The Best Part of Waking Up

 

The Best Part of Waking Up (Mark 1:35-38)

“Very early the next morning, long before daylight, Jesus got up and left the house. He went out of town to a lonely place, where he prayed.” (Mark 1:35)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It turns out, walking with Jesus means that I have to be a morning person. A very early morning person.

After the day Jesus just had – teaching in the synagogue, casting out demons, and healing the sick long in to the dark hours of the night – one would think that Jesus would sleep in, get some rest so that he could renew his spirit and energy for whatever lies ahead of him the next day. But Jesus didn’t sleep in. He awoke very early, before sunrise, even. And he went to a place where he could be by himself. 

And Jesus prayed. I’m not sure what he said when he prayed. Maybe he told his Father all about the events of the previous day. Maybe Jesus asked God to follow up with the people he had healed, to make sure they were continuing to get better. Maybe he asked God for wisdom, guidance, and strength for the day that was just dawning. I’m sure that Jesus didn’t do all the talking, because real prayer also involves listening to God, discerning God’s will and hearing God’s direction and affirmation.

Maybe, just maybe, Jesus simply was still, soaking in the presence of his Father.

Walking with Jesus teaches me the importance of starting my day by turning my heart toward him. As it turns out, the best part of waking up is not coffee in my cup (though that is certainly up there), because my cup isn’t truly full until I have spent time with Jesus; indeed, when I do spend time with Jesus, my cup overflows. Walking with Jesus has taught me that the first appointment I make every day needs to be an appointment with him. It is in those early morning appointments that my spirit is refreshed and renewed, and that I get a sense of clarity and direction. 

It is because of those appointments with Jesus that I can face the day ahead of me, along with all the uncertainties that the day will bring, with a sense of peace. You see, the wonderful thing about those appointments with Jesus is that at the end of them, I don’t have to say “Good bye, Jesus, I’ll see you same time tomorrow,” because the reality is, Jesus will be with me every moment of the day.

Dear Jesus, don't let me walk out the door without first spending time with you. I don't want to start my day without you. Amen.

Take It (Them) to Jesus in Prayer

 

Take It (Them) to Jesus in Prayer (Mark 1:29-34)

“Simon’s mother-in-law was sick in bed, burning up with fever. They told Jesus about her… The people brought to Jesus all the sick and demon-possessed…” (Mark 1:30, 32)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Every moment I walk with Jesus, he amazes me. This man is tireless. I mean, he never stops working. We went to Simon’s house for dinner, but Jesus wouldn’t eat until he had healed Peter’s sick mother-in-law. Then after dinner, Jesus didn’t relax and unwind, because there were hoards of people at the door looking for him. They brought sick and demon-afflicted loved ones to him, in the hopes that he would heal them. I watched Jesus in the hours that the moon arced through the night sky; as long as there was someone who had need, Jesus would not turn them away. He kept at it, until he had healed the last person and cast out the last demon.

I was deeply moved, not only by Jesus’ compassion, but also by the loving concern of all the people who brought their friends to Jesus for healing. The first thing Simon and Andrew did when they got to the house for dinner was to tell Jesus about Simon’s mother-in-law. Her sickness had consigned her to bed, and the household was very concerned about her. So they told Jesus. Then the scores of people who showed up throughout the night – I could see in their faces the deep love they had for the ones they brought to Jesus for healing, and the desperate hope that Jesus could do something.

I’ve only been walking with Jesus for a short while now, but already I’ve seen enough to know that Jesus has compassion for those who suffer. He also has the power and authority to act upon his compassion. That’s the winning combination – compassion, as well as the power to do something about it. I mean, a lot of people have compassion. I have compassion for people who suffer, but I a lot of the time I can’t do anything to help alleviate the suffering. I wish I could.

But Jesus has both compassion and power, and that is the key.

As I walk with Jesus, I realize that even when I can’t alleviate all of the suffering I see, I can bring those who suffer to Jesus. I can pray for them, bringing them to Jesus, and entrusting them into his loving care.

Now, I’m not musically inclined, but in my mind, there is a song in this. Maybe long into the future someone will put this thought to music:

What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear.

What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer.

Have we trials and temptations? Is there trouble anywhere?

We should never be discouraged. Take it to the Lord in prayer.

