There is something wonderfully Canadian about the first day of September.
Even if the calendar insists that summer still has another few weeks to go, nobody believes it. September has always been New Year’s Day wearing a cardigan instead of a party hat.
The children begin inspecting backpacks that somehow shrank over the summer. Teachers quietly wonder where the vacation disappeared. Parents discover that buying school supplies now requires a small bank loan. Churches dust off choir folders. Community groups wake from their summer naps. Golfers begin calculating how many more rounds can possibly fit into the season before someone uses the dreadful expression, “closing day.”
I have always loved September.
For more than thirty years of ordained ministry, September has felt like taking a deep breath before stepping once more into work that I genuinely love. My August vacation has always been a treasured gift—a chance to rest, read, write, spend time with family and friends, enjoy God’s beautiful creation, and perhaps consume one or two slices of watermelon that could reasonably have been classified as entire meals.
But eventually vacation does exactly what it is supposed to do.
It ends.
And strangely enough, I am always glad.
Not because I dislike vacation. Far from it. But because rest was never meant to become permanent residence. Rest prepares us to return to purpose.
The rhythm itself is holy.
Scripture has always understood that life moves in seasons. Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is “a time for every matter under heaven.” Creation itself keeps time. Fields are planted and harvested. Rivers rise and fall. Birds migrate. Trees surrender their leaves without filing formal complaints.
Only human beings insist that every season should last forever.
If we are honest, most of us resist change just enough to make ourselves unnecessarily tired.
We want June sunshine in November. Christmas joy in February. Summer freedom in September. We become experts at wishing we were somewhere other than where God has presently placed us.
Yet God has an annoying tendency—which I suspect is one of the Divine characteristics that keeps theologians humble—of meeting us exactly where we are instead of where we wish we were.
That means Christ is just as present in a staff meeting as on a mountain trail.
Just as present in a classroom as beside the lake.
Just as present in the routine of Tuesday morning as in the wonder of vacation sunsets.
Perhaps even more so.
After all, Jesus spent remarkably little time on mountaintops compared to the amount of time he spent simply walking ordinary roads with ordinary people.
The Kingdom of God has always done some of its finest work on perfectly ordinary Tuesdays.
That gives me tremendous hope.
Because most of life is not lived during spectacular moments.
Most of life happens while packing lunches.
Answering emails.
Driving children to school.
Preparing sermons.
Attending meetings.
Walking the dog.
Paying bills.
Making supper.
Folding laundry that somehow multiplies while no one is looking.
If God only appeared during dramatic moments, many of us would spend long stretches wondering where heaven had gone.
Instead, the Incarnation tells us exactly the opposite.
God delights in ordinary life.
Which means September may actually be one of the most spiritual months of the year.
It is the month when enthusiasm slowly gives way to commitment.
Anyone can enjoy Christmas.
Anyone can enjoy vacation.
September asks something different.
Will we love the ordinary?
Will we discover grace inside routine?
Will we notice Christ quietly waiting inside calendars, classrooms, church committees, hockey practices, coffee breaks, grocery stores, and neighbourhood sidewalks?
I believe we will.
In fact, that is exactly where I hope these reflections will wander during the coming weeks.
Throughout September we will leave behind our light-hearted summer adventures and begin exploring the quiet holiness hidden inside everyday routines. We will discover that backpacks, alarm clocks, autumn gardens, school buses, coffee mugs, falling leaves, worn hymn books, lunch boxes, crisp mornings, familiar prayers, and countless other ordinary companions all have something to teach us about following Christ.
Not because these things are magical.
But because God has always been wonderfully creative at using ordinary things to reveal extraordinary grace.
So welcome to September.
Welcome to new beginnings.
Welcome to fresh notebooks and familiar prayers.
Welcome to routines that become acts of discipleship.
Welcome back to work, back to school, back to church, back to community—and above all, back to the joyful discovery that wherever this season leads us, Christ is already there waiting with a smile.
And perhaps a fresh cup of coffee.
Which, if we are being perfectly honest, has probably been sustaining the Church almost as faithfully as committee minutes ever since Pentecost.
Almost.
May this new season be filled with purpose, peace, laughter, and the quiet confidence that the God who walked with us through summer sunshine is already walking beside us into the gentle beauty of autumn.
Thanks be to God.
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Companion Prayer
Gracious God,
As one season gently gives way to another, we thank you for the gift of rest and for the gift of purpose. Thank you for summer’s laughter, long evenings, family, friends, and quiet moments that renewed our spirits.
Now, as September begins, help us to embrace the ordinary rhythms of life with joyful hearts. Bless students as they return to school, teachers as they prepare to inspire, families as new routines begin, and all who return to work and daily responsibilities.
Teach us to recognize your presence not only in extraordinary moments, but also in the simple routines of each day. May every classroom, office, workshop, kitchen, church, and neighbourhood become a place where we encounter your grace.
Walk beside us through this new season. Fill our hearts with hope, our hands with compassion, our minds with wisdom, and our lives with the quiet joy of serving you faithfully.
In the name of Jesus Christ, who is with us in every season of life.
Amen.