to the places where they were born, where they worked and sweated, lived and loved, fought and struggled to know joy.
There, in that common place, you live, Jesus. There, we know you as Lord of life whose love comes to us and removes the stones that entomb our hearts, there we meet you in the power and presence of a risen love that is new every morning and seeks us, whispering in our enslaved souls that our hunger for freedom, for the fullness of life and joy is not an illusion, not a fantasy but is the gift the risen Lord will give us … if we will go where he is, where he lives.
Go to Galilee, the places of our common lives. He lives there. You will see him.
The women flee the tomb and went to Jesus’ friends. They tell what they have seen. Then, the group goes into Galilee with eyes open and aching to see and be touched by a love that won’t quit, a love that moves stones away from human hearts and situations.
They go to meet Jesus. So must we, if we are to know the Resurrection of the One our hearts most need.
So keep your eyes open and your heart, too. For it is the heart that sees him. It is the heart’s hunger that pushes us to see Jesus living in the love that lifts human souls. It is the heart that keeps hoping and praying.
It is the heart that recognizes Jesus each time we feel the weight of stones being lifted from our heart, every time we feel ourselves being saved from sadness and brought to joy--such saving moments happen in the Galilees of our lives because Jesus is risen.
The end of the story is only the beginning of knowing and seeing him, forever.
He is Lord, and the love that is in him will fill you and all that is.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Today’s text
Mark 16:1-4
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?' But when they looked they saw that the stone -- which was very big -- had already been rolled back.
Reflection
And then what? What do you do when the stone has been rolled away?
I imagine the women were afraid and approached with great caution. They immediately knew something was amiss. Stones don’t move themselves. Were powerful people nearby? Is it safe? Should we return home and bring reinforcements for protection?
With quiet, hesitant steps they approach the tomb. Fear has replaced their grief and love. They do not know what has happened, what is going on.
Truer words cannot be spoken. They do not know, and it is a fearful thing. The power of God has touched this place and reordered the world.
They understood the world they had inhabited. The dead are dead, and large rocks don’t get up and get out of your way. Love brings grief, and obstacles in one’s path must be overcome, overpowered, or you just have to live with them.
That’s life. The way things are.
But the stone had been moved out of the way; the obstacle to their mission removed, and the world as they knew it was changed.
A new world had dawned. Oh, it was the same old world with grief and pain, longing and loss, a world with such exquisite beauty it makes you weep for joy at the wonder of being a human soul, only to cut you to the quick within a moment.
All this remained, but the rules had changed. Death was no longer the end. The heavy stones that crush life and get in the way of living had been rolled away by a power human minds cannot grasp, a power that is much love as force.
The women did not grasp this for a long time, if they ever fully did. Maybe no one ever does in this life.
They were afraid. The order of existence had been changed, and it was not clear what had come or what was happening.
The question for them, for all, is whether they were willing to walk into that future, walk into the empty tomb and beyond it to see what the love of a death killing God might do … with them.
They did, and because they did the flame of an eternal, deathless love burns … in me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 16:1-4
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?' But when they looked they saw that the stone -- which was very big -- had already been rolled back.
Reflection
And then what? What do you do when the stone has been rolled away?
I imagine the women were afraid and approached with great caution. They immediately knew something was amiss. Stones don’t move themselves. Were powerful people nearby? Is it safe? Should we return home and bring reinforcements for protection?
With quiet, hesitant steps they approach the tomb. Fear has replaced their grief and love. They do not know what has happened, what is going on.
Truer words cannot be spoken. They do not know, and it is a fearful thing. The power of God has touched this place and reordered the world.
They understood the world they had inhabited. The dead are dead, and large rocks don’t get up and get out of your way. Love brings grief, and obstacles in one’s path must be overcome, overpowered, or you just have to live with them.
That’s life. The way things are.
But the stone had been moved out of the way; the obstacle to their mission removed, and the world as they knew it was changed.
A new world had dawned. Oh, it was the same old world with grief and pain, longing and loss, a world with such exquisite beauty it makes you weep for joy at the wonder of being a human soul, only to cut you to the quick within a moment.
All this remained, but the rules had changed. Death was no longer the end. The heavy stones that crush life and get in the way of living had been rolled away by a power human minds cannot grasp, a power that is much love as force.
The women did not grasp this for a long time, if they ever fully did. Maybe no one ever does in this life.
They were afraid. The order of existence had been changed, and it was not clear what had come or what was happening.
The question for them, for all, is whether they were willing to walk into that future, walk into the empty tomb and beyond it to see what the love of a death killing God might do … with them.
They did, and because they did the flame of an eternal, deathless love burns … in me.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Today’s text
Mark 16:1-3
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?'
Reflection
Who will move the stone? This is the most human question of all and the most understandable.
What is less understandable is why the women would set out on their mission of final mercies without knowing how they could get to Jesus body. But they didn’t let that stop them, which makes them a little unusual.
It’s a wonder their question didn’t stop them in their tracks. Who will roll away the stone?
It is profoundly human to see what is wrong, to focus on the threat, the problem, the negativity--and to stop cold until a solution to the problem appears.
But they didn’t stop. They continued on. I have no idea what they expected to find or whether they believed they would arrive at the tomb and be blocked from their mission by the weight of the stone.
I can’t know their thoughts. I doubt that they believed there would be some miracle to remove the obstacle from their path. I suspect sadness filled their hearts more than any vain hope.
All I have is this verbal picture of them as they move slowly on, their hearts broken as they try to perform a final act of mercy for a brutalized, lifeless friend.
But I feel the invitation of Resurrection in their actions.
The invitation is to trust and continue, to go on, to do the deeds of mercy, recognizing that, like them, I do not know what is to come. I have no idea what wonder might appear. I can’t know what God has up his sleeve.
The Resurrection invites me to do what I can, leaving to God what I cannot do, trusting that divine power and mercy can and will do more than I imagine.
But like the women, I will never see it, never feel it, never enter the wonder of a love that cannot be stopped unless I continue forward even when great obstacles seem insurmountable.
Life holds many heavy stones. Don’t let them stop you. Continue on. You know who will move them.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 16:1-3
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?'
Reflection
Who will move the stone? This is the most human question of all and the most understandable.
What is less understandable is why the women would set out on their mission of final mercies without knowing how they could get to Jesus body. But they didn’t let that stop them, which makes them a little unusual.
It’s a wonder their question didn’t stop them in their tracks. Who will roll away the stone?
It is profoundly human to see what is wrong, to focus on the threat, the problem, the negativity--and to stop cold until a solution to the problem appears.
But they didn’t stop. They continued on. I have no idea what they expected to find or whether they believed they would arrive at the tomb and be blocked from their mission by the weight of the stone.
I can’t know their thoughts. I doubt that they believed there would be some miracle to remove the obstacle from their path. I suspect sadness filled their hearts more than any vain hope.
All I have is this verbal picture of them as they move slowly on, their hearts broken as they try to perform a final act of mercy for a brutalized, lifeless friend.
But I feel the invitation of Resurrection in their actions.
The invitation is to trust and continue, to go on, to do the deeds of mercy, recognizing that, like them, I do not know what is to come. I have no idea what wonder might appear. I can’t know what God has up his sleeve.
The Resurrection invites me to do what I can, leaving to God what I cannot do, trusting that divine power and mercy can and will do more than I imagine.
But like the women, I will never see it, never feel it, never enter the wonder of a love that cannot be stopped unless I continue forward even when great obstacles seem insurmountable.
Life holds many heavy stones. Don’t let them stop you. Continue on. You know who will move them.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, April 02, 2012
Monday, April 2, 2012
Today’s text
Mark 16:1
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him.
Reflection
Yes, I know; I am getting ahead of the story. Holy Week dawns with the awareness of the brutality to come.
Betrayal by friends, fear of suffering, whippings, beatings, the grotesque torture of crucifixion--the events of Jesus last week are well known. The great liturgies of the church year reflect on each one, lest we miss we what we might see and feel as we listen and watch the face of Jesus.
Each scene tells us something about ourselves, about the nature of life in this world and about the heart of God that was in Jesus.
Each one makes me squirm, as I see human treachery and weakness revealed in how he was betrayed and denied by friends--and by enemies who expediently denied their highest principles to get rid of him.
I see his struggle to pray and enter that quiet space in his soul where the Father’s loving presence filled him, only to fail to find what he needed.
I see him whipped and suffering, bleeding and screaming as nails rip his flesh. I see him lift himself on the nails, excruciating pain tears soul and body as he struggles for breath.
I see, and I want to hurry to the end. The images are too raw, the suffering too real in a world where brutalities of one sort or another continue to be wreaked upon human flesh by callous souls for whom compassion is a stranger.
I want to hurry to the place of quiet, the silence of death, where Jesus is free of torture and pain, where the gentle hands of those who loved him carry spices to anoint his limp body and lay him finally to rest.
I want to move past the brutality to the compassion of human hearts whose grace and beauty were awakened in his presence.
I am among them. I am them. These are my brothers and my sisters, the souls of hope who came alive in his presence, whose hearts took wing in his nearness, whose beauty shined in the presence of the eternal beauty that filled him.
Tears flow as I see them walking toward the tomb of Jesus. But my tears are not only of grief but of love and hope. Even amid his death, they are alive. Their hearts continue to beat.
I do not speak of their biological life, but of the inner life of love that is the Spirit of God. They are alive, and the Love that is the substance of the invisible and unimaginable God is the beating of their hearts, the breath of their lives.
You, Jesus have already given them resurrection. The love that is stronger than death is in them. It brings them to the place of death in order to love, to love you, and for this I love them so greatly, yes, for this I love you beyond any measure.
For you are the Love that does not die in this heart of mine nor in the hearts of those who love you.
I see them, Jesus, they go to the tomb. You were not there. You were already alive in them, and soon they would see you, even as I do now.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 16:1
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him.
Reflection
Yes, I know; I am getting ahead of the story. Holy Week dawns with the awareness of the brutality to come.
Betrayal by friends, fear of suffering, whippings, beatings, the grotesque torture of crucifixion--the events of Jesus last week are well known. The great liturgies of the church year reflect on each one, lest we miss we what we might see and feel as we listen and watch the face of Jesus.
Each scene tells us something about ourselves, about the nature of life in this world and about the heart of God that was in Jesus.
Each one makes me squirm, as I see human treachery and weakness revealed in how he was betrayed and denied by friends--and by enemies who expediently denied their highest principles to get rid of him.
I see his struggle to pray and enter that quiet space in his soul where the Father’s loving presence filled him, only to fail to find what he needed.
I see him whipped and suffering, bleeding and screaming as nails rip his flesh. I see him lift himself on the nails, excruciating pain tears soul and body as he struggles for breath.
I see, and I want to hurry to the end. The images are too raw, the suffering too real in a world where brutalities of one sort or another continue to be wreaked upon human flesh by callous souls for whom compassion is a stranger.
I want to hurry to the place of quiet, the silence of death, where Jesus is free of torture and pain, where the gentle hands of those who loved him carry spices to anoint his limp body and lay him finally to rest.
I want to move past the brutality to the compassion of human hearts whose grace and beauty were awakened in his presence.
I am among them. I am them. These are my brothers and my sisters, the souls of hope who came alive in his presence, whose hearts took wing in his nearness, whose beauty shined in the presence of the eternal beauty that filled him.
Tears flow as I see them walking toward the tomb of Jesus. But my tears are not only of grief but of love and hope. Even amid his death, they are alive. Their hearts continue to beat.
I do not speak of their biological life, but of the inner life of love that is the Spirit of God. They are alive, and the Love that is the substance of the invisible and unimaginable God is the beating of their hearts, the breath of their lives.
You, Jesus have already given them resurrection. The love that is stronger than death is in them. It brings them to the place of death in order to love, to love you, and for this I love them so greatly, yes, for this I love you beyond any measure.
For you are the Love that does not die in this heart of mine nor in the hearts of those who love you.
I see them, Jesus, they go to the tomb. You were not there. You were already alive in them, and soon they would see you, even as I do now.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Today’s text
Philippians 2:5-8
Make your own the mind of Christ Jesus: Who, being in the form of God, did not count equality with God something to be grasped. But he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, becoming as human beings are; and being in every way like a human being, he was humbler yet, even to accepting death, death on a cross.
Reflection
There is little around of the mind of Christ today, or do I fail to know how to look and see?
The mind of Christ is given-ness to the love of the God who is Love, whose will is life and whose joy is to see human souls breathe deeply, drawing in the good air of Earth that they may come fully alive to all they are and all that is.
Standing in the church garden, I stretch my arms, reaching for the sky. I feel the goodness of cramped muscles lengthening, unbinding from the clench of winter. I stretch and release the tension as my hands reach high, and suddenly mere exercise becomes prayer.
An endless blue sky is scattered with thin cirrus clouds, feathers of heaven, high, very high. A jet plies its highway across the blue, across the country, heading somewhere east; the clouds are so high I see the jet passing far beneath them.
And I laugh in awareness that I am … that I am alive … and that in this moment I am happy to see the blue and the jet and feel aging muscles rejoice as I reach for heaven’s gate, straining to touch the face of He who is the Source of this moment.
I feel the truth that my life and breath are a mysterious gift, and this moment, too, is gift, as I feel the goodness of the One who made me, breathed life into me and gave me a soul to feel this moment.
What has any of this to do with the mind of Christ, the mind of my brother Jesus, who looked at the trees and flowers, the skies and waters of the good Earth and felt much as I do now?
Perhaps only that in this moment love flows freely from my heart, as from his, love for all that is on this Earth, for all that exists across the wonder of a universe I can’t begin to comprehend.
Love flows from the goodness of straining muscles and the joy of blue skies and the smallness of speeding jets dwarfed by feathery cirrus on this gentle March day.
Love flows from awareness of the gift and wonder of life--from the knowledge that the Father of Life is love, a Love whose goal is to awaken the Love he is in us that we, too, may give ourselves for others.
Just like our brother, Jesus, who is the face of the Love who fashioned blue skies and March mornings and loves us all … to the end … and beyond.
Pr. David L. Miller
Philippians 2:5-8
Make your own the mind of Christ Jesus: Who, being in the form of God, did not count equality with God something to be grasped. But he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, becoming as human beings are; and being in every way like a human being, he was humbler yet, even to accepting death, death on a cross.
Reflection
There is little around of the mind of Christ today, or do I fail to know how to look and see?
The mind of Christ is given-ness to the love of the God who is Love, whose will is life and whose joy is to see human souls breathe deeply, drawing in the good air of Earth that they may come fully alive to all they are and all that is.
Standing in the church garden, I stretch my arms, reaching for the sky. I feel the goodness of cramped muscles lengthening, unbinding from the clench of winter. I stretch and release the tension as my hands reach high, and suddenly mere exercise becomes prayer.
An endless blue sky is scattered with thin cirrus clouds, feathers of heaven, high, very high. A jet plies its highway across the blue, across the country, heading somewhere east; the clouds are so high I see the jet passing far beneath them.
And I laugh in awareness that I am … that I am alive … and that in this moment I am happy to see the blue and the jet and feel aging muscles rejoice as I reach for heaven’s gate, straining to touch the face of He who is the Source of this moment.
I feel the truth that my life and breath are a mysterious gift, and this moment, too, is gift, as I feel the goodness of the One who made me, breathed life into me and gave me a soul to feel this moment.
What has any of this to do with the mind of Christ, the mind of my brother Jesus, who looked at the trees and flowers, the skies and waters of the good Earth and felt much as I do now?
Perhaps only that in this moment love flows freely from my heart, as from his, love for all that is on this Earth, for all that exists across the wonder of a universe I can’t begin to comprehend.
Love flows from the goodness of straining muscles and the joy of blue skies and the smallness of speeding jets dwarfed by feathery cirrus on this gentle March day.
Love flows from awareness of the gift and wonder of life--from the knowledge that the Father of Life is love, a Love whose goal is to awaken the Love he is in us that we, too, may give ourselves for others.
Just like our brother, Jesus, who is the face of the Love who fashioned blue skies and March mornings and loves us all … to the end … and beyond.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Today’s text
Mark 11:4-10
They went off and found a colt tethered near a door in the open street. As they untied it, some men standing there said, 'What are you doing, untying that colt?' They gave the answer Jesus had told them, and the men let them go. Then they took the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on its back, and he mounted it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of David our father! Hosanna in the highest heavens!'
Reflection
When Jesus came to Jerusalem he came to conquer, but unlike those who came before him he carried no sword or shield. He rode no warhorse, nor was he pulled in a chariot by a prancing steed.
He bore no visible sign of power or empire; no military ensigns preceded him, trumpeting his arrival.
He came not to knock down walls or destroy his opponents but to conquer the human heart, to win allegiance to a new and holy kingdom where every living thing has its place, where all that breathes is loved and treasured, where the hungry have their needs fulfilled, where the broken find relief and blessing, and the forgotten feel how treasured they are in the hearts of God and all who belong to God.
His is a kingdom of peace where the heart of God becomes human reality, where the love of God flows like a fountain through every soul and the bliss of Eden is restored, where tears are wiped from the eyes of those who grieve and death is feared no more because every heart knows the love of God is stronger than death.
He comes in humility, seeking hearts who hunger for the kingdom of God, the rule of grace, the reign of blessed peace.
“Hosanna,” the crowds cried as he approached the ancient city of Jerusalem, already occupied by Roman, forces who ruled by fear and force, brutality and murder. The word is a prayer for mercy, “Save us, we pray.”
It’s a good prayer, as relevant now as then in our angry, violent, hungry age where the needy are oft forgotten and nations still believe peace comes through superior power not through commitment to justice and compassion.
Waving palms as Jesus passes is a prayer for God’s kingdom of compassion and peace. It is an act of surrender in which we turn from the way of the warhorse and give ourselves to his love that the holy kingdom might come … and come also through us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 11:4-10
They went off and found a colt tethered near a door in the open street. As they untied it, some men standing there said, 'What are you doing, untying that colt?' They gave the answer Jesus had told them, and the men let them go. Then they took the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on its back, and he mounted it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of David our father! Hosanna in the highest heavens!'
Reflection
When Jesus came to Jerusalem he came to conquer, but unlike those who came before him he carried no sword or shield. He rode no warhorse, nor was he pulled in a chariot by a prancing steed.
He bore no visible sign of power or empire; no military ensigns preceded him, trumpeting his arrival.