Just a thought… ;-) 

Dear Lord, I am so grateful that you care. You really care. Even more, I am grateful that you use your power to act upon your care. Let me never forget that one of the most loving things I can do for those who suffer is to bring them to you in prayer. Amen.

Into Your Hands

 ...darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Jesus called out with a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit." When he had said this, he breathed his last. (Luke 23:46)

My Lenten discipline has been to write a devotion for each of the 40 days of Lent. My last seven entries are prayers inspired by the seven last sayings Jesus uttered from the cross. Today's prayer is based on the final words he spoke.

"Father, Into Your Hands I Commit My Spirit"

From the foot of the cross I can see you, my Lord. You are high and lifted up. And I can hear what you say. Every word.

Darkness has covered us.
Not because it is night, for it is only 3 o'clock.
Darkness has covered us,
  because the sins of the world have covered you.

You cry out,
  "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit."

In your voice, I don't hear defeat.
I don't hear disappointment.
I don't hear sadness.

In your voice I hear the sweet surrender of trust.
And the tenderness of love.

Your work is done. It is finished.
You came to do your Father's will.
And you have done it.
And now you surrender yourself, body and soul,
  into the hands of the One you trust and love.

"Father, into your hands I commit my spirit."

+ + + + + + +

Lord Jesus, into your hands I commit my spirit.

I have watched you on the cross.
I have seen your determination to forgive me,
  even me.
I have heard your promise of heaven,
  given without conditions.
I have received your gift of a new earthly family,
  the Church.
I have witnessed your experience of abandonment,
  which you went through because of me,
    but also for me.
I have felt the deep thirst of your soul,
  for it is my thirst as well.
I have heard you declare that it has been done,
  that you have done the will of your Father,
  and there is nothing left for you to do.
And I have watched as you entrust yourself
  into the hands of the One you love.

Lord Jesus, into your hands I commit my spirit.
How can I do otherwise?
Your love has captured me.
I give myself to you.

Into your hands I commit my spirit.

It Is Finished

 Jesus said, "It is finished." With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. (John 19:30)

My Lenten discipline has been to write a devotion for each of the 40 days of Lent. My last seven entries are prayers inspired by the seven last sayings of Jesus uttered from the cross. This prayer is based on the sixth saying.

"It Is Finished"

Here I stand at the foot of the cross, my Lord.
I see you high and lifted up,
  as "sorrow and love flow mingled down"
and I hear what you say.
  Every word.

In words barely audible you speak:
  "It is finished."

I think to myself,
  "Yes, it is finished. Mercifully so, your suffering
          is at its end.
  Raise the white flag.
  Let death end it for you."

But that's not what you mean, is it?
  You're not surrendering in defeat;
    You're not capitulating to the darkness;
      You're not giving up.
That's not what "It is finished" means.
Not by a long shot.

No, "It is finished" are words of accomplishment,
  fulfillment,
    victory.
For when you breathe your last,
  you have completed what you have set out to do:

"For God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through Him."

That's why you came, my Lord: to save the world.
That's why you hang in agony on the cross: to save the world.
That's why you suffer abandonment by God:
     to save the world.

When you breathe your last,
  you have done what you set out to do.
Only then can you say, "It is finished."

Say it, my Lord.
Say it for me.
Say it for the world.

"It is finished."

I Thirst

 

Later, knowing that all was now completed, and so that the Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, "I am thirsty."- John 19:28

My Lenten discipline has been to write a devotion for each of the 40 days of Lent. For my last seven entries I am submitting prayers inspired by the seven last sayings of Jesus uttered from the cross. This prayer is based on his fifth saying from the cross.

"I Thirst"

From the foot of the cross, I behold you, Lord:
  high and lifted up.
And I hear what you say from the cross.
  Every word.

Almost inaudibly, the words flow 
  from your cracked, bloodied lips: "I thirst."

Thirst. 
It is the most primal longing a human experiences.
You have joined our struggle, Lord.
You have experienced the most basic need
  any of us will ever experience: thirst.
As you hang on the cross,
  there is no human agony foreign to you.

Thirst.
It speaks to more than our physical longing.
It speaks, even more vividly, perhaps,
  to the longing of our soul:

O God, you are my God, I seek you;  my soul thirsts for you,my flesh faints for you,  as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

Forsaken by God,
  you thirst.
You are experiencing the condition that I deserve,
  in order to redeem me. From my own thirst.

