Month: May 2025

Rev. Susan Sparks wrote the following meditation featured in Dr. Doug Hood’s book, A Month of Prayer and Gratitude: Five Minute Meditations for a Deeper Experience of Gratitude.

“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.” 1 Chronicles 16:34 (Common English Bible)

Recently, I saw an image on social media that said “Life*” at the top, then underneath, in small print by the asterisk, it said: “Available for a limited time only, limit one per customer, subject to change without notice, provided ‘as is’ without any warranties, your mileage may vary.” While this was meant as something to make people laugh, it packed a powerful message. Amazingly, we tend to believe that life comes with some type of warranty that promises things will always be easy, fun, and painless. And when it’s not, we complain—incessantly.

We complain about the weather. “Oh, my goodness, it’s so cold, when will it ever stop?” Then, two months later we carp: “Oh my goodness, it’s so hot and humid, when will it ever stop?” We whine that the trains and buses are late. We moan that people are rude, the stock market hasn’t done well, or that the grocery store is out of our favorite item. Recently, I was at Whole Foods, and I heard a woman complaining to the manager that they were out of her “soymilk substitute.” First, what is soymilk substitute? And second, why would anyone want it? We waste so much time complaining about the superficial things that we miss precious seconds, hours, days, even years of our life. It’s like the Jewish prayer: “Days pass and years vanish, and we walk sightless among miracles.” We must be grateful in the good times and the bad, for in the end, it’s still life.

Warnings like “life is short,” get greeted by eye rolls and shrugs. Yes, we’ve all heard this saying many times—which is part of the problem. We have heard it so much that we have become immune to it. But there is urgency in those three short words. Things can change in the blink of an eye. We don’t know what is going to happen from one day to the next. We don’t know if we will be given tomorrow—or even the rest of today. Just look at the headlines: random shootings, tornados that tear apart entire towns, soaring cancer statistics. Life – is – short. It is also sacred. The Psalmists offered this wisdom: “You created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb … I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” (Psalm 139:13, 14). Life is the greatest, most sacred gift we have. Sure, you may think other things are important, but if you didn’t wake up this morning, then what difference would it make?

Life is short. Life is sacred. And, because of that it should be celebrated in the good times and the bad. It doesn’t matter where you find yourself: a long line at the Department of Motor Vehicles, the dentist chair, or the chemo room, it’s still life and there is joy to be found in the simple taking of a breath. The author Elisabeth Kübler-Ross wrote, “People are like stained glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.” Find that light. Strive to be grateful in all circumstances. Use that gratitude to inspire and lift up others who are mired in difficulty. We were never guaranteed that life would be easy, or fun, or painless. Yet, even in the pain we can be grateful for the simple gift of being alive because in the end it’s still sacred, it’s still a gift, it’s still life.

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Nathanael Hood, MA, New York University; MDiv, Princeton Theological Seminary.

“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He wouldn’t even lift his eyes to look toward heaven. Rather, he struck his chest and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ I tell you, this person went down to his home justified rather than the Pharisee. All who lift themselves up will be brought low, and those who make themselves low will be lifted up.'” Luke 18:13, 14 (Common English Bible)

There’s an old story that tells how once, in between his mighty battles throughout Europe, the Prussian emperor Frederick the Great visited the notorious Potsdam Prison. One by one, he spoke with various prisoners, all of whom swore up and down about their innocence. “Not I, Emperor,” shouted one. “I was framed,” vowed another. He continued his review until he came across one prisoner who, unlike his fellows, sat quietly in the corner with his head bowed, avoiding the Emperor’s gaze. Curious, the Emperor asked the prisoner who he blamed for his sentence. “Your Majesty,” the prisoner answered, “I am guilty and deserve my punishment.” Immediately, the Emperor yelled for the prison warden: “Come and get this man out of here before he corrupts all these innocent prisoners!” In that moment, the prisoner’s humility proved his salvation as the Emperor’s act of grace redeemed him of his crimes.

