Tag: Jesus

Finding Peace in the Valley

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Part 4 of 6

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

The phrase valley of the shadow of death is thought to refer to a time when shepherds would guide their flocks through narrow valleys. In these places, predators could hide among the shadows cast by rocks and trees, using the terrain to ambush the flock. This imagery conveys a sense of danger and vulnerability, emphasizing the risks present in life’s challenging passages.

Regardless of historical accuracy, the valley represents a place of danger. Metaphysically, valleys symbolize low moments in consciousness, in contrast to mountains, which are seen as moments of enlightenment and spiritual clarity. Everyone experiences these low points, and during such times, feelings of vulnerability can arise, with threats—both real and imagined—seeming to loom large and threaten what we hold dear.

During these challenging moments, it’s helpful to affirm, as the Psalmist did: I do not fear this negative appearance. God is my protector, my refuge, my guide. By standing firm in this affirmation, we cultivate the confidence that visible good is imminent, even when uncertainty and fear seem to move in the shadows. This approach encourages strength, steadfastness, and the courage to continue moving forward.

Shadows can be deceptive. Even the gentlest person can appear sinister if a flashlight is held to their chin, casting unusual shadows across their face. Merely shifting the light changes the shadows, causing their negative effect to disappear. This analogy suggests that much of what frightens us is fleeting, dependent on perspective, and can shift with even a minor change in how we view our circumstances.

Life consists of valleys and mountaintop experiences. It is important to remember that God is present in all states of being, whether in moments of challenge or moments of joy. The 23rd Psalm serves as a powerful reminder of this truth. Even a slight movement of thought toward God can refresh faith, reassure us of life’s goodness, and remind us that today’s fears are temporary. Peace is available, even in the valley of the shadow of death, and awaits our recognition.

The Right Path

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Part 3 of 6 

He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

The Psalmist continues with the theme of spiritual guidance. The translators of the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible change the phrase, paths of righteousness, to right paths, a clarification that should prove helpful in our understanding of the idea contained in this line. In practice the path of righteousness is sometimes converted into an attitude of religious self-righteousness, one that is often condemning of those who hold beliefs that are not compatible with what we think is right. The simple thought that God is leading you in right paths is a powerful, affirmative attitude that allows you leave others to find the way that is most meaningful to them.

The word sake means for the good, the benefit or the welfare of somebody or something. In addition, Biblical names, particularly in the Old Testament, depicted a characteristic or the nature of a person or place. The phrase, for his name’s sake, can be thought of as meaning, for the benefit of his (God’s) nature. In other words, there is a right path for you, a way through which God seeks expression. In this line, you are affirming that God is leading you to your right path, one through which all the divine attributes of peace, health and the abundance of all good shines forth naturally.

In your times of quiet, let go of your grasping for answers. Looking outside of yourself and seeking the resolution to a problem is the cause of all tension of your mind, shortness of breath, and stress in your body. You are on the right path when you turn to God alone for guidance. You are complying with God’s nature that works from the center to the circumference of your being. You know you are on the right path when you feel the stress of groping for solutions begin to subside and the peace of trust in God rise from your center.

Affirm: God’s perfect peace is my right path and I choose this path now. Be still. The peace of stillness is your right path. 

The Lord is My Shepherd

The Lord is My Shepherd

23rd Psalm: Part 1 of 6 

The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…

The 23rd Psalm has served as a source of comfort to millions over the years. It is a profound series of affirmations that, in challenging times, reminds us that there is a higher Presence working in and through us, and that we can trust this Presence to guide us to the right thing.

The Psalmist does not say, The lord wants to be my shepherd, and if I will love and promise to obey Him, He will take care of my wants. He says, “The lord is my shepherd…” He is stating a changeless relationship that we often forget, especially in our trying moments.

A shepherd is a caretaker, a protector, one that guides his or her flock to the best and least dangerous grazing spots. Isn’t this a wonderful image to hold of our relationship to God? Right now, you and I are being guided into the best and highest, the most bountiful place in life, the richest environment in which to learn and grow.

Pause for a moment to remember this. Allow yourself to let go and trust that you are in the right place at the right time, that unseen good is now unfolding through your experience. Get the feeling that you are being guided, that your unfulfilled longing is being satisfied in every way.

Affirm often: The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want, then listen for the quiet, gentle guidance that is calling you to trust, that is leading you to a deep, inner satisfaction. Know beyond all doubt that you are being lovingly guided through uncertain times, and through territory that may be unknown to you. Nothing is unknown to the lord of your being, to God, your unfailing source and protector. 

Your Christmas Story

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Unity teaches that the Christ is the essence of God individualized in each of us. Yet most of us have accepted ideas of lack, limitation, and separation as the basis of our identity. Over time, these ideas take form—not only in our thinking, but in our bodies, our relationships, and our circumstances. The spiritual journey, then, is not about becoming something new, but about remembering what we already are.

The Christmas story describes this recovery of awareness through symbol and soul-language.

Mary represents spiritual receptivity—the intuitive dimension of consciousness that is open to the movement of Spirit. She is the part of us that knows life is more than survival and circumstance. Mary is the higher Self that listens inwardly and trusts what it hears. Without this receptive awareness, no spiritual birth is possible.

Joseph represents the intellect, but not as ruler. In the awakening soul, the intellect undergoes a quiet conversion. Once dominant, it becomes attentive. Once authoritative, it becomes discerning. Joseph learns to observe rather than control, to protect what is emerging without attempting to define it prematurely. He stands watch over truths that arise not from reasoning, but from the deeper regions of the soul.

The shepherds symbolize our capacity to watch over our thoughts and feelings. As they keep vigil by night, we are invited into conscious awareness—learning to notice what occupies our inner field. In moments of quiet prayer or reflection, we release what is unproductive and refocus our spiritual energy on what nurtures life, wholeness, and peace.

The wise ones from the East represent the soul’s innate wisdom. Just as the oak unfolds from the acorn, so the soul unfolds according to an intelligence greater than fear. When we commit to growth, the wisdom we need is revealed step by step. The gift is not given all at once—but always on time. This is your Christmas story. The Christ is not born once in Bethlehem, but continually within the receptive, attentive, and trusting human heart.

The Mystery of Mary

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Among the many symbols woven through the Gospel narratives, few are as profound—and as misunderstood—as Mary. In the mystical tradition, Mary represents far more than a historical figure. She is the soul itself: receptive, expectant, open to the divine without the intervention of the intellect. Her story is the story of every awakening consciousness.

Joseph, in this symbolism, is the intellect—capable, orderly, and essential in its place, yet ultimately limited in its ability to perceive the movements of Spirit. Mary conceives without Joseph because the deepest spiritual realizations do not arise from analysis or reason. They emerge from silence, from the inner chamber where the soul listens without effort and receives without strain.

This is the mystery of the virgin birth: a consciousness that becomes still enough, uncluttered enough, to let the divine seed take root. It is not about intense study. This birth is the transformation that begins when the mind stops trying to think its way into God and instead becomes receptive to an inner knowing already present.

Every spiritual journey begins with a moment like Mary’s: an inward stirring, an unexpected clarity, a quiet “yes” that arises before we can explain or justify it. The intellect may protest—Joseph “was troubled” for good reason—but the soul knows. It senses the movement of something holy within, something that cannot be managed or controlled.

Mary’s response is the model of all mystics: “Let it be unto me according to thy word.” She does not demand understanding; she offers availability. She becomes the willing vessel in which Spirit can express itself freely.

When we enter silence—true silence—we step into this same receptive posture. Thoughts settle, expectations soften, and something deeper begins to speak. Not in sentences, but in assurance. Not in arguments, but in the sense of something greater at work.

Awareness of the soul, the biblical Christ, is born in us the same way: not by intellectual effort, but by intuitive-readiness. Not by striving, but by surrender. The mystery of Mary is the reminder that the divine does not depend on our reasoning to take form. It depends on our willingness to be still, to open, to receive.