But may I be so bold as to consider another thirst, Lord?
Can it be that on the cross 
  you not only experience human thirst for God,
but also, maybe, are you expressing a thirst
  that God has for us?
For you have told us of the father who scans the horizon
  as if thirsting after reconciliation with his lost son;
and you have told us of the shepherd who searches
     high and low
  in deep longing to find the one lost sheep.

Could it be, dear Lord, that your thirst
  is for us to turn to you?

Either way, your thirst draws me to you.
Your thirst arises from your love.
And it makes me thirst for you,
  and for the life only you can give.

And so I thirst, too. Because you thirst.

Why Have You Forsaken Me?

 At the sixth hour darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ..."My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Mark 15:33-34)

Scenes from the total solar eclipse, August, 2017

My Lenten discipline has been to write a devotion for each of the 40 days of Lent. For my final seven entries, I am sharing prayers inspired by the seven last sayings of Jesus uttered from the cross. Today's prayer is based on the fourth saying of Jesus from the cross.

"My God, My God, Why Have You Forsaken Me?"

From the foot of the cross I behold you, O Lord,
  high and lifted up.
And I can hear you. Every word you say.

There is a moment -- a long, three-hour moment --
  when the sun is hidden.
Darkness is the prevailing reality.

You cry out: 
"Eloi, eloi, lema sabachthani?"
"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

When I hear those words,
  darkness fills my heart,
  just as the darkness has covered the sun.

Since the day of your birth,
  you have walked with God.
     Completely.
     Perfectly.
     Unceasingly.

But now, God's back has been turned on you,
  God's face turned away from you,
    God's ears closed to your cries.

Why? Why has God forsaken you?

And then it strikes me. It pierces my heart:
On the cross, you are the Lamb of God,
  who takes away the sins of the world.
The only way you can take our sins away
  is to take them upon yourself.

God has forsaken you, because of me.
Because of my sins.
Because of the sins of the world.
Upon you, the sinless One, 
  the sins of the world have been placed.

You are God-forsaken, and it's our fault.

The truth of the realization breaks my heart.
Forgive me, Lord.

But, lo, another realization:
You are God-forsaken, so we don't have to be.
The penalty of our sin -- 
  separation from the Living God --
you are paying it at this very moment.
For us. For me.

Dear Lord, you suffered the ultimate agony
  so that I wouldn't have to suffer it myself.
I am the one who deserves to drink
  from the cup of abandonment;
I am the one who deserves
  to descend into hell.

But you have taken my place, out of love.
  Now I know what you meant when you said,

Greater love has no one than this,

to lay down one's life for one's friends.

Your cry of ultimate agony from the cross --
  it was because of me. And my heart aches.
Lord, have mercy. Forgive me.

Your cry of ultimate agony from the cross --
  it was for me. And I am full of gratitude. And love.
Lord, I thank you.

Dear Woman, here is your son...

 When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, "Dear woman, here is your son," and to the disciple, "Here is your mother." (John 19:26-27)

My Lenten discipline has been to write a devotion for each of the 40 days of Lent. For my last seven entries I am sharing prayers inspired by the seven last sayings Jesus uttered from the cross. Today's prayer is based on the third saying.

"Dear Woman, Here Is Your Son"

From the foot of the cross I behold you, Lord.
And I hear you. I hear every word you say.

As you speak words of tenderness to your mother,
  and to the disciple you love,
I am amazed.
I am amazed that in the midst of unthinkable agony,
  you are more concerned for others than yourself.
It is not your pain that you seek to relieve,
  but the pain of your mother and your friend.
Even in your own suffering,
  you are mindful of the suffering of the world.
I am deeply humbled by the knowledge of your compassion.

"Dear woman, here is your son."

"Here is your mother."

In these words, you have given us something special;
  you have given us each other.
All who gather at the cross -- 
  we are not orphaned by your death;
  we become family. 

And now I realize that forgiveness of sin
  isn't the only gift of the cross,
  for at your death you also created the church.

"Dear woman, here is your son."

"Here is your mother."

In the sanctuary, when I gaze upon the cross,
  and then when I look at all who gather with me,
I realize what you have done for us:
  these are my brothers and sisters;
  these are my mothers and fathers;
  these are my sons and daughters;
  these are my family.