During his ministry, Jesus told a story not unlike Frederick the Great’s prison encounter. But instead of prisoners and convicts, Jesus’ parable focused on the Pharisees, the religious authorities of his day. Self-righteous to a fault, the only thing the Pharisees of first century Palestine loved more than being pious was bragging about being pious to anyone within earshot. For them, no good deed was worth doing unless there were witnesses, and no witnesses were more valued than the religious rank-and-file. Here in the eighteenth chapter of Luke, Jesus sets the stage: once two men went to the Jerusalem Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and he prayed aloud to God that he was thankful that he was better than other people. Better than robbers, he continued. Better than evildoers and adulterers, he trumpeted. Better even—turning to the second man next to him—than a tax collector. Understand that back in Jesus’ day, tax collectors were often corrupt agents of the Roman Empire. As collaborators with the army occupying their homeland, tax collectors were social pariahs among their fellow Jews. Having duly humiliated the tax collector in front of God and neighbor, the Pharisee turned the attention back on himself, crowing about his good deeds.

But the tax collector acted differently. Ashamed and embarrassed, he stood at a distance from everyone else within the crowded temple complex. Not daring to turn his eyes to the heavens, not daring to look his Lord in the face, he beat his breast and prayed “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Despite the man’s sins, Jesus explained, despite his economic corruption and imperial collaboration it was this tax collector who went home justified before God. It wasn’t the Pharisee, the religious expert with spotless behavior and a proven track record of good deeds, who was forgiven. No, it was the sinner who perhaps deserved punishment who received God’s forgiveness. How this must have shocked the people of Judea!

While many people probably can’t relate to the Pharisee, at some point in our lives all of us have felt like the tax collector. We know when we’ve sinned, when we’ve repaid good with evil, when we act selfishly instead of selflessly. When we pray, we come to God knowing that we have nothing to offer God than our guilt. Compare this to the Pharisee who prayed for himself—what did he stand to gain from such a prayer? His was a meaningless prayer, one that demanded nothing and therefore profited him not at all. But grace was given to the tax collector who offered nothing other than repentance. This is the model for how we should approach God in prayer: aware that we have everything to lose and everything to gain. This parable cautions us that self-satisfaction in prayer isolates us from God. The only way to approach God is on our knees.

Joy,

“After Jesus went into a house, his disciples asked him privately, ‘Why couldn’t we throw this spirit out?’ Jesus answered, ‘Throwing this kind of spirit out requires prayer.’” Mark 9:28, 29 (Common English Bible)

“Why couldn’t we throw this spirit out?” The disciples ask Jesus an honest and direct question: “Why?” They were asked by a father for help with a son tormented by an evil spirit. The spirit doesn’t allow the son to speak. When the spirit overpowers the son, the spirit throws the boy into a fit that produces foam at the mouth, the grinding of teeth, and a stiffening of the body. So, the boy’s father approaches the disciples and asks for help—asks if they could throw the spirit out. The disciples tried; the Gospel tells us. They may have given the effort everything they had. But they couldn’t do what the father asked. The spirit remained. The energy that was missing in the effort of the disciples was God—more specifically, a confident realization of the presence of God.

Here is a suggestion for a definition of prayer: Prayer is the confident realization of the presence of God. There are two clues in Mark’s Gospel narration of the story that support this definition: First, the disciples question Jesus, asking why “we” were unable to do anything about the spirit. At first glance, the “we” is inconclusive. Perhaps the disciples attempted to help the boy by including prayer in their effort. Perhaps, because they were disciples, one should grant the benefit of the doubt that any effort to help the boy included prayer. Here, it is reasonable to grant the benefit of the doubt. That is, until Jesus answers the inquiry: “Throwing this kind of spirit out requires prayer.” Jesus removes the benefit of the doubt. Jesus’ answer is clear. Prayer wasn’t used. That is our second clue.

Prayer is the expulsive force in this story. The disciples respond to the father’s concern for his son favorably. The disciples want to help. They make the effort to throw the destructive spirit out of the man’s son. But they are unable. The evil spirit remained. And the father’s concern for his son also remained. So, the father approaches Jesus with the same plea he had made to the disciples. And in verse nineteen, Jesus answers, “You faithless generation, how long will I be with you?” Jesus now provides a clue to the definition of “faith”: Faith is the confident realization of an unseen God after Jesus is no longer with us in the flesh. The trouble is that the definition sounds very similar to the definition of prayer. What, then, would be the difference between “faith” and “prayer?”

Jesus finally answers the question for a definition of prayer: if faith is the confident realization of an unseen God, then prayer is an experiment with that God. Prayer is the confident “practice” of the presence of God. Prayer is what knits our life together with God’s presence in such a manner that we become so identified with God that an energy is tapped to cast out devils. Darkness is powerful. Our lives offer much testimony to this truth. The act of prayer demonstrates an even greater power. It is the only power that can confront the powers of this world. Prayer rescues us from facing darkness alone. Our Lord provides—in this vivid story of a demon-possessed boy—the answer to a definition of prayer: Prayer is the confident engagement with an unseen, but very present God.

Joy,

Dr. Michael B. Brown wrote the following meditation.

“Don’t you have eyes Why can’t you see? Don’t you have ears? Why can’t you hear?” Mark 8:18 (Common English Bible)

And in the naked light, I saw ten thousand people, maybe more. 
People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening.1

“People hearing without listening” has always been a phrase that strikes a deep chord within me. Apparently long before those lyrics helped Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel score their very first hit song, the idea also resonated with Isaiah (6:10), Jeremiah (5:21), Ezekiel (12:2), and Jesus, who in the Gospel of Mark asked the poignant questions: “Don’t you have ears? Why can’t you hear?” (8:18)

I heard a man say some time ago: “The world consists of so much jabbering. So, I’ve learned to retreat into my own head space where it bounces off me. I hear the noise, but I’m really selective about when I choose to listen.” I get it. But, what if some of the jabbering (noise) is actually a cry for help? A cry to be noticed? To be seen? To be, for a precious and sacred moment, a little less alone?

My childhood pastor, the late Dr. Harlan Creech, used to talk about “the ministry of being there.” He contended that we rarely possess the power to resolve many (perhaps most) of the pains and problems we observe friends enduring. We have no magic wand to wave that can make all their suffering or sadness disappear. But, what we do have is presence. We can be there with people. For people. And at the heart of healing presence is the act of intentional listening. Tuning in. Taking someone’s words seriously. Because when we take what another person says seriously, we communicate that we take them seriously. It’s part of the ministry of being there, the grace of listening.

When my children were small, if we were seated on the couch with the TV on, and If one of them were trying to tell Daddy something but receiving no indication that I was listening, my children would physically take my face in their hands and turn it toward them. “Look at me,” they were saying. “Listen to me. I need you more than you need that television program.” “Don’t you have ears?,” Jesus asked. In our politically fractured society where we spend so much time shouting at each another, how much stronger could our nation be if we who are polarized would simply listen to one another with respect and a desire to understand? In our homes, how much more connected might we feel if we set aside disciplined time every day simply to listen to one another? How much stronger could our prayer lives become if part of praying for us was to be silent and still, saying to God, “Speak, Lord. Thy servant heareth”? (I Samuel 3:9 KJV) How much deeper could our friendships grow if we learned the beauty of the phrases, “Tell me about it,” or “I’d like to hear more about that”? And, in a culture where 75% of adults claim to feel a certain measure of loneliness, couldn’t the shadows give way to light for at least some of them if you and I would practice the grace of listening? Who is taking your face in their hands even now, crying out to be heard?

And in the naked light, I saw ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening.²

As followers of the one who took all people seriously, failing to listen to others (and, thus, failing to take them seriously) is failing to follow him closely enough.

Joy,

____________________

¹ (Paul Simon, from Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel, NY: Columbia Records, 1966)

2 Ibid