The Theology of the Lost Sock

There are two enduring mysteries in the Christian faith.

The first is the Holy Trinity.

The second is what happens to socks in the dryer.

After sixty-odd years of life, I have become convinced that washing machines are merely innocent accomplices. Somewhere between the laundry basket and the dresser drawer there exists a secret society devoted entirely to collecting perfectly good socks. They do not seem interested in old towels or faded T-shirts. They have standards.

You can begin a load of laundry with twelve matching pairs and emerge with twenty-three socks. One has quietly vanished into eternity.

Naturally, this creates a household dilemma. Do you throw away the lonely survivor? Or do you keep it in that drawer where all the other widowed socks gather, quietly waiting for a reunion that will almost certainly never happen?

Most of us keep them.

Hope, it seems, dies slowly.

I sometimes think our spiritual lives resemble that sock drawer more than we care to admit.

There are pieces of us that seem to have gone missing over the years.

The confidence we once had.
The patience we possessed when the children were small.
The energy we enjoyed before our knees began offering theological commentary every time we stood up.
The dreams we quietly folded away because life became busy, or difficult, or simply different than we expected.

We carry around these little absences, wondering where they disappeared.

Yet Scripture has an interesting habit of speaking about things that seem lost.

Jesus tells stories about lost sheep, lost coins, and lost sons. Notice what He never says.

He never says that lost things stop being valuable.

In fact, they become the very focus of God’s attention.

Perhaps that is why the Gospel has always offered such hope to ordinary people. God specializes in searching for what everyone else has given up looking for.

The world often measures us by what we have accomplished.

God keeps asking what has been misplaced.

Somewhere beneath our schedules, disappointments, and accumulated worries, the image of God remains beautifully intact. It may need dusting off. It may need healing. It may even need reminding. But it has never disappeared.

God has not misplaced your true self.

Nor has God forgotten where joy lives.

This is deeply comforting because September has a way of making us feel as though everything depends on our ability to get organized. Calendars fill. Routines return. Expectations quietly stack themselves upon our shoulders.

We become experts at managing our lives.

God remains wonderfully committed to restoring them.

That restoration rarely begins with dramatic miracles.

More often it begins while folding laundry.

Grace has always been fond of ordinary rooms.

Perhaps today, while pairing socks that refuse to cooperate, you might remember that Christ has been patiently matching together the scattered pieces of your own life all along.

Unlike us, He has never once lost track of where anything truly important belongs.

And should the missing sock eventually reappear—as they occasionally and rather suspiciously do—you may simply smile and receive it as one more reminder that resurrection has been surprising people for a very long time.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual for more daily reflections on faith, life, and the surprising places where God still loves to meet us.

Companion Prayer

Lord Jesus,

When I feel as though parts of my life have been lost, remind me that nothing precious is ever lost to You. Gather together the scattered pieces of my heart, restore my hope, and teach me to trust Your patient work in the ordinary moments of each day. May I recognize Your grace, even while folding laundry, and rejoice that Your love never loses sight of me.

Amen.

The Gospel According to the Junk Drawer

There is a curious law of the universe that I have observed over many years of ministry. Every house possesses one.

Not one denomination has ever voted on it. No municipality has legislated it. Yet somehow it exists with astonishing consistency.

Every home has a junk drawer.

Some are tidy enough to deserve the gentler title of “miscellaneous drawer.” Others are archaeological digs where rubber bands from the Mulroney era coexist peacefully with expired coupons, mystery keys, batteries of questionable character, three tape measures (none of which can be found when actually needed), and enough pens that refuse to write to open a small stationery museum.

I confess that our house has one too.

Whenever I open it, I begin with the finest of intentions. “Today,” I declare with prophetic confidence, “I shall bring order out of chaos.”

Twenty minutes later I have rediscovered a flashlight I thought had been lost since Epiphany, found two pairs of reading glasses that apparently belonged to someone with better eyesight than I now possess, and become strangely sentimental over an instruction manual for an appliance we no longer own.

Very little organization has actually occurred.

It strikes me that the human heart is rather like that drawer.

We imagine ourselves to be carefully arranged, spiritually colour-coded, and emotionally indexed. Then life gives the drawer a good shake.

A difficult diagnosis.

A family disagreement.

A disappointment at work.

A forgotten dream that suddenly resurfaces.

