Be Still
Find a quiet place where you won’t be interrupted. Get comfortable. Let your body relax and your mind quiet down. Take a few deep breaths and then ask God to make his presence known to you. Be still. Take some time to sit and soak up God’s presence.
Prayer of Approach
Lord Jesus, you alone are the resurrection and the life; those who believe in you will never die. Come to us, and speak new life upon all our dyings. Look upon us as we stand at the thresholds of our entombing experiences, unable to see or move because of the grave clothes which bind us. Set us free. In your name we pray. Amen.
Psalm 90
A prayer of Moses the man of God.
Lord, you have been our dwelling place
throughout all generations.
Before the mountains were born
or you brought forth the whole world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
You turn people back to dust,
saying, “Return to dust, you mortals.”
A thousand years in your sight
are like a day that has just gone by,
or like a watch in the night.
Yet you sweep people away in the sleep of death—
they are like the new grass of the morning:
In the morning it springs up new,
but by evening it is dry and withered.
We are consumed by your anger
and terrified by your indignation.
You have set our iniquities before you,
our secret sins in the light of your presence.
All our days pass away under your wrath;
we finish our years with a moan.
Our days may come to seventy years,
or eighty, if our strength endures;
yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow,
for they quickly pass, and we fly away.
If only we knew the power of your anger!
Your wrath is as great as the fear that is your due.
Teach us to number our days,
that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
Relent, Lord! How long will it be?
Have compassion on your servants.
Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
for as many years as we have seen trouble.
May your deeds be shown to your servants,
your splendor to their children.
May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us;
establish the work of our hands for us—
yes, establish the work of our hands.
Devotional Thought
Once upon a time I had a young friend named Philip. Philip lived in a nearby city, and Philip was born with Down Syndrome. He was a pleasant child—happy, it seemed but increasingly aware of the difference between himself and other children.
Philip went to Sunday School. And his teacher also, was a friend of mine. My Sunday School teacher friend taught the third grade at a Methodist church. Philip was in his class, as well as nine other 8-year-old boys and girls.
My Sunday School teacher friend is a very creative teacher. Most of you know 8-year-olds. And Philip, member of this third-grade Sunday School class. But my teacher friend was a good teacher, and he had helped facilitate a good group of 8-year-old children. They learned and they laughed and they played together. And they really cared about each other-even though, as you know, 8-year-olds don't say that they care about each other out loud very often. But my teacher friend could see it. He knew it. He also knew that Philip was not really a part of that group of children. Philip, of course, did not choose nor did he want to be different. He just was. And that was just the way things were. My Sunday School teacher friend had a marvelous design for his class on the Sunday after Easter last year. You know those things that panty hose come in—the containers look like great big eggs. My friend had collected ten of these to use on that Sunday. The children loved it when he brought them into the room. Each child was to get a great big egg. It was a beautiful spring day, and the assigned task was for each child to go outside on the church grounds and to find a symbol of new life, put it in the egg (the old panty hose containers), and bring it back to the classroom. They would then mix them all up, and then all open and share their new life symbols and surprises together one by one.
Well, they did this, and it was glorious. And it was confusing. And it was wild. They ran all around, gathered their symbols, and returned to the classroom. They put all the big eggs on a table, and then my teacher friend began to open them. All the children were standing around the table.
He opened one, and there was a flower, and they ooh-ed and aah-ed. He opened another, and there was a little butterfly. "Beautiful,” the girls all said, since it is hard for 8-year-old boys to say “beautiful."
He opened another, and there was a rock. And third graders will, some laughed, and some said, “That's crazy! How's a rock supposed to be like new life?" But the smart little boy whose egg they were spoke up. he said, ''That's mine. And I knew all of you would get flowers, and buds, and leaves, and butter- flies, and stuff like that. So I got a rock because I wanted to be different. And for me, that's new life.”... He (the teacher) opened the next one, and there was nothing there. The other children, as 8-year-olds will, said, “That's not fair—that's stupid!—somebody didn't do right."
About that time my teacher friend felt a tug on his shirt, and he looked down and Philip was standing beside him.
"It's mine," Philip said. “It's mine." And the children said, “'You don't ever do things right, Philip. There's nothing there!" “I did so do it,” Philip said. “I did do it. It's empty—the tomb is empty!"
The class was silent, a very full silence. And for you people who don't believe in miracles, I want to tell you that one happened that day last spring. From that time on, it was different. Philip suddenly became a part of that group of 8-year-old children. They took him in. He entered. He was set free from the tomb of his differentness.
Philip died last summer. His family had known since the time that he was born that he wouldn't live out a full life span. Many other things had been wrong with his tiny, little body. And so, late last July, with an infection that most normal children could have quickly shrugged off, Philip died. The mystery simply enveloped him completely.
He was buried from that church. And on that day at that funeral nine 8-year-olds, with their Sunday School teacher, marched right up to that altar and laid on it an empty egg-an empty, old discarded holder of panty hose.
- From "The Story of Philip" by Harry Pritchett Jr.
John 11:17-27
On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.
“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”
Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”
Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”
Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”
Reflection
Take time to pause and reflect on your time with Jesus through the Scriptures and devotional thought. What thoughts are being drawn out of you? What emotions are being provoked? What might God be saying? Consider using a journal to write as you process, reflect, and pray.
Time for Prayer
God invites us to cast our cares on him because he cares for us. God is all-together good, already knows what we need, and is eager to give us good things. So we don’t need to pray out of anxiety or fear, but confident trust. Spend a few minutes making your requests known to God.
- For the church
- For others
- For myself
Closing Prayer
Thank you for these moments together, my Lord. Thank you for the deep inner presence of Your spirit. Stay with me all the day long, I pray. Amen.