Everyone who knows me within my ministry, knows how deeply and dearly I love the sacraments. No matter what level the churchmanship of a given congregation, I love to see the sacraments celebrated well, and to see them used to draw all the congregation into the presence of God. They are tools meant to help us to see the Spiritual reality behind God’s loving presence in our daily reality. And so with that said, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how those sacraments sometimes speak again, not in the church’s buildings, but in our own daily life.
The great danger in writing about sacraments is that people immediately imagine the clergy in full vestments, the smell of incense wafting about like the Spirit on overtime, and the hushed tones of holiness reserved for things that happen behind an altar rail. But I’d like to suggest that the sacraments, like mischievous children at a formal dinner, refuse to stay where we’ve put them. They sneak out of church, tracking grace all over creation.
Take, for example, the Eucharist. The Church has spent centuries refining how we handle bread and wine, ensuring no crumb or drop goes rogue. And yet, there it is — grace, showing up at your kitchen table in the shape of burnt toast and slightly over-brewed tea. When friends gather to share a meal, stories are told, laughter erupts, and someone inevitably spills something — which, in my book, makes it properly Anglican. These moments are little Eucharists, hidden in plain sight. Christ seems to have a habit of showing up wherever there’s food and forgiveness on the menu.
Then there’s Baptism, that joyous occasion where a baby (or an adult brave enough to know better) gets a generous splash of sanctified water. But look closer: have you ever been caught in a sudden downpour, the kind that soaks you through before you can find your umbrella? There you stand, dripping and blinking, wondering if you’ve been cleansed or just thoroughly inconvenienced. I suspect God laughs at our confusion — for maybe, just maybe, that rainfall is a reminder that baptism, while theologically a one time event, is always renewable. Every time life drenches us — with tears, with laughter, with the sudden surprise of grace — it’s as though the heavens whisper, “Still mine.”
And then there’s that moment of Confession. In ministry, we clergy sometimes find ourselves sitting in quiet corners, hearing the whispered woes of the faithful person, and offering absolution like a gentle rain. But I’ve come to realize that confession leaks out of the church walls, too. It happens at coffee tables and pub counters, when someone sighs deeply and says, “I really messed that up.” There’s holiness in that honesty — not polished, not rehearsed, but true. And when a friend answers, “It’s okay, you’re forgiven,” we catch a glimpse of heaven’s mercy passing from one frail human to another.
The truth is, God’s grace is a bit untidy. It won’t stay in the chalice, the font, or, for that matter, the church walls. It overflows into kitchens, rainstorms, and awkward conversations. The sacraments — those outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace — have gone rogue. And thank God for that.
So next time you sit down for supper, step out into the rain, or admit something difficult to someone who loves you anyway — remember: you’re standing on holy ground. No vestments required.
A Prayer for Seeing the Sacraments Everywhere
Gracious and ever-present God,
You meet us not only in bread and wine,
but also in toast and tea,
in laughter that spills across the table,
and in the quiet company of those who love us anyway.
You baptize us again and again —
in the rain that soaks our shoulders,
in the tears that trace our cheeks,
and in the rivers of grace that flow through ordinary days.
You hear our confessions
in whispered prayers and honest conversations,
and you answer through the mercy
of friends who refuse to give up on us.
Teach us to see your holy mischief
in the everyday —
to taste Eucharist in shared meals,
to feel baptism in every drop of rain,
and to know absolution
in every word of forgiveness spoken in love.
Keep us alert to your presence, O Lord,
that we might find you not only at the altar,
but also in the kitchen, the garden, and the street.
For all the world is drenched in your grace,
and we, your slightly soggy servants,
give you thanks and praise.
Through Christ our Lord,
who sanctified both supper and rainstorm.
Amen.