Before long, everything we thought had been neatly filed away comes tumbling into view again. Old fears. Ancient regrets. Memories we assumed had long ago been dealt with. Gratitude sitting beside grief. Hope tangled up with uncertainty.

If we are honest, our souls are rarely as organized as we would like them to be.

The wonderful news of the Gospel is that Jesus has never been intimidated by untidy interiors.

Throughout the Gospels he consistently entered lives that looked remarkably disorganized. Peter had enough impulsiveness to keep twelve disciples perpetually entertained. Martha was trying to hold everything together with admirable efficiency. Thomas carried doubts that would have exhausted most parish councils. Mary Magdalene bore wounds deeper than most people could imagine.

Christ never stood at the doorway saying, “I’ll come back once you’ve sorted yourselves out.”

He simply came in.

Perhaps that is why the Apostle Paul could write with such confidence that “God is not a God of confusion but of peace” (1 Corinthians 14:33). Notice what Paul does not say. He does not claim that our lives are never confusing. Rather, he reminds us that confusion is not where God begins or ends. God enters confusion in order to create peace.

Creation itself began with chaos.

Genesis tells us that the earth was formless and empty before God began speaking light into darkness. Divine creativity has always shown an astonishing preference for messy starting points.

Which, when you think about it, should be encouraging for the rest of us.

Perhaps the greatest miracle is not that God can create beauty from perfection.

Any competent artist could probably manage that.

The miracle is that God delights in creating beauty from ordinary people carrying around spiritual junk drawers.

Some of us keep old guilt tucked beside fresh blessings.

Some keep treasured memories beside unresolved disappointments.

Some have dreams folded away beneath practical responsibilities because adulthood seemed to require such sacrifices.

And God patiently sifts through it all with remarkable tenderness.

Not everything needs to be thrown away.

Some things simply need to be remembered differently.

Some need forgiving.

Some need thanking.

Some merely need to be placed back where they belong.

That work takes time.

Grace has never been in a terrible hurry.

As September settles into its familiar rhythm, many of us are trying to bring order to our calendars, routines, cupboards, and schedules. Those are worthwhile tasks. But perhaps the deeper invitation this week is to let Christ quietly reorder the hidden drawer of the heart.

He has a remarkable eye for what should be kept, what should be healed, and what may finally be released.

And unlike the rest of us, he always knows exactly where everything belongs.

Which is fortunate.

Because I still have absolutely no idea what that tiny brass key in our junk drawer actually opens.

It is entirely possible that it unlocks something tremendously important.

Or perhaps it belongs to a lawn mower we sold fifteen years ago.

Only God knows.

And somehow, that seems entirely fitting.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual for more daily reflections on faith, life, and the surprising places where God still loves to meet us.

Companion Prayer

Gracious God,

You know every hidden corner of our hearts, every memory we treasure, every burden we still carry, and every hope we have almost forgotten. Thank you for loving us just as we are, not as we imagine we should be.

Patiently bring your peace into the places that feel cluttered, your light into every shadow, and your grace into all that needs healing. Teach us to trust that nothing in our lives is beyond your redeeming love.

May we walk into this day with grateful hearts, confident that you are always making something beautiful out of ordinary lives.

Through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

The Gospel According to the Slow Afternoon

There is a peculiar holiness that settles over a Sunday afternoon in September.

The urgency of Labour Day has passed. School routines are beginning to find their rhythm. Church has finished. The roast is in the oven—or perhaps, if you’re like me, you’re quietly hoping someone else has taken responsibility for the roast while you perform the sacred ministry of “staying out of the kitchen.”

The air is different now. Summer no longer struts about like an overconfident tourist. Instead, it lingers politely near the door, aware that autumn has already begun trying on sweaters and making lists.

I have always thought Sunday afternoons deserve more theological attention than they receive.

We celebrate Easter mornings. We speak reverently of Christmas Eve. We cherish Good Friday and Pentecost. Yet very few sermons have ever been preached about the profound spiritual significance of sitting in a comfortable chair after lunch while seriously contemplating whether one ought to mow the lawn—or whether the Kingdom of God might survive another week without such heroics.

This, I believe, is one of God’s quieter gifts.

Modern life constantly whispers that every empty moment must be filled with productivity. If there is an hour available, surely there is a project waiting to be completed, a cupboard to reorganize, an email to answer, or an online video prepared to explain why we have been folding towels incorrectly our entire lives.

