By the second Thursday of September, something rather remarkable has happened.
The excitement of fresh beginnings has settled into routine.
Lunches are once again being packed with military precision. School buses have become part of the soundtrack of the neighbourhood. Calendars are filling up. Church committees have rediscovered the phrase, “Before Advent, we should probably…” and clergy everywhere have begun performing that annual miracle known as trying to fit twelve meetings into seven evenings.
September has stopped introducing itself and has quietly moved in.
It is often around this point that I find myself reaching for a second cup of coffee.
Now, I should confess that coffee has always occupied a somewhat sacramental place in my life. Not officially, of course. The Anglican Church has never included it among the means of grace, although I have occasionally suspected that several diocesan committees would have struggled considerably without it.
The first cup helps me wake up.
The second cup usually helps me become a kinder Christian.
There is a subtle difference.
The first week of September is filled with enthusiasm. We make ambitious plans. We buy fresh notebooks. We promise ourselves that this year we will finally become organized, exercise faithfully, answer emails promptly, and perhaps even locate that one missing charger that disappeared sometime around Easter.
By the second week, reality has gently cleared its throat.
The alarm clock has already won several arguments.
The inbox is breeding.
The laundry appears to have entered into a covenant with multiplication.
Even the dog has begun looking at us with that expression which seems to ask, “Didn’t we just do all this yesterday?”
Life has become wonderfully ordinary again.
And that is precisely where God seems most delighted to work.
We sometimes imagine that the spiritual life depends upon dramatic mountaintop experiences. Yet most of Scripture takes place somewhere much less glamorous. It unfolds in kitchens, workshops, fishing boats, dusty roads, family meals, vineyards, crowded villages, and ordinary homes.
Jesus spent far more time sharing breakfast than dazzling crowds.
The Kingdom grows quietly.
Seeds disappear into soil long before they become harvests.
Bread rises while nobody is watching.
Character is formed one ordinary day after another.
Perhaps that is why Saint Paul keeps encouraging believers simply to remain faithful—to persevere, to encourage one another, to continue in love, to keep praying, to keep serving. None of those instructions would make for particularly exciting headlines, but together they build remarkably beautiful lives.
I suspect that many of God’s greatest works happen somewhere between the first cup of coffee and the second.
Somewhere between dropping children off at school and folding another basket of laundry.
Somewhere between answering emails and making supper.
Somewhere between one ordinary Thursday and the next.
Grace rarely announces itself with fireworks.
It is much more likely to arrive quietly, wearing comfortable shoes.
That thought has become deeply comforting to me over the years. Ministry has taught me that the most faithful Christians are rarely the loudest. More often they are simply people who continue showing up. They visit neighbours. They prepare meals. They pray for friends. They sing hymns slightly off-key. They forgive when forgiveness is difficult. They laugh at themselves. They trust God through disappointments that no one else ever fully sees.
There is a quiet heroism in ordinary faithfulness.
Stephen Leacock would probably have smiled at our determination to complicate life when so much of it is wonderfully simple. We humans have an extraordinary talent for imagining that holiness must involve dramatic gestures when, quite often, it involves remembering where we left our glasses, smiling at the grocery store cashier, and refraining from muttering uncharitable observations while sitting in traffic.
These are not small things.
They are the very places where Christ gently teaches us to love.
So if today feels less exciting than last week, don’t be discouraged.
The first glow of September may have faded, but the deeper work has only just begun.
God is astonishingly faithful in ordinary Thursdays.
Especially the ones that require a second cup of coffee.
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Companion Prayer
Gracious God,
Thank you for meeting us not only in life’s extraordinary moments, but also in its ordinary Thursdays. Bless the routines that shape us, the work that calls us, the people we serve, and even the second cup of coffee that reminds us to slow down and receive your grace.
Teach us to be faithful in the small things, patient in the busy moments, and joyful in the quiet rhythms of everyday life. May we discover that your Spirit is already at work in our kitchens, workplaces, schools, and neighbourhoods, gently forming us into the likeness of Christ.
Help us to trust that no ordinary day is ever ordinary when it is lived with you.
Through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.