There is a particular shade of green that appears in church after Epiphany and Pentecost. It is not the dramatic purple of Lent, nor the festive white of Christmas and Easter. It is not even the fiery red that makes us sit up straighter on Pentecost. It is… green. Calm. Dependable. Almost aggressively ordinary.
Liturgically speaking, this is Ordinary Time. Which sounds suspiciously like the season when nothing much happens and everyone takes a deep breath — except the church, which insists that this is precisely when everything happens.
Ordinary Time is the church’s way of saying, “Now we grow.”
Not sprint. Not perform miracles on demand. Not cram all spiritual development into a six-week program with a workbook and a colour-coded calendar. Just… grow.
This is deeply countercultural.
We live in a world that believes holiness should be efficient. Prayer should be productive. Faith should show measurable results by the end of the quarter. Even rest is now optimized. We rush to relax. We hurry to slow down. We schedule serenity between emails.
And then the church rolls out green and says, “Settle in.”
Green is the colour of photosynthesis, not fireworks. Of roots spreading quietly underground. Of leaves doing their work without applause. Green seasons remind us that most of life with God happens at walking pace — or slower. Often while nothing particularly Instagram-worthy is going on.
In Ordinary Time, no one gasps at the font or cranes their neck toward the manger. The altar is not draped in drama. The readings don’t shout; they murmur. Jesus teaches, eats, walks, tells stories, and waits for people to catch up. Which they rarely do on the first try.
And neither do we.
This is the extraordinary gift of not being in a rush: we discover that God isn’t either.
God seems remarkably content to work through repetition, routine, and the slow accumulation of grace. Through prayers that feel familiar. Through Sundays that blur together. Through faithful showing up. Through green.
Ordinary Time reminds us that holiness is not built only in moments of crisis or celebration, but in the long obedience of ordinary days. In returning again and again. In letting the Word sink in. In trusting that what looks like stillness is often growth.
Or, as any gardener will tell you, if you keep digging up the plant to check whether it’s growing, it probably won’t.
Green seasons teach us to leave well enough alone — and well enough watered.
So if your spiritual life feels unremarkable just now, if nothing seems to be catching fire, if faith feels more like tending than triumph — good news. You are exactly where the church expects you to be. You are precisely where God expects you to be.
Take your time.
God already has.
Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual.
A Prayer
Gracious God,
you meet us not only in holy days
but in holy habits.
Teach us to trust the slow work of grace,
to rest in the green seasons,
and to believe that growth is happening
even when we cannot see it.
Free us from the tyranny of hurry,
and root us deeply in your love,
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.