Human beings have become remarkably efficient at exhausting themselves.

Scripture offers another rhythm altogether.

After six days of creation, God rested—not because God was tired, but because creation itself needed space simply to be enjoyed.

The Sabbath was never designed merely as a day without work. It was created as a day filled with delight.

That distinction matters.

There is a world of difference between collapsing from exhaustion and resting with gratitude.

One is survival.

The other is worship.

Jesus seemed remarkably comfortable inhabiting these slower moments. Some of his deepest conversations happened while walking dusty roads. Others took place around dinner tables. He noticed lilies. He watched birds. He attended weddings. He accepted invitations. He lingered long enough for interruptions to become miracles.

We, on the other hand, often rush so quickly toward the next obligation that we accidentally sprint past grace as though it were standing on the sidewalk waving politely.

September Sundays invite us to recover something we’ve nearly forgotten.

Not every hour has to accomplish something measurable.

Sometimes the holiest thing you can do is read a chapter of a good book while sunlight filters through the window.

Sometimes holiness sounds like grandchildren laughing in another room.

Sometimes it smells like fresh coffee and apple crisp.

Sometimes it is simply sitting on the porch watching the leaves begin their annual sermon about letting go.

Growing up on our family farm in southern Ontario, Sunday afternoons had their own unmistakable rhythm. Chores still had to be done — the dogs in our kennel , unlike clergy, have never been persuaded to postpone supper until Monday — but there was nevertheless a gentleness about the day. The machinery rested. The frantic pace eased. After church and dinner there was often time simply to sit outside, listen to the breeze moving through the maples, and watch the fields that had occupied our hands all week now simply exist without requiring our immediate attention.

As a boy, I probably thought I was doing absolutely nothing.

Looking back, I suspect God was teaching me Sabbath.

Perhaps that is one of the quiet miracles of September.

The world begins preparing for another busy season, while God gently invites us to slow down before we forget how.

There is deep wisdom in accepting that not every problem must be solved today.

Not every email deserves an immediate answer.

Not every weed requires instant removal.

Some things improve simply because we stop fussing over them long enough to let grace breathe.

Humour often appears whenever human beings begin taking themselves much too seriously. I somtimes smile knowingly at our frantic determination to optimize every waking minute. The Almighty, meanwhile, continues creating sunsets that stubbornly refuse to increase anyone’s productivity statistics.

Thank heaven for that.

This Sunday afternoon, perhaps leave one thing unfinished.

Sit outside if the weather permits.

Take a slower walk than usual.

Phone someone you’ve been meaning to call.

Watch the birds argue over absolutely nothing important.

Smile at children playing.

Thank God for ordinary time.

Because eternity has an interesting habit of hiding inside ordinary afternoons.

And those who learn to receive them often discover they have been entertaining grace all along.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual for more daily reflections on faith, life, and the surprising places where God still loves to meet us.

Companion Prayer

Gracious God,

Thank you for the gift of holy rest and for the quiet moments that remind us we are loved long before we are productive. Teach us to receive this day with grateful hearts, to notice your presence in ordinary afternoons, and to trust that your grace is still at work even when we slow down.

Give us peace to leave some things unfinished, wisdom to cherish the people around us, and joy in the simple gifts you place before us. May our Sabbath rest renew our bodies, refresh our souls, and draw us ever closer to Christ, in whose gentle presence we find our true home.

Amen.

The Theology of Saturday Chores

There are few things more capable of revealing our true spiritual condition than a Saturday morning list of chores.

Monday still carries ambition. Tuesday has determination. Wednesday survives on caffeine and stubbornness. Friday whispers promises of rest.

Saturday, however, looks you squarely in the eye and says, “The eavestroughs won’t clean themselves.”

I have always suspected that whoever invented the phrase weekend had an unusually small property.

No matter where we live, Saturday possesses an uncanny ability to produce work. Lawns continue growing with missionary zeal. Leaves begin falling before anyone has officially given them permission. Closets quietly multiply mysterious objects. One drawer in every kitchen appears to function as an archaeological dig of elastic bands, batteries of uncertain age, and instruction manuals for appliances that left this world sometime during the Harper administration.

It is one of God’s quieter miracles that we can never find a tape measure until we buy another one.

