MSI Press Blog

Today's meditation from  Weekly Soul: Fifty-two Meditations on Meaningful, Joyful, and Peaceful Living   by Dr. Frederic Craigie: -46-   Understanding and love are not two things, but just one. When you understand, you cannot help but love. You cannot get angry. To develop understanding, you have to practice looking at all living beings with the eyes of compassion. When you understand, you love. And when you love, you naturally act in a way that can relieve the suffering of people.   Thich Nhat Hanh   As a young African-American boy growing up in predominantly white Boston suburb, Daryl Davis knew little of racism. As he moved along into his middle school years, though, incidents began to come up that showed him the dark reality of racial discrimination even in his comfortable northern community. His experiences prompted a life-long question, “How can you hate me when you don’t even know me?” As an adult, Davis became a professional musician, performing boogie w...

  Kenosis, from the Greek kenóō , means “to empty.” In Philippians 2:7, we read that Christ “emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant.” This isn’t theological abstraction—it’s a radical redefinition of power. 🌌 Divine Descent Kenosis reveals that God’s glory is not in domination, but in descent. Jesus, fully divine, chose not to cling to privilege. He entered the fragility of human life—not as a cosmic tourist, but as a servant. This voluntary self-emptying is not weakness—it’s the deepest kind of strength: love that refuses to self-protect. “Though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself…” —Philippians 2:6–7 (NRSV) 🧭 A Model for Living Kenosis isn’t just Christological—it’s invitational. Paul urges us to “let this mind be in you.” That means embracing humility, relinquishing control, and choosing service over status. In your household, Betty, kenosis might look like the quiet heroism of tending to som...

  We rarely notice the scaffolding of self until it starts to shift. For years, we live inside a version of ourselves built from roles, routines, and the expectations of others. We are the reliable one. The caregiver. The strategist. The fixer. The artist. The one who remembers birthdays and keeps the household running. These identities feel solid—like bricks mortared by repetition and recognition. But then something changes. A child grows up. A parent declines. A job ends. A body falters. A belief unravels. And suddenly, the scaffolding creaks. What follows isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s quiet. A slow erosion of certainty. A subtle reordering of priorities. A moment when you look in the mirror and think, “I don’t quite know who I am anymore.” This isn’t a crisis. It’s a renovation. Self-concept isn’t fixed. It’s a living structure—adaptive, porous, and shaped by experience. It expands when we learn something new. Contracts when we grieve. Reorients when we choose diff...