He came not to knock down walls or destroy his opponents but to conquer the human heart, to win allegiance to a new and holy kingdom where every living thing has its place, where all that breathes is loved and treasured, where the hungry have their needs fulfilled, where the broken find relief and blessing, and the forgotten feel how treasured they are in the hearts of God and all who belong to God.
His is a kingdom of peace where the heart of God becomes human reality, where the love of God flows like a fountain through every soul and the bliss of Eden is restored, where tears are wiped from the eyes of those who grieve and death is feared no more because every heart knows the love of God is stronger than death.
He comes in humility, seeking hearts who hunger for the kingdom of God, the rule of grace, the reign of blessed peace.
“Hosanna,” the crowds cried as he approached the ancient city of Jerusalem, already occupied by Roman, forces who ruled by fear and force, brutality and murder. The word is a prayer for mercy, “Save us, we pray.”
It’s a good prayer, as relevant now as then in our angry, violent, hungry age where the needy are oft forgotten and nations still believe peace comes through superior power not through commitment to justice and compassion.
Waving palms as Jesus passes is a prayer for God’s kingdom of compassion and peace. It is an act of surrender in which we turn from the way of the warhorse and give ourselves to his love that the holy kingdom might come … and come also through us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Today’s text
Mark 11:7-10
Then they took the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on its back, and he mounted it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of David our father! Hosanna in the highest heavens!'
Reflection
Those who shouted praise to God along the road had seen others ride into Jerusalem. Roman legions had marched into the city to take control, some riding snorting steeds, swords clattering as their horses climbed the rough road.
No one shouted praise to God for them. They came to occupy and pacify the population for the glory and enrichment of Rome. Power was their game, fear and force their way.
Then you come, Jesus, not on a snorting steed but a gentle young animal, and people throw their cloaks on the road and wave green branches from the trees, a symbol of peace, life and growth.
I remember the ancient story of Noah. Surviving the flood on his boat, he sends out a dove which returns with an olive branch, a sign of peace. The struggle with death had passed. The unruly waters would soon recede to their proper boundaries, and life could begin once more. A new start, a fresh beginning.
Ancient prophets, too, spoke of a king who would come humbly, mounted on a gentle beast instead of a war horse, to bring peace to a world accustomed to war and fear.
But our souls never become totally accustomed to fear and war. You created us in love to share the goodness of you who are the Source of all good, to share this good earth and whatever sweetness of grace we know in this life.
We are created for communion in such joy, and we hunger for deliverance from whatever powers, fears and bondage prevent our entry into the life for which our hearts long.
This is ancient, not new. The souls who watched you enter the city on a gentle beast felt it just as much as we.
Perhaps they looked at you riding into town and remembered the old prophesies and perhaps even old Noah.
But they didn’t need to remember any of this to be moved to joy and praise. They needed only to look at you and listen to their hearts to know that the communion of peace for which human hearts long was right there, on the dusty road.
The world and their hearts could begin again.
Make me a person of your humble peace.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 11:7-10
Then they took the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on its back, and he mounted it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others greenery which they had cut in the fields. And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is he who is coming in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of David our father! Hosanna in the highest heavens!'
Reflection
Those who shouted praise to God along the road had seen others ride into Jerusalem. Roman legions had marched into the city to take control, some riding snorting steeds, swords clattering as their horses climbed the rough road.
No one shouted praise to God for them. They came to occupy and pacify the population for the glory and enrichment of Rome. Power was their game, fear and force their way.
Then you come, Jesus, not on a snorting steed but a gentle young animal, and people throw their cloaks on the road and wave green branches from the trees, a symbol of peace, life and growth.
I remember the ancient story of Noah. Surviving the flood on his boat, he sends out a dove which returns with an olive branch, a sign of peace. The struggle with death had passed. The unruly waters would soon recede to their proper boundaries, and life could begin once more. A new start, a fresh beginning.
Ancient prophets, too, spoke of a king who would come humbly, mounted on a gentle beast instead of a war horse, to bring peace to a world accustomed to war and fear.
But our souls never become totally accustomed to fear and war. You created us in love to share the goodness of you who are the Source of all good, to share this good earth and whatever sweetness of grace we know in this life.
We are created for communion in such joy, and we hunger for deliverance from whatever powers, fears and bondage prevent our entry into the life for which our hearts long.
This is ancient, not new. The souls who watched you enter the city on a gentle beast felt it just as much as we.
Perhaps they looked at you riding into town and remembered the old prophesies and perhaps even old Noah.
But they didn’t need to remember any of this to be moved to joy and praise. They needed only to look at you and listen to their hearts to know that the communion of peace for which human hearts long was right there, on the dusty road.
The world and their hearts could begin again.
Make me a person of your humble peace.
Pr. David L. Miller
Monday, March 26, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Today’s text
Mark 11:1-3
When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, close by the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, 'Go to the village facing you, and as you enter it you will at once find a tethered colt that no one has yet ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone says to you, "What are you doing?" say, "The Master needs it and will send it back here at once." '
Reflection
The master needs it. Today, this moment …all that I am, all on which I lay my hands … the master needs it.
I hear these words, and my heart immediately elevates with joy. Why?
The master needs it.
The master needs me, my hands and heart, the tools I use, the words I speak, the actions of my hands, the expressions of my face. The master needs them, needs me for his purpose.
I feel honored, wanted, desired. But the joy springs from the deepest, most secret part of me--that place where your soul and my soul are indivisible, where my life is really your life bubbling up into this body I call ‘me,’ giving me existence and energy.
The master needs it. With this request, this invitation, you invite me to return the life you have first given me, to let that life flow back into you who are my Source.
A circle is brought to completion. You breathe life into me, and in seeking my partnership you invite me to return that life, that breath, and when I do … you breathe more breath, life and joy into me. And I know, I just know, for what am made.
The invitation to give my life, my hands, my heart to you this day draws me into an eternal circle of giving and receiving, in which there is no beginning and no end.
But it is true: You need me to give that life I am back to you to keep the circle of giving going … on and on. This circle is the way of life, and the joy it brings is the echo of our hearts telling us what we need to know.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, March 23, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Today’s text
John 12:32-33
And when I am lifted up from the earth, I shall draw all people to myself.' By these words he indicated the kind of death he would die.
Reflection
The Spirit draws; the devil drives. This is old wisdom among spiritual directors.
The Spirit of God draws the soul by love, coaxing the heart to its true self, its true home. The Spirit moves us from the inside, drawing us to what we most need.
The spirit of the evil one drives the heart, whipping it along with accusations and the guilt of ‘shoulds’ so that we might satisfy some judge, whether internal or external.
We carry so many ‘shoulds’ from external voices we have internalized, voices of parents, teachers, mentors, friends and often adversaries. These voices may have given kindly advice about what is good and right, popular or seemingly wise.
We hear the voices thousands of times through the decades of living, too often in unhelpful ways. Our fears of inadequacy, our guilt about what we have done or not done, and our shame about who we are--all these turns gentle advice into a mass of shoulds, shaking accusing fingers at us.
“I should …. I should … I should.” The sentence always makes me take notice, whether I hear it from someone else or when it crosses my own lips.
Often, the should looks and sounds good, something worthwhile we might do or seek.
But the motivation comes not from the depth of one’s heart, from the love that is within us seeking expression. It comes from judgments of others (or self-judgment) and is not expressive of what the Spirit seeks to love out of us.
Jesus is lifted up on the cross, and the love that filled him flows out as surely as his lifeblood. He is lifted up, and the love in him draws hearts to him so they might know the love God is … for them.
Love does not whip us forward. It doesn’t move us by means of oughts and demands, guilt and obligation.
Love simply loves, moving love’s desire in open hearts. It invites us to come near because we want and need to do so. It is magnetic.
It doesn’t tell us what we should do. It asks, what do you want to do? What is in your heart? What is your joy? To what does love draw you?
'When I am lifted up I will draw all people to myself.' The drawing of love in a human soul is the presence of the living Christ coaxing us home to himself, to our true heart, to the person we really are.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 12:32-33
And when I am lifted up from the earth, I shall draw all people to myself.' By these words he indicated the kind of death he would die.
Reflection
The Spirit draws; the devil drives. This is old wisdom among spiritual directors.
The Spirit of God draws the soul by love, coaxing the heart to its true self, its true home. The Spirit moves us from the inside, drawing us to what we most need.
The spirit of the evil one drives the heart, whipping it along with accusations and the guilt of ‘shoulds’ so that we might satisfy some judge, whether internal or external.
We carry so many ‘shoulds’ from external voices we have internalized, voices of parents, teachers, mentors, friends and often adversaries. These voices may have given kindly advice about what is good and right, popular or seemingly wise.
We hear the voices thousands of times through the decades of living, too often in unhelpful ways. Our fears of inadequacy, our guilt about what we have done or not done, and our shame about who we are--all these turns gentle advice into a mass of shoulds, shaking accusing fingers at us.
“I should …. I should … I should.” The sentence always makes me take notice, whether I hear it from someone else or when it crosses my own lips.
Often, the should looks and sounds good, something worthwhile we might do or seek.
But the motivation comes not from the depth of one’s heart, from the love that is within us seeking expression. It comes from judgments of others (or self-judgment) and is not expressive of what the Spirit seeks to love out of us.
Jesus is lifted up on the cross, and the love that filled him flows out as surely as his lifeblood. He is lifted up, and the love in him draws hearts to him so they might know the love God is … for them.
Love does not whip us forward. It doesn’t move us by means of oughts and demands, guilt and obligation.
Love simply loves, moving love’s desire in open hearts. It invites us to come near because we want and need to do so. It is magnetic.
It doesn’t tell us what we should do. It asks, what do you want to do? What is in your heart? What is your joy? To what does love draw you?
'When I am lifted up I will draw all people to myself.' The drawing of love in a human soul is the presence of the living Christ coaxing us home to himself, to our true heart, to the person we really are.
Pr. David L. Miller
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Today’s text
John 12:26-28
Whoever serves me, must follow me, and my servant will be with me wherever I am. If anyone serves me, my Father will honour him. Now my soul is troubled. What shall I say: Father, save me from this hour? But it is for this very reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name! A voice came from heaven, 'I have glorified it, and I will again glorify it.'
Reflection
What would happen if we came to each day convinced that we were born for this hour, this time, the challenges of this particular day?
I remember the days following September 11, 2001. I was in New York City interviewing people, listening as they poured out immense pain and hungered for loved ones who never came home.
I traveled with a friend, Stephen, who was then the Bishop of the Metropolitan New York Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.
For several days, we visited churches and schools, listening to stories of bitter loss, of loved ones whose bodies had been turned to ash in the inferno of the World Trade Center. We heard about children waiting at school house doors for a parent who never came to pick them up.
Today, I most remember Stephen’s words to gatherings of pastors and parochial school teachers. “You were baptized for this time,” he said. “You were born for this hour.”
“What shall I say: Father, save me from this hour? But it is for this very reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name!”
Stephen never cited these words of Jesus, spoken as he contemplated the suffering of the cross on which he would die. But he might have.
We, too, might remember them as we come to each new day, especially days when the stakes are high, the work hard, the pain deep and the challenge daunting. There is no shortage of days we prefer to skip because they are too difficult, too painful … or because we are weary.
But each new morning brings the day for which I was born, the time for which the divine Spirit fashioned me, the hour in which I am to glorify God by giving myself in love to the needs of this time, whatever they might be.
The people of New York were soul-weary from grief and fear as Stephen and I met them up and down Manhattan, in Harlem, Queens and across the East River in Brooklyn. But Stephen’s words stirred many to rise to the challenge of a day no one wanted, to the pain of an unspeakable hour.
These servants of God knew; they were born for this time, for the facing of this hour.
This hour has not passed. It is now, always now, the hour God is glorified in the loving commitment we bring to reveal the mercy of the divine heart.
For this hour I was born, Jesus says. His words are true every morning … for us.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 12:26-28
Whoever serves me, must follow me, and my servant will be with me wherever I am. If anyone serves me, my Father will honour him. Now my soul is troubled. What shall I say: Father, save me from this hour? But it is for this very reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name! A voice came from heaven, 'I have glorified it, and I will again glorify it.'
Reflection
What would happen if we came to each day convinced that we were born for this hour, this time, the challenges of this particular day?
I remember the days following September 11, 2001. I was in New York City interviewing people, listening as they poured out immense pain and hungered for loved ones who never came home.
I traveled with a friend, Stephen, who was then the Bishop of the Metropolitan New York Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.
For several days, we visited churches and schools, listening to stories of bitter loss, of loved ones whose bodies had been turned to ash in the inferno of the World Trade Center. We heard about children waiting at school house doors for a parent who never came to pick them up.
Today, I most remember Stephen’s words to gatherings of pastors and parochial school teachers. “You were baptized for this time,” he said. “You were born for this hour.”
“What shall I say: Father, save me from this hour? But it is for this very reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name!”
Stephen never cited these words of Jesus, spoken as he contemplated the suffering of the cross on which he would die. But he might have.
We, too, might remember them as we come to each new day, especially days when the stakes are high, the work hard, the pain deep and the challenge daunting. There is no shortage of days we prefer to skip because they are too difficult, too painful … or because we are weary.
But each new morning brings the day for which I was born, the time for which the divine Spirit fashioned me, the hour in which I am to glorify God by giving myself in love to the needs of this time, whatever they might be.
The people of New York were soul-weary from grief and fear as Stephen and I met them up and down Manhattan, in Harlem, Queens and across the East River in Brooklyn. But Stephen’s words stirred many to rise to the challenge of a day no one wanted, to the pain of an unspeakable hour.
These servants of God knew; they were born for this time, for the facing of this hour.
This hour has not passed. It is now, always now, the hour God is glorified in the loving commitment we bring to reveal the mercy of the divine heart.
For this hour I was born, Jesus says. His words are true every morning … for us.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Today’s text
John 12:23-25
Jesus replied to them: Now the hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified. In all truth I tell you, unless a wheat grain falls into the earth and dies, it remains only a single grain; but if it dies it yields a rich harvest. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.
Reflection
I do not hate my life, Jesus, but I recognize hyperbole when I hear it and this is hyperbole, deliberate exaggeration to make a point.
Saints of all ages have known the truth of what you are saying. And in our best moment so do we. St. Francis said it well: “in giving we receive, in pardoning we are pardoned, and in dying we are born to eternal life.”
The willing heart is able to give itself away for the sake of another--a friend, a family member, a colleague in arms, even an enemy. In losing yourself, surrendering who you are to bless and give life to another, we enter eternal life, here and now.
My soul knows this, Jesus, though I easily forget and act as if life is about protecting myself and what is mine.
I enter a new consciousness when I relax my defensiveness and release my need to prove myself. With joy, I freely give myself, my time, my blessing, my acceptance and welcome to all I meet. I flow like a gentle, joyful stream, knowing I am a single current in a great river of divine grace that extends through this world and into every universe.
I enter every moment knowing that this is all I really have, this moment, knowing, too, that life is found in bringing my whole self to each moment, to attend t it, to give myself to it, to surrender to its needs and demands, … losing myself in the moment.
And I discover once more that in giving I receive, in accepting the soul of another I taste again your great acceptance of me, and I am new. The fresh breeze of new-born spring gentles my heart and lightens my step, my soul and makes sweet my words.
I ask you, Jesus: How can I hate life in this world when in this world I can taste such grace, this beauty which is life eternal?
But you are right: Such gracious freedom comes in giving up, in pardoning, in our willingness to give ourselves away for the sake of loving the world as you love it. It is then that we know: in losing we gain, in giving we receive; in dying to what we are, we tasting the life of eternity … now.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 12:23-25
Jesus replied to them: Now the hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified. In all truth I tell you, unless a wheat grain falls into the earth and dies, it remains only a single grain; but if it dies it yields a rich harvest. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.
Reflection
I do not hate my life, Jesus, but I recognize hyperbole when I hear it and this is hyperbole, deliberate exaggeration to make a point.
Saints of all ages have known the truth of what you are saying. And in our best moment so do we. St. Francis said it well: “in giving we receive, in pardoning we are pardoned, and in dying we are born to eternal life.”
The willing heart is able to give itself away for the sake of another--a friend, a family member, a colleague in arms, even an enemy. In losing yourself, surrendering who you are to bless and give life to another, we enter eternal life, here and now.
My soul knows this, Jesus, though I easily forget and act as if life is about protecting myself and what is mine.
I enter a new consciousness when I relax my defensiveness and release my need to prove myself. With joy, I freely give myself, my time, my blessing, my acceptance and welcome to all I meet. I flow like a gentle, joyful stream, knowing I am a single current in a great river of divine grace that extends through this world and into every universe.
I enter every moment knowing that this is all I really have, this moment, knowing, too, that life is found in bringing my whole self to each moment, to attend t it, to give myself to it, to surrender to its needs and demands, … losing myself in the moment.
And I discover once more that in giving I receive, in accepting the soul of another I taste again your great acceptance of me, and I am new. The fresh breeze of new-born spring gentles my heart and lightens my step, my soul and makes sweet my words.
I ask you, Jesus: How can I hate life in this world when in this world I can taste such grace, this beauty which is life eternal?
But you are right: Such gracious freedom comes in giving up, in pardoning, in our willingness to give ourselves away for the sake of loving the world as you love it. It is then that we know: in losing we gain, in giving we receive; in dying to what we are, we tasting the life of eternity … now.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Today’s text
John 12:20-24
Among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. These approached Philip, who came from Bethsaida in Galilee, and put this request to him, 'Sir, we should like to see Jesus.' Philip went to tell Andrew, and Andrew and Philip together went to tell Jesus. Jesus replied to them: Now the hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified. In all truth I tell you, unless a wheat grain falls into the earth and dies, it remains only a single grain; but if it dies it yields a rich harvest.
Reflection
Did they find what they were looking for, Jesus?
These Greeks came seeking you. You used the moment to tell your friends that you were about to be glorified. Like a seed, you would fall into the earth and die and bear a rich harvest
We are not told if they ever saw you. We are shown.
We see you give yourself to your mission of loving your own and loving them to the end. Dying on a cross, you give yourself to the task of revealing the Love who brings life from death.
From the seed of your life, Jesus, millions of souls have become human beings. Drawn by the Love who filled you, they came and they still come.
They are hungry. God, how hungry we are, every one of us. What brings us is not some doctrine about you or some truth you reveal.
What brings us is the Loving Mystery, the unspeakable, unimaginable God you bore in the depth of your soul. This Holy One pored from your every pour.