Stephen Leacock would probably have observed that household possessions have formed a secret union dedicated to relocating themselves whenever needed most.

And yet…

For all our joking, there is something profoundly holy about ordinary work.

Scripture begins with a God who works. Genesis does not introduce us first to a philosopher but to a Creator who delights in making things. Jesus spends most of his earthly life in a carpenter’s workshop before he ever preaches a sermon. St. Paul makes tents while planting churches.

Christian faith has never suggested that only church work matters.

The Kingdom has always had room for paintbrushes, garden forks, laundry baskets, screwdrivers, vacuum cleaners, and wheelbarrows.

Perhaps that is why Jesus so often spoke about seeds, vineyards, fishing nets, baking bread, sweeping floors, and household lamps. He knew that God’s grace is easier to notice once we stop dividing life into the sacred and the ordinary.

The person trimming hedges with gratitude may be praying every bit as faithfully as the monk chanting Psalms.

The parent folding laundry for the fifth time this week may be offering an act of love every bit as beautiful as a hymn.

Even washing the dishes can become an act of thanksgiving if our hearts are paying attention.

The trouble, of course, is that most of us do our chores while muttering commentary that probably would not be suitable for inclusion in the Book of Common Prayer.

I know that temptation well.

There have been Saturdays when I have stood looking at an impossibly long list of tasks and wondered whether someone had secretly added extra pages overnight. Somehow mowing the lawn breeds weeding, which leads to pruning, which uncovers a loose fence board, which reminds you that the garage should really be organized before winter, which leads to discovering three extension cords that have become permanently engaged to one another in what can only be described as an Anglican form of holy matrimony.

One small job has a remarkable gift for evangelizing other jobs.

Yet somewhere in the middle of all that ordinary effort, something beautiful happens.

The smell of fresh-cut grass.

The satisfaction of repairing something instead of replacing it.

The first cup of coffee after the work is done.

The quiet contentment of looking around and realizing that, however imperfectly, you have cared for the little corner of creation God entrusted to you.

Perhaps that is what stewardship really looks like.

Not grand gestures.

Simply faithful attention.

The older I become, the more convinced I am that holiness is often disguised as responsibility carried out with love.

God is rarely impressed by our ability to accomplish spectacular things.

But God seems endlessly delighted whenever ordinary people quietly care for ordinary places with extraordinary faithfulness.

That may explain why Jesus was so comfortable in kitchens, workshops, fishing boats, gardens, and village roads.

He never seemed to be searching for holy places.

He simply made every place holy by being present there.

So if your Saturday includes grocery shopping, changing furnace filters, pulling weeds, cleaning bathrooms, or finally assembling that piece of furniture whose instructions appear to have been translated from ancient Babylonian, remember this:

Christ has already gone ahead of you.

The risen Lord has never been embarrassed by ordinary life.

In fact, it seems to be his favourite place to meet people.

May your chores become prayers.

May your work become gratitude.

And may your Saturday remind you that every act of faithful care—no matter how small—is another quiet participation in the ongoing work of the Creator who is still making all things new.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual for more daily reflections on faith, life, and the surprising places where God still loves to meet us.

Companion Prayer

Gracious God,

Bless the ordinary work of this day. Help me to see that every task done with love can become an act of worship, every responsibility an opportunity for gratitude, and every moment a place where Christ is already present. Give me joy in faithful service, patience in unfinished work, and a heart that recognizes your grace in the simple rhythms of everyday life.

Amen.

The Gospel According to the Leftovers

By the second Friday of September, most households have settled into a rhythm. The lunches have been packed for nearly two weeks. The alarm clock has become less of a shocking betrayal and more of a resigned acquaintance. Calendars are filling with meetings, practices, choir rehearsals, committee gatherings, and appointments that somehow all seem to happen on Thursday evenings.

And then there is the refrigerator.

Specifically, there is that familiar shelf containing several small containers whose contents have become increasingly mysterious. They are leftovers, although some have now progressed to a theological category somewhere between hope and archaeology.

I have often suspected that every refrigerator contains one container that no one wishes to claim responsibility for. It sits quietly at the back, minding its own business while everyone reaches around it for the milk. Every day someone thinks, I should probably deal with that. Yet somehow nobody ever does.

Eventually, someone summons enough courage to lift the lid.

