There are some experiences so universal that they ought to have their own liturgical season.
One of them is searching frantically for a pair of glasses that are already sitting on your nose.
I suspect this phenomenon becomes more common after the age of fifty, although younger people seem to compensate by spending ten minutes searching for a phone they are currently using as a flashlight to help look for it.
Human beings are wonderfully consistent.
I have become convinced that every household contains an invisible committee devoted entirely to relocating everyday objects.
Car keys.
Reading glasses.
The television remote.
The pen that worked perfectly five minutes ago.
The grocery list.
The barbecue tongs.
The tape measure.
The screwdriver that everyone insists is “right where I left it.”
This committee, whose membership remains entirely anonymous, performs its work with astonishing efficiency.
I suspect they meet on Tuesday evenings.
If they have spare time, they also knot extension cords and hide the matching lid to every plastic container in the kitchen.
Now, before anyone writes to remind me that there is no such committee, let me say that I realize this.
Mostly.
Stephen Leacock once had a wonderful gift for noticing that the smallest absurdities of ordinary life often reveal something surprisingly true about ourselves. He understood that laughter and wisdom are often cousins.
The search for misplaced glasses belongs in that family.
The funny thing is that when we cannot find something, our entire personality changes.
We begin calmly.
“I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”
Five minutes later we are conducting a police investigation.
Every cushion is interrogated.
Every countertop becomes a suspect.
The dog is questioned.
Family members are asked whether they have “seen my glasses,” even though they have absolutely no reason to know where we abandoned them while answering an email and carrying laundry upstairs with a cup of coffee.
Eventually someone quietly says the words none of us wishes to hear.
“They’re on your head.”
Or perhaps,
“They’re hanging from your shirt.”
Or, if providence is feeling particularly playful,
“You’re wearing them.”
There is usually a moment of silence.
Then comes a laugh.
Followed by the entirely dignified statement:
“Well… I knew that.”
Of course we didn’t.
But there is something wonderfully human about the whole affair.
It reminds me how easily we overlook what is already present.
The Gospel is full of people searching for God while God is standing right beside them.
Balaam searches while has Jackass can see that God is standing right there.
The disciples look for greatness while Jesus is washing feet.
Crowds search for signs while miracles unfold in front of them.
People long for God’s kingdom while sitting at the very table where it is quietly arriving.
Sometimes we imagine that the spiritual life must involve discovering something entirely new.
Yet much of discipleship is simply learning to notice what has been there all along.
Grace.
Kindness.
Friendship.
Forgiveness.
The steady presence of Christ.
Like misplaced glasses, these gifts often disappear only because we stop noticing them.
Ordinary Time has always seemed to me to be God’s season for paying attention.
There are no major festivals demanding our focus.
No Christmas pageants.
No Easter lilies.
Just long green weeks inviting us to notice the holy hiding in plain sight.
It is rather like finally finding the butter after searching the entire refrigerator, only to discover it has been sitting directly in front of you the whole time.
One begins to suspect that refrigerators are also involved with the committee.
I sometimes wonder whether heaven includes a Lost and Found department.
Not because God misplaces things.
Because we do.
Perhaps there is a room filled with all the umbrellas we left in restaurants, socks whose partners vanished in the dryer, favourite pens that disappeared in 1998, and every charging cable we were absolutely certain we had only yesterday.
If so, I imagine St. Peter smiling as we arrive.
“Looking for something?”
And we answer,
“Actually… yes.”
He points behind us.
“It’s been with you all along.”
That, I suspect, may be one of the gentlest descriptions of salvation anyone could imagine.
Perhaps that is why Jesus so often invited people simply to “see.”
Not because God was absent.
Because our attention was.
So today, if you spend ten minutes looking for your glasses while wearing them…
If you discover the milk in the pantry and the cereal in the refrigerator…
If you wander through the house wondering where your coffee went before realizing you already finished it…
Be kind to yourself.
Laugh.
Offer thanks for the glorious absurdity of being human.
And then look around once more.
You may discover that the grace you’ve been searching for has quietly been accompanying you all day.
Just beside your keys.
Which, by the way, are probably in yesterday’s pants pocket.
Companion Prayer
Gracious God,
Thank you for meeting us in the ordinary moments of life—in misplaced keys, forgotten errands, shared laughter, and quiet discoveries.
When we become so busy searching for what we think is missing, help us to notice the gifts already surrounding us: your presence, the kindness of others, and the grace that has never left our side.
Teach us to laugh at ourselves with gentleness, to live with grateful hearts, and to trust that you are always nearer than we imagine.
May we see your love hidden in plain sight today, and may our ordinary lives become places where your extraordinary grace quietly shines.
Amen.