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Many know the chocolatier by her namesake and some remember Lady Godiva for her daring ride through Coventry, but few recall the reason: she was protesting her husband’s policies and taxes that hurt the poor. She risked her comfort and reputation to stand with the oppressed.

Our world still bears the weight of unjust systems that harm the marginalized. God calls us not to look away, but to step out—sometimes into vulnerability—for the sake of mercy and justice.

Prayer:

God of compassion and mercy, give us courage to speak truth, to confront injustice, and to seek Your will above our comfort. Make us bold in love, humble in service, and steadfast in standing with the least of these. Amen.

The earliest lessons of childhood lead us to believe in the illusion of our separateness. The world teaches us to assert, to accumulate, to define ourselves by what we do, what we own, and what others think and say about us. Individualism becomes not just a habit, but a lens through which we see everything—including the Holy.

But Meister Eckhart invites us into a deeper seeing.

“The eye with which I see God (the Beloved) is the same eye with which God sees me.”

— Meister Eckhart

This is no small shift. It is a quiet undoing of the ego’s fortress. As we begin to encounter the presence of our Lover—not merely beyond us, but within—our tight grasp on selfhood begins to loosen.

Eckhart reminds us that it is not through striving that we find union with Holy Oneness, but through surrender. Giving up our individualist ways is not a rejection of our uniqueness but a softening of the walls that keep us alone. Slowly, through love, silence, joy, and undoing, we awaken to the truth that the Beloved is not far off, rather dwelling at the very center of our being.

“The Beloved is at home. It is we who have gone out for a walk.”

— Meister Eckhart

In returning to this inner sanctuary, we are not erased—we are made whole. The love of the Lover does not diminish us; it completes us. Our boundaries dissolve not into emptiness, but into a communion that holds all things.

This journey is not swift. It unfolds slowly, tenderly, sometimes painfully, over the years. But as we release the illusion of separateness, we are drawn ever deeper into the heart of the Holy Oneness, where all things live and move and have their being.

When it comes to meditation, approaches often seem to emphasize goal‑oriented outcomes, turning meditation into a performance: “achieve peace, clarity, progress.” This directly clashes with ancient wisdom, which teaches that clinging—even to peace—is the root of suffering.

As the Buddha taught:

“Attachment is the root of suffering.”

“Nothing whatsoever should be clung to as ‘I’ or ‘mine.’” 

This if we say things like “I want experience peace” or “I want to know God”, etc. … we’ve set ourselves up for a lot of struggle.

Meditation’s purpose is not to hit targets, but to let go of attachments.

When Westerners treat meditation like a productivity tool—with measurable progress—they often feel frustrated. Instead, the ancient traditions point toward spacious awareness and freedom from grasping.

Centering Prayer: A Contemplative Alternative

Rooted in Christian mysticism from the Desert Fathers through Symeon the New Theologian, Desert monasticism, and medieval texts like The Cloud of Unknowing, Centering Prayer offers a Christian contemplative path that parallels Eastern meditation—but leads toward discovering the God incarnate within.

Theophan the Recluse urged: “To pray is to descend with the mind into the heart, and there to stand before the face of the Lord, ever‑present, all‑seeing, within you.”  Early monastic instructions (via Jon Cassian) emphasize inward repetition: “Unbroken continuance … ceaselessly revolving [a sacred phrase] in your heart … rid of all other thought.” 

Thomas Keating—co‑founder of the modern Centering Prayer movement—wrote: “In centering prayer, the sacred word is not the object of attention but the expression of the intention of the will.”  “The more one lets go, the stronger the presence of the Spirit becomes. The Ultimate Mystery becomes the Ultimate Presence.” 

Rather than striving for mental emptiness or mystical states, Centering Prayer teaches intentional surrender using a sacred word such as “Jesus” or “love.” Whenever thoughts arise, one gently returns to the word—opening toward God’s presence within.

Invitation to Encounter the God Within

Both Eastern meditation and Christian contemplative prayer aim to move beyond performance and attachment.

Centering Prayer may help modern minds be invited into an encounter with the incarnate God within. Through the practice of letting go, we open to inner transformation—not through doing, but by noticing the in-dwelling of Love within us as it is revealed to us in stillness.

For more exploration about meditation, centering prayer, or to set up an appointment in person or on line, please be in touch.

We All Walk By Sometimes—And Still, Mercy Calls Us Back

There’s a story Jesus told that still pierces the heart.

A man is beaten, robbed, and left half-dead on the side of the road. Two respected figures pass by—religious leaders, even. Maybe they had important tasks to get to. Maybe they felt helpless, afraid, overwhelmed. We don’t know. But they walked by.

Then, a Samaritan—an outsider, someone others might have dismissed—saw the man and was moved with compassion. He stopped. He bound up wounds. He paid the cost. He made space in his life for a stranger’s suffering. He acted.

That story still echoes today. As policies are passed and programs are cut—programs meant to feed the hungry, care for the sick, shelter the unhoused, welcome the immigrant—we see more and more people left in the ditch. And many of us, even with good hearts, feel unsure what to do. We scroll, we shake our heads, we whisper prayers, and we walk on.

But here is the good news: Even when we walk by, God’s mercy does not walk away from us.

God’s mercy meets us exactly where we are—not to shame us, but to awaken us. To call us back to love. To remind us that we are not powerless, and that we are still called. It’s not too late to stop, to turn around, to kneel beside someone else’s pain and do what we can with what we have.

This is a time for prayer—but not prayer alone. Let us pray for those who suffer from indifference and injustice. Let us pray for leaders who hold power over decisions that shape lives. And let us pray for our own awakening—because we are needed.

But then, let us act. Let us contact our representatives. Let us support grassroots organizations. Let us show up, give what we can, speak up when it’s uncomfortable, and refuse to accept that “walking by” is ever the final word.

Because Love is still calling. Mercy is still moving. And we can still be part of the healing.

Lord, give us eyes to see, hearts to feel, and courage to respond. Let your mercy lead us—not only to prayer, but to action. Amen.

Dear Soulful Friends,

Today my heart is heavy, and I write to you not just with words, but with tears. Like Jesus weeping over Jerusalem, I feel the ache of grief for what is happening in our own day. And so I invite you into this sorrow with me—not to be overcome by despair, but to be awakened by love.

In Gaza, mothers and children—waiting in line simply for nutritional supplements—were killed.

In our own country, the Head Start program has now been stripped of its ability to serve children of undocumented parents.

In California, young farm workers—some only teenagers—have been rounded up by ICE, and mothers have been taken from their children, left screaming for the only arms they know.

These stories are not just headlines. They are sacred human lives, unjustly broken. These are holy bodies, holy souls, wounded by policies and powers that fail to see the face of God in the poor, the foreigner, the child.

And still, Jesus weeps.

We are not powerless. Even in grief, we have a calling. We can hold space for lament. We can bear witness. We can speak, and write, and show up. We can support and shelter, pray and protest, share and serve. We can remember that the Spirit moves where hearts break open in love.

Let us not grow numb or weary. Let us not turn away. Let us lean into mercy, into justice, into the quiet knowing that God suffers with the suffering, and calls us to do the same.

With sorrow, and with sacred hope,

Marv

Psalm 34:18 – “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit”