Many people know that I am an early morning person.
Though I have now lived more years away from the farm than I ever lived on it, those rhythms of rising early remain deeply ingrained within me.
There is something about the quiet of early morning that still feels entirely natural.
Now, with that said, I should probably clarify something.
Being an early riser does not necessarily mean being immediately productive.
I may be awake before six o’clock…
…but I have also developed a deeply established pattern of dawdling over coffee.
I take my time with it.
Very seriously.
There is something profoundly beautiful about those early moments before the demands of the day begin arriving in earnest.
Before emails.
Before schedules.
Before the increasingly ambitious expectations of the to-do list begin introducing themselves.
The house is quiet.
The world itself still seems to be waking slowly.
And there, with coffee in hand, one is given a few precious moments simply to exist.
I love the morning.
But truthfully, I love it largely because of that quiet time where the coffee itself becomes the focus.
Now, I realize that from the outside this may appear remarkably unproductive.
And perhaps that is part of its holiness.
Because there are few moments in human experience more filled with hope than the first cup of coffee in the morning.
There are few moments in human experience more filled with hope than the first cup of coffee in the morning.
Now, I realize that theologians may debate this point.
But I remain convinced that somewhere in the history of Christian spirituality there should have been at least one monastic order devoted entirely to the contemplative appreciation of properly brewed coffee.
There is something deeply restorative about it.
The quiet of the kitchen.
The familiar sound of the kettle or coffee maker beginning its sacred morning labour.
The first warm cup held carefully in both hands while the rest of the house—and indeed much of one’s own personality—slowly comes awake.
Now, I should probably confess that before coffee, my spiritual gifts are somewhat limited.
I remain technically Christian, certainly.
But conversational clarity and advanced theological reflection may require approximately fifteen additional minutes.
Grace abounds.
And perhaps that is why I have increasingly come to value the quiet rhythm of morning prayer attached to that first cup of coffee.
Not because the prayers themselves are always profound.
Sometimes they are little more than:
“Lord, help me today.”
Which, truthfully, may already be enough.
Because prayer, at its heart, is not performance.
It is presence.
The simple decision to begin the day aware that we do not walk through life alone.
Now, Ordinary Time is particularly good for learning this.
The great festivals have passed.
There are no dramatic liturgical fireworks at the moment.
Instead, the Church gently teaches us how to live faithfully within ordinary rhythms.
And perhaps one of the holiest of those rhythms is simply beginning the day with stillness before it becomes noisy.
Not checking the news immediately.
Not rushing headlong into schedules and anxieties.
Just stopping.
Breathing.
Praying.
Listening quietly while sunlight begins to gather at the windows and coffee slowly performs its ministry of restoration.
Now, I realize that not everyone’s mornings unfold peacefully.
Some households begin the day with a level of activity usually associated with airport logistics.
Children.
Lost shoes.
Mysteriously vanished lunches.
There are seasons in life when silence itself becomes largely theoretical.
But even then, prayer does not need to be elaborate.
A brief pause.
A whispered thanksgiving.
A moment of remembering that God is already present before the day properly begins.
These small rhythms matter.
Because over time, prayer slowly reshapes the soul.
Not dramatically.
Gently.
Like water smoothing stone over many years.
We become a little more patient.
A little more attentive.
A little less convinced that we alone are responsible for holding the entire world together before breakfast.
And perhaps this is one of the quiet miracles of daily prayer.
It reminds us that grace arrives early.
Before the emails.
Before the worries.
Before the demands of the day begin assembling themselves with determination.
God is already there.
Waiting quietly beside the morning coffee.
So perhaps this Wednesday, before the world fully claims your attention…
Pause for a moment.
Sit quietly.
Pray simply.
Drink your coffee gratefully.
And remember that ordinary mornings may contain far more holiness than we often realize.
Even if coherent thought is still arriving gradually.
Alleluia.
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Companion Prayer
Gracious God,
Meet us in the quiet beginnings of the day.
In the stillness of morning,
draw near to us with your peace.
Teach us to pause,
to pray simply,
and to rest for a moment in your presence.
Shape our hearts through small daily rhythms
of prayer, gratitude, and attentiveness.
And as each new day begins,
remind us that your grace arrives before all else.
Amen.