We are not orphaned by your death.
We are not left alone.

Thank you, Lord, for your amazing love.

Today, You Will Be with Me in Paradise

 

Jesus answered [the second criminal crucified alongside him], "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise." (Luke 23:43)

My Lenten discipline has been to write a devotion/reflection for each of the 40 days of Lent. For my last seven entries I will share prayers inspired by the seven last sayings Jesus uttered from the cross. Today's prayer is based on the second saying.

"Today You Will Be with Me in Paradise"

From the foot of the cross I can see you, Lord.
And I can hear you. I can hear every word you say.

I heard what you said to the criminal crucified at your side:
"Today you will be with me in paradise."

Are you kidding, Lord?
Don't you know what he did?
Don't you know the evil he did?
There's a reason he's hanging on the cross, you know.
He's bad. Real bad.

Are you really going to forgive him, just because he asked:
"Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."?
Is that all it takes?

Then I remember that you once said, 

"Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you."

And you also said, 

"...I have come not to call the righteous, but sinners."

And your most famous words of all:

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

So maybe you meant it, after all.
Maybe the criminal's faith was enough for your forgiveness.
Maybe all he needed to do, is ask in faith. 
Maybe your forgiveness even extends
  to the really bad people, too.

Maybe your work on the cross
  covers all sins. 
Every. one. of. them.
Including my sins.

Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.

Father, Forgive Them

 

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."- Luke 23:34

From the Cathedral of St. Francis of Assisi, Santa Fe, NM

My Lenten discipline has been to write a reflection for each of the 40 days of Lent. For the last seven reflections I will share prayers based on the seven last sayings Jesus uttered from the cross. Today's prayer is based on the first saying of Jesus from the cross.

"Father, Forgive Them..."

From the foot of the cross I can see you, Lord.
You're high and lifted up,
  but not like anybody ever imagined.
Your physical pain is unimaginable;
  your spiritual agony is beyond comprehension.
The crowd that has gathered is worked into a frenzy;
  your execution has become a sold-out, standing-room only 
    entertainment event.
You have been beaten, scourged, mocked, spat upon;
  you have been stripped of your clothing
  and your dignity.
There you hang, nailed to the cross,
  every fiber of your being screaming in agony.

Then you speak: 
  "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

I can't believe my ears, Lord.
 "Father, forgive them"? Is that really what you said?
  How can you say such a thing? 
  Why would you say such a thing?

Then I remember what you said last week,
  after you entered Jerusalem:

"Now my heart is troubled, and what shall I say? 'Father, save me from this hour'? No, it was for this very reason that I came to this hour."

And I remember that it was said of you
  hundreds of years prior:

"He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed... The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all."

"Father, forgive them."

Now I realize, my Lord, that it's not just "them"
    to whom you're referring.
"Them" includes me.

Now I realize, my Lord, that it's not just a few cruel people
  who nailed you to the cross,
  for I am one of "them".

My heart bows down within me
  to know that my sins have taken you to the cross.

Father, forgive them.

Father, forgive me.

Praying the Greatest Commandment

 “Of all the commandments, which is the most important one?” (Mark 12:28)

A Daily Prayer of Dedication

Good morning, God.

Today I will love you with all my heart 

   and with all my soul 

      and with all my mind 

         and with all my strength – 

not just because you have commanded me to do so,

   but also because that is the desire of my heart.

I will love you with my whole being

   because you have first loved me

      unconditionally,

      everlastingly,

      passionately,

      uniquely.

I will love you with my whole being

   because you have loved me with your whole being,

      emptying yourself of the privileges of deity

      and becoming a servant

      and offering yourself as a sacrifice for my sins.

I will love you with my whole being

   because apart from you there is no life – 

for you alone are

   the way

      and the truth

         and the life.

And so, good and loving God – 

   gracious and compassionate,

   abounding in steadfast love – 

I will love you with my whole being today.

For if I do not love you with all my heart

   and with all my soul

      and with all my mind

         and with all my strength,

then I will not truly live today the abundant life

   that you offer to me.

If I do not love you with my whole being, 

   the flowers will be less brilliant,

   the mountains will be less majestic,

   the ocean will be less impressive,

   the song of the birds will be less melodious,

   the sun will shine less brightly.