And in that receptive moment, something luminous awakens—quietly, naturally, inevitably—within the depths of the soul.

The Accepting Prayer of Thanksgiving

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Last week, we explored the principle of Divine Order—the understanding that spiritual order unfolds naturally when we acknowledge it rather than attempt to force it. This week, we build on that foundation by focusing on a practice that aligns consciousness with that order: the accepting prayer of thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is more than gratitude for what has already manifested. It is a spiritual state of receiving, a recognition that good is already in motion even when our senses have yet to confirm it. When we give thanks before the evidence appears, we shift from a mindset of striving to a mindset of trust. We are not trying to establish divine order—we are remembering that it is already present.

This is why Jesus taught, “Your Father knows what you need before you ask.” Prayer, then, is not information for God; it is preparation of the mind. Thanksgiving raises our expectation, creating a mental and emotional atmosphere in which the good we seek can be recognized and accepted.

Consider a moment in your life where anxiety overshadowed clarity. A request made from fear often assumes lack. A request offered in thankfulness acknowledges abundance. The same prayer can either close the heart or open it, depending on the consciousness in which it is spoken.

The accepting prayer of thanksgiving aligns us with spiritual reality:

•Divine order is already in motion

•Good is already unfolding

•We are prepared to receive

In this light, thanksgiving becomes an act of faith—not blind belief, but confident expectancy. We give thanks now because spiritual law is already at work. We give thanks now because good is seeking expression. We give thanks now because our role is not to create divine order but to cooperate with it.

Take a situation in your life that feels unresolved. Instead of pleading for change, affirm quietly:

“Thank you, Father, that divine order is now unfolding here.”

Let the feeling of trust do its quiet work.

An Act of Faith

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The Freeing Truth of Letting Go

There are times when life presses us to release what we’ve been clinging to—plans, relationships, expectations, or even the image we’ve carried of who we are. To the mind, letting go might feel like failure or loss. But to the soul, it is freeing.

Letting go is not doing nothing, and it’s not giving up. It is a quiet acknowledgment that our limited grasp of the situation cannot hold all the factors that belong to Divine order. When Jesus prayed in Gethsemane, “Not my will, but Thine be done,” he was not surrendering to defeat; he was surrendering to the Infinite Wisdom that sees the bigger picture that may be hidden from us. 

Faith begins where our ability to control ends. The moment we release our tight hold, something larger can move through us. The need to manage outcomes is replaced by a calm expectation that Love, operating through all things, is bringing forth what serves the highest good. Letting go becomes an act of trust in a power and a wisdom greater than our own.

We are not always quick to see or even imagine new possibilities, especially when we’re caught up in appearances. The tree releases its leaves before new buds appear. The same law governs the soul: release precedes renewal. We see this rhythm in operation throughout the natural world. The old is let go and the new takes its place.

To let go is to say yes to life’s deeper current. It is to affirm, even without visible proof, that divine wisdom knows the way when we do not. The act of release opens our mind and heart to unseen possibilities. We keep the door of our faith, our expectation open with the understanding that God’s infinite wisdom is paving the way for something good.

Faith, then, is not an effort to believe harder, but a willingness to loosen our grip—to trust that what falls away was never meant to imprison us. In that newly gained freedom, the soul discovers what it means to rest in God.

The Ripple Effect

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The spiritual awakening sends ripples through every facet of life. Relationships deepen, ordinary tasks take on new meaning, and a sense of well-being begins to infuse daily experience. This is what Jesus implied when he said, “Seek first the kingdom, and all these things shall be yours as well.” Spiritual realization is not an escape from life but a transformation of perception—life ceases to be a struggle for survival and becomes a creative partnership with the Divine.

Jesus understood how difficult this awakening can be. Knowing that few would find it, he emphasized the power of small shifts—a change of thought, a new perspective, a step toward trust. Even modest insights send ripples that expand into waves of transformation. His constant refrain—ask, seek, knock—reminds us that persistence is the key.

“You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” Freedom, he taught, begins with recognizing the inner source of strength and guidance. Those who depend solely on external rescue remain enslaved to circumstance. The miracle he offered was not spectacle but insight—a change of mind that releases spiritual energy into action.

His parables describe this process as gradual and organic: the seed becoming grain, the widow who refuses to lose heart, the field already white for harvest. The work is inner, yet its results appear outwardly as greater peace, clarity, and harmony.

Jesus’ teaching operates on several levels. On the surface, it speaks to the creative power of thought: thorns do not produce grapes. At a deeper level, it calls for direct awareness of the divine Presence within. Here prayer is not petition but realization—“on earth as it is in heaven.”

The Gospels suggest that many of his greatest works were unrecorded, rippling quietly through ordinary lives. The true miracle is not water turned to wine but fear turned to faith, resentment turned to love, struggle turned to peace. A single day lived free from anxiety may seem small, yet it embodies the essence of his promise: the kingdom of God unfolding in the midst of everyday life.

Calm Expectation: The Perpetual Prayer

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“According to your faith be it done unto you.” — Matthew 9:29

You have heard me say that faith is more than belief; it is expectation—a calm assurance that the cause we set in motion will bring a corresponding result. When we say, “I have faith in God,” we may unconsciously place the outcome beyond ourselves, waiting for divine involvement. But when we say, “I am working with divine law; therefore I expect results,” we recognize that we are participants in the process of creation.

We live in a universe of law. Every desire becomes a cause that must produce an effect. The clearer our cause, the clearer the result. If our desire is vague, our outcome will be blurred. Write your desire plainly. See it, feel it, give it form in thought. Then release it with calm expectation.

Know that you are working with law. With calm expectation of a corresponding result, you know that all necessary conditions will come about in proper order.

True faith does not strain. It does not plead or push. Like a seed planted in fertile soil, calm expectation knows that growth is already taking place. We do not dig up the seed each morning to check on its progress; we tend the soil and trust the process.

It is helpful to remember the phrase, “this or something better.” We often think we know exactly what form our good should take, but divine intelligence sees farther than we can. Many times, the “better” is not what we envisioned, yet it meets our deeper need.

Each morning, picture your desire fulfilled and give thanks that it is unfolding now. Each evening, rest in quiet gratitude that the same law continues its work through the night. Calm expectation is not idle waiting; it is faith at rest—an inward knowing that order is establishing itself.

Affirm often:

God, the living law within me, is now guiding me in all ways. Every step I take is the right step. I move through my life in confidence and peace.

This attitude keeps the heart open and joyful. In calm expectation, we cease striving and begin cooperating with the creative process of life itself.

Thank you, God, that this is so.

Perfection: The Target No One Will Hit

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Many of us were taught to see Jesus as “the perfect man demonstrated,” the flawless figure against whom our own lives are inevitably measured. While this image may inspire, it can also create a burden. Perfection becomes the target no one will ever hit, leaving us discouraged when we discover our flaws and limitations.

Paul’s own description of the resurrection offers a different perspective. He wrote, “It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body.” His words point away from physical immortality and toward transformation of consciousness. His encounter with the risen Christ was not about seeing a body restored but about awakening to a reality so profound it altered the course of his life.

Modern near-death experiencers testify to something similar. Their reports rarely focus on physical details. Instead, they describe a profound peace, an overwhelming sense of love, and encounters with familiar and unfamiliar figures who radiate welcome. They return to this life deeply changed, often free from the fear of death. The miracle is not that they avoided dying but that their perspective shifted.

When Jesus is seen as mystic rather than unreachable icon, we are released from the crushing demand to be flawless. Our aging bodies, our frailties, our scars do not disqualify us from discipleship; they remind us that what is most real is not the body at all, but the enduring self beneath it. The mystic teaches that we are more than flesh. We are Spirit expressing through flesh.

If perfection is the measure, we will always miss the mark. But the mystic invites us to another way—not to hit the target, but to awaken to the presence of God within. In this awakening, the search for perfection gives way to peace.