PHOTO: Mary van Balen
First published in The Catholic Times, February 9, 2014
Having grown up in a Catholic family, I’m steeped in ritual and the liturgical calendar. I love Advent, its wreath and candles and anticipation, Christmas with its joy and light in the dark winter. Lent with its weeks of refocusing and preparing to embrace the paschal mystery that ends in the glory of Easter is a part of moving into spring each year. Still, I have to admit to having a particular fondness for ordinary time, the liturgical “season” we are presently observing.
It provides a different type of spiritual journey that requires no particular practices, no gifts to buy, no rituals. Some years, when Lent comes quickly on the heels of Epiphany, I feel uneasy. Last year, two weeks of February hadn’t passed before Ash Wednesday arrived, too soon for me. I prefer a longer stretch of time between putting away Christmas ornaments and getting out the purple cloth that drapes over a small prayer table in the dining room.
It’s not that there’s nothing special about daily routines and happenings. It’s just the opposite. When focus is not on an upcoming holiday or celebration, we can celebrate the ordinary and simple things and discover anew just how full of grace they are. That’s often difficult since the familiar or unassuming can go unnoticed.
Thornton Wilder immortalized just how difficult recognizing the wonder of life is in his play, “Our Town,” when Emily asks the stage manager if anyone ever realizes life while they are living it. The stage manager answers, “No,” and then adds “Saints and poets maybe…they do some.”
Saints and poets. They both take time to be present to the glory of the moment, as simple as it may appear. They recognize the Sacred when the rest of us are hurrying by, preoccupied.
Jesus has a preference for the ordinary. He told stories full of seeds sprouting or not, of wedding feasts and wineskins. He wasn’t impressed by pretentious prayer practices and held up for our emulation the poor widow who gave her small coins rather than the wealthy who gave much more. He worked miracles with what was at hand: water and wine, loves and fishes, dirt and spit.
In Sunday’s gospel reading, Jesus compares his disciples to salt and light, two things so common that we often don’t give them much thought. Salt, a humble presence on the shelf that includes more exciting and exotic spices, adds zest and brings out flavors in food we eat every day. Light from a lamp is nothing spectacular. The lamp is small enough to fit under a basket! Jesus didn’t tell his followers that they should be like a blazing bonfire. A simple flame will do.
In fact, what we celebrate in the “big” liturgical seasons is really the infusion of Divine Presence into every aspect of life, no matter how simple. Each day we are called to “salt” life with the Love God has shared with us. We are called to shine the Light that dwells within us on those we meet each day. We are called to recognize the Holy Presence in the poor and oppressed and in those we encounter. We are called to embrace suffering as well as joy.
A young man takes a broom from the restaurant where he works and cleans snow from the car of an elderly couple he sees in the parking lot. A woman invites a homeless man in for lunch and coffee after paying him for weeding her garden. A retired teacher helps immigrants learn English. A poet rises early to write each day before heading into his “day job.” A daughter holds her elderly father’s hand as they sit, quietly in the nursing home, not saying a word. Someone does the grocery shopping. Someone cooks the meals. Someone notices the way the sun shines on the snow. Someone provides shelter for abused women. Someone listens. Someone holds. Someone visits prisons. Someone reads to a child.
The Holy One is recognized in the moment and in others. God is “born” into the world with every act of love and compassion. Jesus transforms the world with each “death” we embrace, and with every new step in life we are courageous enough to take. Ah. Ordinary Time.
© 2014 Mary van Balen
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