If I do not love you with my whole being today,

   then my life today will be diminished.

If I do not love you with my whole being, O Lord,

   my love for my family and

   my love for my friends and

   my love for my neighbor

      will fall short of love’s potential.

Today I will love you with all my heart

   and with all my soul

      and with all my mind

         and with all my strength,

for only then will all other things

   find their fulfillment.

And only then can I be truly alive.

Amen.

Father, into Your Hands I Commit My Spirit

Into your hands I commit my spirit;
    deliver me, Lord, my faithful God.

(Psalm 31:5)

My heart aches on this day, O God,

as I think about the agony of your Son.

He was despised and rejected

by people not unlike me. 

He was oppressed and afflicted,

again, because of people like me.

He was subjected to the greatest agony 

he could ever experience, 

when you turned your back on him:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

He watched his mother watch him die;

no one should ever have to experience that horror, but he did.

O God, forgive me, 

for it was my sin, and the sin of the whole world,

that was placed upon Jesus.

He did not deserve any of the torture or punishment he endured.

He did not deserve it, but he endured it just the same,

because of us (myself included), 

and also for us (myself included).

The agony he experienced

was for the fulfillment of your plan

for the salvation of the world.

He endured the cross,

and every cruel thing that came with it,

because “it is written.”

And at the end, he said unto you,

“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

He lived and died, O God, completely trusting in you.

But for that one moment  in his cry of dereliction,

he had always experienced perfect fellowship with you.

Even in his cry of abandonment,

he did not fail to trust you.

And his last words before he breathed his last,

“Father into your hands I commit my spirit.”

Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.

When I witness Jesus, who only wanted 

to be faithful to you, even unto death,

I want the same for my life.

Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.

I rest in you, 

for you are righteous and just,

and you are gracious and compassionate,

and you are faithful and true;

there is no shadow of turning with thee.

Your Son has shown me the way:

the way of the cross, to deny myself,

the way of the cross, to give myself for others,

the way of the cross, to show my love for others

the way of the cross, to forgive others,

the way of the cross, to be faithful to you.

Your Son has shown me the way,

and I want to live like him.

Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.

Amen.

During the season of Lent, I am "Praying with David," using prayers from the psalms as inspiration for personal prayers.

I Was in the Upper Room

Even my bosom friend in whom I trusted,
    who ate of my bread, 

    has lifted the heel against me.

(Psalm 41:9)

On this day, O Jesus, I come to you with heavy heart.

I will go up with you from Bethany to Jerusalem,

and I will gather with you at the table

in the upper room.

On this day, O Jesus, I will hear you say,

"Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me – 

one who is eating with me."

And I will say, along with all the others

who gather at the table with you,

"Surely you don’t mean me?"

On this day, O Jesus, I will hear you say,

"You will all fall away, for it is written,

      ‘I will strike the shepherd,

          and the sheep will be scattered.’"

And I will boldly bluster with bravado, as did Peter,

"Even if all fall away, I will not."

I know, Jesus, 

I wasn’t in the upper room all those years ago.

But still, I can see myself in the disciples.

I, like them, am a broken sinner,

prone to the temptation of greed and glory,

weak against opposition,

apt to crumble under pressure.

"Even my bosom friend in whom I trusted,

     who ate of my bread,

     has lifted his heel against me."

I, Lord – even I – am that bosom friend.

My heart breaks at my weakness.

And yet 

(there are those amazing words again: "And yet")

knowing the treachery,

knowing the abandonment,

knowing the denial,

still you invite us – me – to your table.

     "Take, eat. This is my body."

     "Drink from it, all of you. 

      This is my blood of the covenant,

      which is poured out for many

      for the forgiveness of sins."

You knew, Lord. 

You knew how your people would fail you.

And yet you loved us just the same.

And you opened the way for us,

for our forgiveness

and our salvation.

On this day, O Jesus, I will receive the gift 

of your body and your blood

to nourish my soul

and to renew in me a right and steadfast spirit.

On this day, O Jesus,

you have answered my weakness

with your grace and mercy.

I am humbled.

I am grateful.

I am yours.

Amen.

During the season of Lent, I am "Praying with David," using prayers from the psalms as inspiration for personal prayers.