At that point, prayer becomes entirely appropriate.

I sometimes think we approach parts of our spiritual lives in much the same way.

There are disappointments we have carefully stored away. Old hurts tucked into the back corner of the heart. Dreams that didn’t quite become reality. Conversations we wish had gone differently. Prayers that seemed to receive only silence.

We tell ourselves we’ll deal with them “one day.”

But life gets busy.

So they remain.

Thankfully, God possesses a remarkable inability to be intimidated by the neglected corners of our lives.

Throughout Scripture, God consistently enters places that everyone else has written off. Moses encounters God in an ordinary wilderness. Ezekiel finds hope in a valley of dry bones. Jesus spends astonishing amounts of time with people whom respectable society had quietly pushed to the back shelf.

Nothing appears beyond God’s willingness to redeem.

One of the great comforts of the Gospel is that Christ never waits until we have everything neatly organized before coming to us. If that were the requirement, very few of us would ever qualify.

Instead, Jesus arrives while life is still gloriously untidy.

He comes to disciples who misunderstand him.

He comes to doubting Thomas.

He comes to Peter, who is still carrying the embarrassment of denying him.

He comes to ordinary people whose lives resemble overstuffed kitchen junk drawers far more than carefully arranged museum displays.

Grace seems unusually comfortable in clutter.

I have served as a priest long enough to know that almost everyone imagines everyone else has their life together. It is one of humanity’s more amusing collective delusions. We compare our behind-the-scenes footage with everyone else’s carefully edited highlights.

If churches installed thought bubbles over our heads on Sunday mornings, attendance might become even more interesting.

“Did I remember to turn the slow cooker off?”

“I really should apologize to my sister.”

“I wonder if anyone notices these shoes are older than some university students.”

“I hope the choir doesn’t sing the fourth verse.”

The truth is wonderfully reassuring.

None of us arrives before God polished to perfection.

We arrive carrying leftovers.

Some are joyful memories.

Some are unfinished business.

Some are regrets.

Some are hopes we haven’t entirely given up on.

And somehow, by the extraordinary hospitality of God’s grace, all of it is welcomed.

Perhaps that is why the Eucharist has always spoken so deeply to me. We come with empty hands and complicated stories. Some weeks we arrive full of gratitude. Other weeks we arrive exhausted, distracted, worried, or uncertain.

Christ feeds us anyway.

The meal has never depended upon our perfection.

It has always depended upon God’s generosity.

So if your September already feels a little fuller than expected, if there are corners of your life you’ve been avoiding because they seem too complicated or too old to matter anymore, remember this:

The God who created galaxies has never been afraid to open the back of your spiritual refrigerator.

There is no forgotten container that surprises the One who delights in making all things new.

And that, I think, is very good news indeed.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual for more daily reflections on faith, life, and the surprising places where God still loves to meet us.

Companion Prayer

Gracious God,
Thank you for loving every corner of our lives, even the places we have neglected or forgotten. Help us to trust that your grace is never afraid of our unfinished stories, and that your mercy is always making all things new. Fill us today with hope, gratitude, and the quiet assurance of your faithful presence.

Through Christ our Lord.

Amen.

The Theology of the Second Cup of Coffee

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.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual for more daily reflections on faith, life, and the surprising places where God still loves to meet us.

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.

The Gospel According to the Midweek Slump

By the second week of September, the shine has usually worn off.

The first-day excitement has quietly packed its lunch and gone home. New notebooks already have dog-eared corners. Calendars are beginning to fill with appointments written in increasingly frantic handwriting. Parents have rediscovered that “extracurricular activity” is simply a polite phrase meaning, “You will now spend every evening driving somewhere.”

Even the coffee maker begins to sigh a little more heavily by Wednesday morning.

I have often suspected that Wednesday is one of God’s favourite days.

Not because it is exciting.

Quite the opposite.

Monday has ambition. Friday has anticipation. Sunday has worship. But Wednesday simply has… persistence.

It quietly asks us to keep going.

There is something almost heroic about an ordinary Wednesday. Nobody hangs banners because they survived it. There are very few greeting cards that proclaim, Congratulations on making it to the middle of the week! Hallmark has apparently overlooked this obvious gap in the market.

Yet Scripture consistently reminds us that God has always been remarkably interested in ordinary perseverance.