What pours from you is this One who is Love, the One who made us and all things, the One from whom we feel separate and sometimes so far away, the One who is the home human souls seek in every age.
This is what draws us to you, Jesus. This is what draws me. We want to come home, to feel at home, to feel connected once more--or for the first time--to this mysterious Love.
We want to feel the in-rush of life and love flowing into our hearts, minds and bodies from an invisible and Infinite Source and know, physically know that every moment we are connected with the Mystery from once we came to whom we go.
Then we will feel alive, filled with the fire of love and courage, fully aware that our finite lives grow from the soil of Infinite Love, just like the yellow daffodils spring through the forest floor and color the earth with hope.
The Greeks came to you. They believed that once they were near you, with you, looking into your eyes, listening to your words--and to the movement of their hearts in your presence--they would find what they were looking for, what we all are looking for.
They were right.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 12:20-24
Among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. These approached Philip, who came from Bethsaida in Galilee, and put this request to him, 'Sir, we should like to see Jesus.' Philip went to tell Andrew, and Andrew and Philip together went to tell Jesus. Jesus replied to them: Now the hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified. In all truth I tell you, unless a wheat grain falls into the earth and dies, it remains only a single grain; but if it dies it yields a rich harvest.
Reflection
Did they find what they were looking for, Jesus?
These Greeks came seeking you. You used the moment to tell your friends that you were about to be glorified. Like a seed, you would fall into the earth and die and bear a rich harvest
We are not told if they ever saw you. We are shown.
We see you give yourself to your mission of loving your own and loving them to the end. Dying on a cross, you give yourself to the task of revealing the Love who brings life from death.
From the seed of your life, Jesus, millions of souls have become human beings. Drawn by the Love who filled you, they came and they still come.
They are hungry. God, how hungry we are, every one of us. What brings us is not some doctrine about you or some truth you reveal.
What brings us is the Loving Mystery, the unspeakable, unimaginable God you bore in the depth of your soul. This Holy One pored from your every pour.
What pours from you is this One who is Love, the One who made us and all things, the One from whom we feel separate and sometimes so far away, the One who is the home human souls seek in every age.
This is what draws us to you, Jesus. This is what draws me. We want to come home, to feel at home, to feel connected once more--or for the first time--to this mysterious Love.
We want to feel the in-rush of life and love flowing into our hearts, minds and bodies from an invisible and Infinite Source and know, physically know that every moment we are connected with the Mystery from once we came to whom we go.
Then we will feel alive, filled with the fire of love and courage, fully aware that our finite lives grow from the soil of Infinite Love, just like the yellow daffodils spring through the forest floor and color the earth with hope.
The Greeks came to you. They believed that once they were near you, with you, looking into your eyes, listening to your words--and to the movement of their hearts in your presence--they would find what they were looking for, what we all are looking for.
They were right.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, March 16, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Today’s text
John 3:15-18
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. No one who believes in him will be judged; but whoever does not believe is judged already, because that person does not believe in the Name of God's only Son.
Reflection
Today, I want to live. This is a silly thing to say when taken on a surface level. Who doesn’t want to live? Only those so sick or troubled that waking up each day has become a burden instead of a blessing.
Here I am, Lord, awake again, fingers on the keys, awaiting for some small movement in my soul so that my hands may serve their truest purpose--pounding out words that bear your presence, shaping thoughts that come from your heart, speaking truth that wing my soul into the depth of your heart that you may enfold me and give total healing.
You are the Presence who eagerly awaits our return that our whole being may be wrapped in love.
That is what I want and need every morning, everyday … to feel my whole being--all that I am or ever will be--transported and wrapped in a love that rejects no part of me, a love in which I am always welcome. I want to feel and know it to be true. I want to know that whatever I feel when I am wrapped and lifted by love is my true identity--and yours.
So lift me into yourself, into the Love who holds me every moment so I may know salvation, the experience and reality of eternal life. To know your love is the experience of life itself. Anything less than this is the experience of judgment, of separation from our true home, from whom we really are and from whom you really are, Holy One.
Judgment is not something you lay upon us. We do it to ourselves every moment we live in fear, every moment we imagine that we are separate from you, every moment I fail to realize that this hunger in me for you is not a sign of your absence but of your presence pulling at me to surrender to your love, to quit doing, quit trying so hard, quit imagining that you are far off … and just know that all that I am and ever will be rests in your gentle hands.
So live with joy, you say. Abandon all fear. Cast away every anxiety and just know: your beginning and your end, your days and your years are in my hands. Fear not. Today is a day to live, really live.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:15-18
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. No one who believes in him will be judged; but whoever does not believe is judged already, because that person does not believe in the Name of God's only Son.
Reflection
Today, I want to live. This is a silly thing to say when taken on a surface level. Who doesn’t want to live? Only those so sick or troubled that waking up each day has become a burden instead of a blessing.
Here I am, Lord, awake again, fingers on the keys, awaiting for some small movement in my soul so that my hands may serve their truest purpose--pounding out words that bear your presence, shaping thoughts that come from your heart, speaking truth that wing my soul into the depth of your heart that you may enfold me and give total healing.
You are the Presence who eagerly awaits our return that our whole being may be wrapped in love.
That is what I want and need every morning, everyday … to feel my whole being--all that I am or ever will be--transported and wrapped in a love that rejects no part of me, a love in which I am always welcome. I want to feel and know it to be true. I want to know that whatever I feel when I am wrapped and lifted by love is my true identity--and yours.
So lift me into yourself, into the Love who holds me every moment so I may know salvation, the experience and reality of eternal life. To know your love is the experience of life itself. Anything less than this is the experience of judgment, of separation from our true home, from whom we really are and from whom you really are, Holy One.
Judgment is not something you lay upon us. We do it to ourselves every moment we live in fear, every moment we imagine that we are separate from you, every moment I fail to realize that this hunger in me for you is not a sign of your absence but of your presence pulling at me to surrender to your love, to quit doing, quit trying so hard, quit imagining that you are far off … and just know that all that I am and ever will be rests in your gentle hands.
So live with joy, you say. Abandon all fear. Cast away every anxiety and just know: your beginning and your end, your days and your years are in my hands. Fear not. Today is a day to live, really live.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Today’s text
John 3:15-18
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. No one who believes in him will be judged; but whoever does not believe is judged already, because that person does not believe in the Name of God's only Son.
Reflection
God did not begin loving the world the day Jesus was born as the bearer of the divine heart. God loved the world--and me and you--from everlasting, from before the explosion of wonder that created the dazzling universe we know through our microscopes and telescopes.
Before that, before the yawning eons of time, before the first appearance of tender green life on this lovely planet, before it all there was the love whom God is. And that is all there was. Just Love. All that is born into being is the offspring, the child of Eternal Love.
The face of Eternal Love appears in the Son of God, Jesus of Nazareth, who does not judge but welcomes all that is--and me--to return home, to dwell in the Love that gave it birth so that life may be complete and the Creator’s joy might be full.
Truth is we have never been separate from this Love. The reality of our life is sustained by Love every moment.
But only those with eyes to see know and understand that we dwell each day in a sea of love, surrounding us and holding all that is in being. They taste salvation, the freedom to live and love, knowing Immeasurable Love holds them in every instant.
The Son of God is given to this world to reveal the Love that always was, the Love we fail to trust and believe on many days, condemning ourselves to live the lie that we are something less than loved, that struggle, judgment and failure is the truth of our identity.
It’s a lie. Our lives were born in the mystery of the Love who is God. Our being is an expression of that One Love.
The Son of God, Jesus of Nazareth, appears to call us back to ourselves, to our true identity, to feel once more (or for the first time) that the love I taste in my soul is the love that fills him, the love that is from everlasting to everlasting.
Every time we taste it within, every time we feel such love surrounding us we know the eternal life that is our destiny. Such is the sweetness of salvation.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:15-18
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. No one who believes in him will be judged; but whoever does not believe is judged already, because that person does not believe in the Name of God's only Son.
Reflection
God did not begin loving the world the day Jesus was born as the bearer of the divine heart. God loved the world--and me and you--from everlasting, from before the explosion of wonder that created the dazzling universe we know through our microscopes and telescopes.
Before that, before the yawning eons of time, before the first appearance of tender green life on this lovely planet, before it all there was the love whom God is. And that is all there was. Just Love. All that is born into being is the offspring, the child of Eternal Love.
The face of Eternal Love appears in the Son of God, Jesus of Nazareth, who does not judge but welcomes all that is--and me--to return home, to dwell in the Love that gave it birth so that life may be complete and the Creator’s joy might be full.
Truth is we have never been separate from this Love. The reality of our life is sustained by Love every moment.
But only those with eyes to see know and understand that we dwell each day in a sea of love, surrounding us and holding all that is in being. They taste salvation, the freedom to live and love, knowing Immeasurable Love holds them in every instant.
The Son of God is given to this world to reveal the Love that always was, the Love we fail to trust and believe on many days, condemning ourselves to live the lie that we are something less than loved, that struggle, judgment and failure is the truth of our identity.
It’s a lie. Our lives were born in the mystery of the Love who is God. Our being is an expression of that One Love.
The Son of God, Jesus of Nazareth, appears to call us back to ourselves, to our true identity, to feel once more (or for the first time) that the love I taste in my soul is the love that fills him, the love that is from everlasting to everlasting.
Every time we taste it within, every time we feel such love surrounding us we know the eternal life that is our destiny. Such is the sweetness of salvation.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Today’s text
John 3:14-16
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.
Reflection
And what does this mean?
As I was a child, the meaning was clear. To believe was to accept that Jesus died for my sins. He was lifted up on the cross to bear my punishment and free me from God’s righteous condemnation.
This didn’t make sense to me, and I never really accepted it. My reasons varied through the years. I didn’t like the idea that God needed to kill Jesus to forgive me. Doesn’t that mean I am more loving than God since I can forgive--and sometimes do--without a lot of blood being spilled? I need no pound of flesh; why should God?
Did Jesus really die thinking he was paying God back for the world’s offenses?
My childhood understanding, still held my millions today, also put all the emphasis on one aspect of Jesus: the crucifixion, but without giving thought to why he was crucified.
Those who killed him cared not a wit about me and my sins. They just wanted him dead.
Why? What was so wrong with Jesus that they should go to the trouble and mess of executing him? Was the reason connected with who he was, what he said and how he lived?
Perhaps he was killed because of the sins of the world: because those in power recognized that the kingdom of God he preached was a threat to their own kingdoms and privileges. Perhaps his idea of a kingdom of love and justice, where the broken and lost are worth as much or more than billionaires, seemed crazy.
Perhaps he was disturbing because he wanted to turn the world upside down with his vision of divine love embracing everyone and all that is. Perhaps everything he was and all he stood for contradicted the way powerful people think, the way society is arranged for their benefit.
I can’t grasp all the reasons the powerful wanted to kill Jesus except that he was a threat to them, which means that the all-embracing love of God was a threat to them. His hungry love and burning hope for a kingdom from God knocked the foundation from beneath their ordered world.
So what does it mean to believe in Jesus?
It means believing into the world, the kingdom, the vision that filled and animated him. It means seeing and imagining that world and giving yourself to it--surrendering to divine love and grace, acceptance and justice, compassion and yearning--even when the wisdom of self-interest, consolidating your power and protecting your comfort contradict it.
Jesus way, the way of divine love, his vision of a kingdom of compassion, was so radical that the powers of his age, and ours, wanted to sweep it away.
To believe in Jesus means holding his vision in our hearts and living, as best we can, the love that was in him, even when it leads to crosses of our own sorrow.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 3:14-16
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.
Reflection
And what does this mean?
As I was a child, the meaning was clear. To believe was to accept that Jesus died for my sins. He was lifted up on the cross to bear my punishment and free me from God’s righteous condemnation.
This didn’t make sense to me, and I never really accepted it. My reasons varied through the years. I didn’t like the idea that God needed to kill Jesus to forgive me. Doesn’t that mean I am more loving than God since I can forgive--and sometimes do--without a lot of blood being spilled? I need no pound of flesh; why should God?
Did Jesus really die thinking he was paying God back for the world’s offenses?
My childhood understanding, still held my millions today, also put all the emphasis on one aspect of Jesus: the crucifixion, but without giving thought to why he was crucified.
Those who killed him cared not a wit about me and my sins. They just wanted him dead.
Why? What was so wrong with Jesus that they should go to the trouble and mess of executing him? Was the reason connected with who he was, what he said and how he lived?
Perhaps he was killed because of the sins of the world: because those in power recognized that the kingdom of God he preached was a threat to their own kingdoms and privileges. Perhaps his idea of a kingdom of love and justice, where the broken and lost are worth as much or more than billionaires, seemed crazy.
Perhaps he was disturbing because he wanted to turn the world upside down with his vision of divine love embracing everyone and all that is. Perhaps everything he was and all he stood for contradicted the way powerful people think, the way society is arranged for their benefit.
I can’t grasp all the reasons the powerful wanted to kill Jesus except that he was a threat to them, which means that the all-embracing love of God was a threat to them. His hungry love and burning hope for a kingdom from God knocked the foundation from beneath their ordered world.
So what does it mean to believe in Jesus?
It means believing into the world, the kingdom, the vision that filled and animated him. It means seeing and imagining that world and giving yourself to it--surrendering to divine love and grace, acceptance and justice, compassion and yearning--even when the wisdom of self-interest, consolidating your power and protecting your comfort contradict it.
Jesus way, the way of divine love, his vision of a kingdom of compassion, was so radical that the powers of his age, and ours, wanted to sweep it away.
To believe in Jesus means holding his vision in our hearts and living, as best we can, the love that was in him, even when it leads to crosses of our own sorrow.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, March 09, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
Today’s text
1 Corinthians 1:18-21
The message of the cross folly for those who are on the way to ruin, but for those of us who are on the road to salvation it is the power of God. As scripture says: I am going to destroy the wisdom of the wise and bring to nothing the understanding of any who understand. Where are the philosophers? Where are the experts? And where are the debaters of this age? Do you not see how God has shown up human wisdom as folly? Since in the wisdom of God the world was unable to recognize God through wisdom, it was God's own pleasure to save believers through the folly of the gospel.
Reflection
I believe the glory of God is witnessed in the palette of miraculous color splashing across the western sky as the sun sinks beneath the horizon. Beauty is there for any with eyes to see.
God drops a hint in every sunset, in every sunrise, nudging our consciousness toward awareness and wonder. Here is beauty, but it is a drop in the ocean of the Beauty who made all that is.
But who can see beauty in an executed man? Can anyone perceive the wisdom of God in the brutality of intentional, inhuman suffering?
The Christian claim is that the heart of God is unknown and ultimately unknowable except in the cross, in the surrender of Jesus to a death at the hands of those who were protecting their power and maintaining an orderly and servile society.
For Christians, the cross reveals the meaning of all things. But what do we really see?
A man, Jesus, dying, failing to flee the death he could see coming to him because the powers that be saw him as a threat, a potential insurrectionist.
It is always interesting that people in poorer cultures seem to understand the cross better than we who live in more developed economies. They look at Jesus hanging on his cross and ‘get it.’
I saw this in reporting trips years ago in places like El Salvador and Namibia, Nigeria and China.
The poor looked at Jesus on the cross and saw that ‘he is one of us,’ sharing the struggle of living in a difficult place and time, identifying with whose most forgotten and left out of the gold rush for this world’s goods.
They saw him take on the powers that favor the few and hold others down, challenging the powerful toward compassion and announcing an alternative kingdom where the blessings of God are shared by all so that the desire of God might become human reality.
Jesus’ death on the cross meant that he did not run from the suffering that came to him because he poured compassion on the poor and challenged those that have. He submitted to suffering as act of love for all that God loves--the poor, the rich, the haves, the have-nots, all of us.
They saw the power and glory of God in sunsets like the rest of us. But in the cross they saw the heart and desire of God to love us all into justice and life.
Pr. David L. Miller
1 Corinthians 1:18-21
The message of the cross folly for those who are on the way to ruin, but for those of us who are on the road to salvation it is the power of God. As scripture says: I am going to destroy the wisdom of the wise and bring to nothing the understanding of any who understand. Where are the philosophers? Where are the experts? And where are the debaters of this age? Do you not see how God has shown up human wisdom as folly? Since in the wisdom of God the world was unable to recognize God through wisdom, it was God's own pleasure to save believers through the folly of the gospel.
Reflection
I believe the glory of God is witnessed in the palette of miraculous color splashing across the western sky as the sun sinks beneath the horizon. Beauty is there for any with eyes to see.
God drops a hint in every sunset, in every sunrise, nudging our consciousness toward awareness and wonder. Here is beauty, but it is a drop in the ocean of the Beauty who made all that is.
But who can see beauty in an executed man? Can anyone perceive the wisdom of God in the brutality of intentional, inhuman suffering?
The Christian claim is that the heart of God is unknown and ultimately unknowable except in the cross, in the surrender of Jesus to a death at the hands of those who were protecting their power and maintaining an orderly and servile society.
For Christians, the cross reveals the meaning of all things. But what do we really see?
A man, Jesus, dying, failing to flee the death he could see coming to him because the powers that be saw him as a threat, a potential insurrectionist.
It is always interesting that people in poorer cultures seem to understand the cross better than we who live in more developed economies. They look at Jesus hanging on his cross and ‘get it.’
I saw this in reporting trips years ago in places like El Salvador and Namibia, Nigeria and China.
The poor looked at Jesus on the cross and saw that ‘he is one of us,’ sharing the struggle of living in a difficult place and time, identifying with whose most forgotten and left out of the gold rush for this world’s goods.
They saw him take on the powers that favor the few and hold others down, challenging the powerful toward compassion and announcing an alternative kingdom where the blessings of God are shared by all so that the desire of God might become human reality.
Jesus’ death on the cross meant that he did not run from the suffering that came to him because he poured compassion on the poor and challenged those that have. He submitted to suffering as act of love for all that God loves--the poor, the rich, the haves, the have-nots, all of us.
They saw the power and glory of God in sunsets like the rest of us. But in the cross they saw the heart and desire of God to love us all into justice and life.
Pr. David L. Miller
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
Wednesday, March 7 2012
Today’s text
John 12:35-37
Jesus then said: The light will be with you only a little longer now. Go on your way while you have the light, or darkness will overtake you, and nobody who walks in the dark knows where he is going. While you still have the light, believe in the light so that you may become children of light. Having said this, Jesus left them and was hidden from their sight. Though they had been present when he gave so many signs, they did not believe in him ... .
