Summer comes in wearing her golds and blues and sweeps us away in swaying grasses. We sit out back in the fading light and watch the fireflies wink. The days have been quick-disappearing and the only way to catch our breath is this sitting together—this quiet vigil we keep.
I close my eyes and listen to the crickets; lean my head back and let the cool of night settle on my skin. We talk about the way things have turned out different than we planned, about the hardness of that. But then, he touches my hand.
Time doesn’t wait—it is a rubbery thing. And this is one way to slow its constant spinning.
Yesterday, in church, we talked about the widow of Nain. How Jesus gave her back her son. And in doing so, how he gave her back her life. We talked about resurrection moments—those pockets of restoration in our world today.
Here we are, ten weeks after Easter, still fresh-stepping into what the church calls ordinary time and our Bible story reminds us that we should still be thinking—that we should always be thinking—resurrection. But we are more comfortable with the ordinary, the everyday stuff. We have our lists to do. And resurrection certainly doesn’t make the list. We concern ourselves with the stuff of life. The Ordinary. And if I am not careful, that word ordinary can trip me up—give me excuse to assign little value to these passing moments.
But here the church gives me a good model of how to view time. The liturgical year is divided into the seasons of Lent/Easter, Advent/Christmas, and Ordinary Time. In this case the term “ordinary” does not mean “usual or average.” We get the term from the Latin word ordinalis, which means to be numbered in series. Therefore, Ordinary Time is called “ordinary” simply because the weeks are numbered.
But here’s the thing: in Ordinary Time, we are not focused on a specific aspect of Christ (such as the Nativity or the Passion). Instead, we celebrate the mystery of Christ as a whole—his life, ministry, miracles, and teachings. These days are no less holy, no less important for this lack—rather, they remind us to view all of life through the lens of holy. When God took on flesh and became one of us, didn’t he elevate the dignity of human nature for us all? Did he not infuse resurrection into the ordinary moments? Elevating the passing of time to something holy? When we number the days—when we count the moments, the moments count, don’t they? By simply paying attention our awareness of the holy in each moment is heightened.
When I live in the context of the holy-ordinary, time takes a deep breath…slows her pace.
He touches my hand. And eternity presses down on that one moment.
Resurrection. In that instant there is new life.
I’ve adapted this from an article that originally appeared at The High Calling earlier this year. Have you been over there? It’s a neat place. Today Glynn Young is writing for our book club discussion on Chip and Dan Heath’s book Decisive. Join us? You might want to join the network while you’re over there.
Sharing with Michelle today too: