In late July, we are deep into ordinary time in the Church’s liturgical calendar.
It is so ordinary that we may not even pay attention to which Sunday in Ordinary Time it is. And that, in general, seems to be true for ordinary time. We just don’t give it much attention. The Great Feasts of the year – Christmas, Easter and Pentecost – receive all the Glory.
In fact, we focus more on the preparation time for these great events – Advent, Lent, and the Pentecost Novena – than we do on the time after these significant moments.
We are programmed and hard-wired for the big events and then struggle through the repetitive daily routine.
Some of us may be familiar with the words of Patrick Kavanagh: “God is in the bits and pieces of everyday”.
John McGahern said something similar, less poetically, but just as profound. Asked once about his glittering literary career, he summed it up briefly: “The best of life is lived quietly, where nothing happens but our calm journey through the day.”
This prompts me to think about the ordinary in my own life and so I begin to ruminate in the memory fields that hold all the experiences of my past.
“What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare” – my first encounter with poetry.
The childhood memories of school and farming, of books and cows, of sunshine days and paintings of hell.
Memories of travel, bike, car, bus, train and plane. And not forgetting life at sea, when I travelled by boat.
The people I have met in city and in villages, and the conversations that have enriched and challenged me.
The places I’ve visited, firmly anchored in my experiences. Trees stand out.
The needs of our world, still haunting my sleepless nights. Poverty persists.
The welcomes, hospitality, gifts I’ve received. The generosity of strangers.
And memories, thoughts, words, and silence carry the meaning.
“We drink from our own wells.”
Then I realise the ordinary is unique.
Image by Kobus van Leer from Pixabay
Edward Flynn C.S.Sp.
