There are mysteries in the Church that have stumped theologians for centuries: the Trinity, the Incarnation, and why the parish calendar continues to behave like a mischievous woodland creature determined to hide acorns in every available liturgical nook. I have long suspected that our calendar has a mind of its own — one that enjoys slapstick far more than canon law.
Now, we clergy do our best. We enter events with great solemnity. “Bible Study at 7:00,” I type into the scheduling system with the reverence of a medieval scribe. “Funeral Planning Meeting,” I add, confident — foolishly so — that the system will respect our earnest labour. And for a few shining hours, it looks promising.
But inevitably, someone discovers that the Youth Group’s Pancake Night has been booked precisely when the Finance Committee scheduled its Special Budget Review. And the only room left is the one currently occupied by the Choir, who are rehearsing an anthem requiring at least fourteen square feet per soprano for proper expression of the Spirit.
This is where miracles are born.
Because as the calendar collapses like a badly pitched tent, the saints among us — the Altar Guild — arrive with their calm, otherworldly grace. I don’t know which gifts of the Spirit they received, but I suspect it includes both interpretation of cryptic Google calendar entries and patience beyond mortal measure. These are the people who quietly sidestep the chaos, preparing for Sunday as if nothing at all has gone wrong. You know the type: serene, organized, and entirely unimpressed by clergy drama.
They will smile gently as they tell you that the flowers you thought were for the baptism have been repurposed for the funeral, and then — without skipping a beat — transform the chancel from “joyful thanksgiving” to “solemn remembrance” in the time it takes the rest of us to find the key to the linen cupboard.
And somehow, mysteriously, everything works out. The Youth Group flips pancakes in the narthex. The Finance Committee relocates to the choir loft. The choir, with a resilience bordering on heroic, rehearses in the church kitchen, competing valiantly with the sound of sizzling batter. “Make a joyful noise,” indeed.
And the Altar Guild? They glide past it all with the serene expression of those who have seen things — liturgical things — and have come through the other side with a quiet wisdom reserved for the truly holy or those who have repaired a frontal seconds before the opening hymn.
Watching it unfold, I am reminded that the Church is less a well-oiled machine and more a lively family dinner: someone always knocks over a cup, someone always forgets the potatoes, and yet the meal is served, grace is said, and all are fed.
In the chaos of overlapping committees and rogue calendar alerts, God still manages to stitch together something beautiful. The Holy Spirit, it turns out, is remarkably good at improvisation — and quite patient with human scheduling software.
So take heart. Our parish calendars may wobble like a three-legged stool, but the people who fill them — our faithful, our volunteers, our indefatigable Altar Guild — are small miracles walking among us. And through them, God transforms our comedy of errors into a joyful dance of grace.
Thanks be to God for divine flexibility — and for those blessed souls who know exactly where the spare candles are kept.
Companion Prayer
Gracious and Ordering God,
In the clutter of our calendars and the chaos of our committees,
teach us to find Your quiet rhythm of grace.
Bless all who serve with patient hearts
and calm spirits—especially those
who bring order to the sanctuary
and peace to our bustling parish life.
When we double-book, overlook, or over-commit,
remind us that You are never disoriented
and that Your Spirit weaves beauty
from even our most tangled plans.
Grant us humour, humility, and holy flexibility,
that we may follow You with joy.
Amen.