Reflection
We see what is in us. If we are in touch with the love and kindness of God in our hearts, we will see that love and kindness everywhere. If our hearts are hard, we will see it nowhere … and find bitterness everywhere.
In the beginning, God created light and opened human eyes to the beauty of the world and the generosity of the God who is love, whose pleasure is giving life.
History is a story of God continuing to breathe life into to the world and into us, seeking to open closed eyes and hearts to the Divine Presence, to the loving generosity that can be found in every time and place.
Sometimes God is successful, sometimes not.
Sometimes human hearts turn from love, seeking themselves and their own power, their own glory. They find the world a distrustful and threatening place
Sometimes human hearts are broken so badly by the suffering and tragedies of this world that they can see nothing else. Sometimes this pain turns their hearts from every vain seeking of self, knowing only a love willing to suffer with others can heal the wounds of this earth.
Sometimes we see the breathtaking beauty of hearts that love this world and all in need and are moved to want this beauty more than anything else, sensing that this alone can heal us and calm our fears.
In every time, the light of God shines in every love, breathes in every beauty to awaken us to the light of God that shines most clearly and distinctly in our brother Jesus.
But if do not have this light and love within us we cannot see him.
Yet, do we not all have this light within us? Are we not all alive with the breath of God, animated by the One who breathes life into us and all creation in every moment?
And if so, then why did some see Jesus and believe and others did not? Why do some see and believe today … and others not?
Perhaps we need to have our hearts touched and moved by love for this world and all its beauty and struggle.
Perhaps opening our hearts to the presence of this wounded love within softens hearts and opens our eyes to see the fullness of this love in the face of our wounded brother, Jesus, who suffers for the sake of the world.
Perhaps then we shall see how this world and we are loved. Perhaps then we shall see his love everywhere and in everything.
Perhaps once we are in touch with the love of God who is the Source of our being we shall see the light that shines in every darkness, even ours.
Pr. David L. Miller
John 12:35-37
Jesus then said: The light will be with you only a little longer now. Go on your way while you have the light, or darkness will overtake you, and nobody who walks in the dark knows where he is going. While you still have the light, believe in the light so that you may become children of light. Having said this, Jesus left them and was hidden from their sight. Though they had been present when he gave so many signs, they did not believe in him ... .
Reflection
We see what is in us. If we are in touch with the love and kindness of God in our hearts, we will see that love and kindness everywhere. If our hearts are hard, we will see it nowhere … and find bitterness everywhere.
In the beginning, God created light and opened human eyes to the beauty of the world and the generosity of the God who is love, whose pleasure is giving life.
History is a story of God continuing to breathe life into to the world and into us, seeking to open closed eyes and hearts to the Divine Presence, to the loving generosity that can be found in every time and place.
Sometimes God is successful, sometimes not.
Sometimes human hearts turn from love, seeking themselves and their own power, their own glory. They find the world a distrustful and threatening place
Sometimes human hearts are broken so badly by the suffering and tragedies of this world that they can see nothing else. Sometimes this pain turns their hearts from every vain seeking of self, knowing only a love willing to suffer with others can heal the wounds of this earth.
Sometimes we see the breathtaking beauty of hearts that love this world and all in need and are moved to want this beauty more than anything else, sensing that this alone can heal us and calm our fears.
In every time, the light of God shines in every love, breathes in every beauty to awaken us to the light of God that shines most clearly and distinctly in our brother Jesus.
But if do not have this light and love within us we cannot see him.
Yet, do we not all have this light within us? Are we not all alive with the breath of God, animated by the One who breathes life into us and all creation in every moment?
And if so, then why did some see Jesus and believe and others did not? Why do some see and believe today … and others not?
Perhaps we need to have our hearts touched and moved by love for this world and all its beauty and struggle.
Perhaps opening our hearts to the presence of this wounded love within softens hearts and opens our eyes to see the fullness of this love in the face of our wounded brother, Jesus, who suffers for the sake of the world.
Perhaps then we shall see how this world and we are loved. Perhaps then we shall see his love everywhere and in everything.
Perhaps once we are in touch with the love of God who is the Source of our being we shall see the light that shines in every darkness, even ours.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Today’s text
1 Corinthians 1:18
The message of the cross folly for those who are on the way to ruin, but for those of us who are on the road to salvation it is the power of God.
Reflection
There is nothing attractive about the cross despite the millions of replicas we hang on our walls or around our neck. We may make it of gold or silver and adorn it with beautiful stones. Our artists contort and color it in ways that can erase its brutality.
But it remains a ghastly affront to human sensibilities, which was always its intention.
In the ancient world, the cruelty of hanging society’s offenders on a cross, slowly to die, kept people in line. It was an instrument of execution and social order that made it clear who was in charge and what would happen to you if you forgot.
Centuries later, we can’t imagine the ugliness or pain of such a death. The cross has become an amulet, a good luck charm we hold up against the struggles of our lives to shield ourselves from the pains of living.
But it doesn’t protect us from a thing.
The cross invites into those pains, to give ourselves to those struggles trusting that there is One who has gone there before us, One who did not avoid the pains of the lost and forgotten, One who brings life out of death and hope where none seems possible.
The cross of Christ invites us to the hope of life where life seems most lost and we feel most alone.
For we are not alone. The Holy One who is God walked in the way of the forsaken, the way of the cross, awakening the awareness that there is no place the power and love of God will not go, no power that divine love cannot conquer.
Pr. David L. Miller
1 Corinthians 1:18
The message of the cross folly for those who are on the way to ruin, but for those of us who are on the road to salvation it is the power of God.
Reflection
There is nothing attractive about the cross despite the millions of replicas we hang on our walls or around our neck. We may make it of gold or silver and adorn it with beautiful stones. Our artists contort and color it in ways that can erase its brutality.
But it remains a ghastly affront to human sensibilities, which was always its intention.
In the ancient world, the cruelty of hanging society’s offenders on a cross, slowly to die, kept people in line. It was an instrument of execution and social order that made it clear who was in charge and what would happen to you if you forgot.
Centuries later, we can’t imagine the ugliness or pain of such a death. The cross has become an amulet, a good luck charm we hold up against the struggles of our lives to shield ourselves from the pains of living.
But it doesn’t protect us from a thing.
The cross invites into those pains, to give ourselves to those struggles trusting that there is One who has gone there before us, One who did not avoid the pains of the lost and forgotten, One who brings life out of death and hope where none seems possible.
The cross of Christ invites us to the hope of life where life seems most lost and we feel most alone.
For we are not alone. The Holy One who is God walked in the way of the forsaken, the way of the cross, awakening the awareness that there is no place the power and love of God will not go, no power that divine love cannot conquer.
Pr. David L. Miller
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Today’s text
Mark 8:35
Anyone who wants to save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.
Reflection
A great deal of ink has been spilled during the past 35 years about why churches are failing. I remember one particularly honest op-ed article written by an Arizona pastor 22 or 23 years ago. The headline, which he chose, was “Entertainment evangelism.”
He argued that congregations must engage people through music and various forms of entertainment because traditional church liturgies fail to attract people or to excite imaginations about the power of God and the truth of the gospel. Through forms of entertainment congregations can draw a crowd and share the message of Jesus.
A firestorm of reader criticism followed the appearance of the article, but many agreed with the writer’s argument that the church must be far more attractional, more contemporary in music and approach.
The focus was on speaking to and meeting the needs of worshipers through media they understood and would not dismiss. Congregations willing to do this will grow and remain significant in their communities, he said. Those who do not, well … their fate is sealed.
Looking at the ministry that occupies much of my days, I see that meeting needs is a large part of my day. But the needs I most typically meet are those to be found at the hospital beds and hidden behind the anxious faces that walk through my office door, seeking hope, consolation and a word of guidance about God’s presence amid the confusion of living.
Those are needs I believe Christ calls the fellowship of the church to address. But catering to the needs of consumer culture for amusement is as antithetical to the gospel call of Christ today as when I first read that article in the late 1980s.
Consumers come to church wanting to be amused, entertained. They come with an implicit demand (sometimes explicit) that their needs must be met or they will go away … to someplace that better meets their needs, however defined.
One sometimes hears echoes of this refrain when people leave one congregation for another, and there can, of course, be good reasons for leaving.
Attending to human needs for community and care amid the difficulties of life was central to Jesus’ ministry of revealing God’s kingdom.
But as often as not the consumerism rife in our society moves us to look at our congregations as one more place whose value is established by how well it serves me: Does it make me comfortable, does it suit my views and desires, does its teaching and celebrations touch my heart?
Consumers totally miss the call of Jesus. Consequently, a deep need in their soul goes unmet: the need to find oneself by giving oneself away to the mission of Jesus.
Life is found in surrender to the cause of God’s loving kingdom, the cause to which Jesus surrendered.
This paradox is the center of Jesus teaching. In losing ourselves, we find ourselves, in giving ourselves for the sake of God’s love we receive the self we truly are, in forgiving we find forgiveness and in dying we discover eternal life.
Gracious God, show me this day where I might give myself, my heart and mind, my soul and strength, that in giving myself away I may discover what it means to live.
Pr. David L. Miller
Mark 8:35
Anyone who wants to save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.
Reflection
A great deal of ink has been spilled during the past 35 years about why churches are failing. I remember one particularly honest op-ed article written by an Arizona pastor 22 or 23 years ago. The headline, which he chose, was “Entertainment evangelism.”
He argued that congregations must engage people through music and various forms of entertainment because traditional church liturgies fail to attract people or to excite imaginations about the power of God and the truth of the gospel. Through forms of entertainment congregations can draw a crowd and share the message of Jesus.
A firestorm of reader criticism followed the appearance of the article, but many agreed with the writer’s argument that the church must be far more attractional, more contemporary in music and approach.
The focus was on speaking to and meeting the needs of worshipers through media they understood and would not dismiss. Congregations willing to do this will grow and remain significant in their communities, he said. Those who do not, well … their fate is sealed.
Looking at the ministry that occupies much of my days, I see that meeting needs is a large part of my day. But the needs I most typically meet are those to be found at the hospital beds and hidden behind the anxious faces that walk through my office door, seeking hope, consolation and a word of guidance about God’s presence amid the confusion of living.
Those are needs I believe Christ calls the fellowship of the church to address. But catering to the needs of consumer culture for amusement is as antithetical to the gospel call of Christ today as when I first read that article in the late 1980s.
Consumers come to church wanting to be amused, entertained. They come with an implicit demand (sometimes explicit) that their needs must be met or they will go away … to someplace that better meets their needs, however defined.
One sometimes hears echoes of this refrain when people leave one congregation for another, and there can, of course, be good reasons for leaving.
Attending to human needs for community and care amid the difficulties of life was central to Jesus’ ministry of revealing God’s kingdom.
But as often as not the consumerism rife in our society moves us to look at our congregations as one more place whose value is established by how well it serves me: Does it make me comfortable, does it suit my views and desires, does its teaching and celebrations touch my heart?
Consumers totally miss the call of Jesus. Consequently, a deep need in their soul goes unmet: the need to find oneself by giving oneself away to the mission of Jesus.
Life is found in surrender to the cause of God’s loving kingdom, the cause to which Jesus surrendered.
This paradox is the center of Jesus teaching. In losing ourselves, we find ourselves, in giving ourselves for the sake of God’s love we receive the self we truly are, in forgiving we find forgiveness and in dying we discover eternal life.
Gracious God, show me this day where I might give myself, my heart and mind, my soul and strength, that in giving myself away I may discover what it means to live.
Pr. David L. Miller
Friday, February 24, 2012
February 24, 2012
Waiting for Spring, Lent & Loss
Reflection
Jerry and Denise were our neighbors during my final year of seminary. Dixie and I lived in a faded pink house near the end of Wartburg Place, on a ridge in the southeast corner of Dubuque, Iowa. The house was badly in need of everything, but it had a nice view and the rent was cheap.
Jerry and Denise lived upstairs with their daughter, Toby, who was much quieter than our two children, which was one reason we had little in common with them. To us, they seemed, well, above us, looking down.
We were all cordial, making the best our situation and the common entrance we shared, but we seldom talked and never socialized. But life happens, losses occur and souls connect in unexpected ways.
Jerry called last week wanting to talk. Life had, indeed, happened. The second anniversary of Denise’s death was upon him.
Death, or at least loss, comes in many forms, and it had come to him. He’d lost the marriage that had sustained him, the future he’d imagined and he was enduring professional loss, too. His way of working and doing ministry didn’t feel real or authentic anymore, if ever it had. He wondered
if he had sold out and lost his soul—his truest heart—somewhere in the course of 30 years of waging ministry.
His voice had changed, too, or maybe what changed was the way I hear. He’d also seem so sure of himself. Now he was searching for what comes next, not knowing. He’d taken a part-time call to a congregation on the west coast as he waits and watches … for spring.
Spring comes when green shoots break through cold winter’s crust of loss, and you begin to feel alive again. You may not get back everything you’ve lost and or want—and the scars from your wounds always remain. But a path of promise opens up and invites you to risk living and loving in a new way, a way you may have never considered.
Life comes out of death, like crocuses pushing through the snow.
Christian tradition calls this the paschal mystery. This is what Lent is about. We walk through Christ’s passage through death to resurrected life. Along the way we see many losses. He loses favor and welcome, friends and family, the feeling of God’s nearness and ultimately he loses his life in an act of callous brutality.
But in utter love and incomprehensibility, God brings new life out of the wounds that kill body and soul. This movement through loss to life is not something that happens just for Jesus in the Resurrection. It is the central dynamic of life in Christ. It is our life … and certainly Jerry’s.
Out of death comes life, out of loss comes newness, but there is that hard time of waiting and watching for spring. Faith is this watching and waiting for God to work this miracle one more time.
Sometimes loss cuts so deeply or weighs so heavily that our wounds seem beyond any healing God can offer. But the paschal mystery invites us to trust that all our losses and all our sorrows will be gathered up and transformed into something more immensely beautiful--and alive--than we can imagine.
One deep spiritual practice for Lent is to practice the paschal mystery by:
Naming our deaths--What deaths and losses have you experienced in the last year--the loss of youth, health, relationships, security, wholeness, job, dreams, loved ones, or perhaps the loss of the kind of faith and ideas about God you once held?
Refuse to cling--Release to God what has been lost. Give thanks for how it blessed you. What are you holding onto that you need to let go? What makes it hard to release it?
Grieve what has been lost--Allow yourself the sadness, remorse, guilt, anger and all the feelings that are part of grief. Offer them all to God in prayer.
Claim your births--What signs of new birth or new beginnings appear as you experienced deaths and losses and began to let go? Claim the spirit of the new life, the new reality that is appearing.
Pray--Regularly pray for God to bring new life out of loss: “Loving God, in your mercy carry me forward when I lack the strength and courage to go on. When I am in pain, when I feel lost, when I am losing hold of myself and all I treasure, help me trust that all the deaths I die will bear me deeper into your life.”
Pr David L. Miller
Reflection
Jerry and Denise were our neighbors during my final year of seminary. Dixie and I lived in a faded pink house near the end of Wartburg Place, on a ridge in the southeast corner of Dubuque, Iowa. The house was badly in need of everything, but it had a nice view and the rent was cheap.
Jerry and Denise lived upstairs with their daughter, Toby, who was much quieter than our two children, which was one reason we had little in common with them. To us, they seemed, well, above us, looking down.
We were all cordial, making the best our situation and the common entrance we shared, but we seldom talked and never socialized. But life happens, losses occur and souls connect in unexpected ways.
Jerry called last week wanting to talk. Life had, indeed, happened. The second anniversary of Denise’s death was upon him.
Death, or at least loss, comes in many forms, and it had come to him. He’d lost the marriage that had sustained him, the future he’d imagined and he was enduring professional loss, too. His way of working and doing ministry didn’t feel real or authentic anymore, if ever it had. He wondered
if he had sold out and lost his soul—his truest heart—somewhere in the course of 30 years of waging ministry.
His voice had changed, too, or maybe what changed was the way I hear. He’d also seem so sure of himself. Now he was searching for what comes next, not knowing. He’d taken a part-time call to a congregation on the west coast as he waits and watches … for spring.
Spring comes when green shoots break through cold winter’s crust of loss, and you begin to feel alive again. You may not get back everything you’ve lost and or want—and the scars from your wounds always remain. But a path of promise opens up and invites you to risk living and loving in a new way, a way you may have never considered.
Life comes out of death, like crocuses pushing through the snow.
Christian tradition calls this the paschal mystery. This is what Lent is about. We walk through Christ’s passage through death to resurrected life. Along the way we see many losses. He loses favor and welcome, friends and family, the feeling of God’s nearness and ultimately he loses his life in an act of callous brutality.
But in utter love and incomprehensibility, God brings new life out of the wounds that kill body and soul. This movement through loss to life is not something that happens just for Jesus in the Resurrection. It is the central dynamic of life in Christ. It is our life … and certainly Jerry’s.
Out of death comes life, out of loss comes newness, but there is that hard time of waiting and watching for spring. Faith is this watching and waiting for God to work this miracle one more time.
Sometimes loss cuts so deeply or weighs so heavily that our wounds seem beyond any healing God can offer. But the paschal mystery invites us to trust that all our losses and all our sorrows will be gathered up and transformed into something more immensely beautiful--and alive--than we can imagine.
One deep spiritual practice for Lent is to practice the paschal mystery by:
Naming our deaths--What deaths and losses have you experienced in the last year--the loss of youth, health, relationships, security, wholeness, job, dreams, loved ones, or perhaps the loss of the kind of faith and ideas about God you once held?
Refuse to cling--Release to God what has been lost. Give thanks for how it blessed you. What are you holding onto that you need to let go? What makes it hard to release it?
Grieve what has been lost--Allow yourself the sadness, remorse, guilt, anger and all the feelings that are part of grief. Offer them all to God in prayer.
Claim your births--What signs of new birth or new beginnings appear as you experienced deaths and losses and began to let go? Claim the spirit of the new life, the new reality that is appearing.
Pray--Regularly pray for God to bring new life out of loss: “Loving God, in your mercy carry me forward when I lack the strength and courage to go on. When I am in pain, when I feel lost, when I am losing hold of myself and all I treasure, help me trust that all the deaths I die will bear me deeper into your life.”
Pr David L. Miller
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