The Apostle Paul speaks about running the race with endurance. Jesus tells stories about servants who simply remain faithful. The Psalms celebrate those who continue trusting the Lord through seasons that are long and unremarkable.

Faith is rarely built during spectacular moments.

More often it grows on Wednesdays.

It grows while lunches are packed before sunrise.

It grows while answering one more email with kindness instead of irritation.

It grows while making another school run, folding another basket of laundry, preparing another ordinary supper, saying another ordinary prayer before another ordinary bedtime.

The Kingdom of God has never been embarrassed by repetition.

In fact, repetition is one of God’s favourite teaching methods.

Every sunrise repeats itself.

Every season returns.

The tides refuse to become bored.

Our hearts beat with astonishing consistency without ever demanding applause.

Creation itself is a great hymn sung in recurring verses.

Why should our discipleship be any different?

I sometimes think we underestimate the spiritual significance of simply showing up.

We admire dramatic conversions, extraordinary missionaries, courageous saints, and rightly so. But beneath every remarkable Christian life is an astonishing collection of very ordinary Wednesdays where someone quietly chose faithfulness instead of giving up.

No headlines.

No standing ovation.

Just another day of trusting Christ.

Canadians possess a curious ability to endure almost anything provided there is sufficient coffee and nobody makes too much fuss about it. While I cannot verify the theological accuracy of that statement, I can certainly testify to its practical usefulness. There are mornings when the aroma of fresh coffee feels suspiciously close to a sacramental experience.

Perhaps that is because God delights in meeting us precisely where life feels wonderfully ordinary.

There is profound grace in discovering that holiness does not depend upon constant inspiration. Some days discipleship feels exhilarating. Other days it feels rather like emptying the dishwasher for the seven thousandth time.

Curiously enough, both can be acts of worship.

September gently reminds us that the Christian life is not a sprint fuelled by enthusiasm. It is a pilgrimage sustained by grace.

One steady step.

One quiet prayer.

One faithful Wednesday.

And all the while, Christ walks beside us, smiling far more at our persistence than we often imagine.

Perhaps today does not need to be extraordinary.

Perhaps it simply needs to be faithfully lived.

That has always been enough for the God who specializes in turning ordinary days into holy ones.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual for more daily reflections on faith, life, and the surprising places where God still loves to meet us.

Companion Prayer

Faithful God,
Thank you for meeting us not only in life’s great celebrations, but also in its ordinary Wednesdays. Give us grace to be faithful in the small tasks, patient in the repeated routines, and joyful in the quiet work of loving and serving others. Help us to trust that no ordinary day is ever wasted when it is lived with you. Walk beside us today, and make our everyday lives a witness to your extraordinary love.

In the name of Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

The Gospel According to Fresh Crayons

There are certain fragrances that instantly transport us through time.

Freshly cut hay.

Apple pie cooling on the counter.

A campfire on an autumn evening.

And, for reasons that remain one of God’s more delightful mysteries, a brand-new box of crayons.

I suspect every child heading off to school today will eventually encounter one.

There it sits on the desk—sixty-four little sticks of optimism, arranged in military formation, all with names far more imaginative than simply “blue” or “green.” There is Periwinkle. Burnt Sienna. Cerulean. Macaroni and Cheese. Whoever named crayons clearly enjoyed life.

The remarkable thing about a new box of crayons is that every colour is still perfect.

The points are sharp.

The paper wrappers are smooth.

Not one has been broken in half.

No mysterious brownish-grey crayon has yet emerged from excessive enthusiasm in the colouring department.

That comes later.

Children are wonderfully optimistic about such things. Give them a blank sheet of paper and a new box of crayons, and they immediately assume something beautiful is about to happen.

Adults are not always so certain.

By September many of us already carry a fair collection of unfinished sketches. Plans that never quite worked. Conversations we wish we had handled differently. Dreams that somehow became postponed for another season. We can begin to imagine that the page has become too cluttered for anything beautiful.

Yet Scripture has always insisted otherwise.

Our God seems remarkably fond of fresh beginnings.

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.” (Lamentations 3:22–23)

Every morning.

Not merely every January.

Not simply every September.

Every single morning.

That means God never looks at our lives and sighs, “Well, there isn’t much I can do with that drawing now.”

Instead, the Creator gently picks up another colour.

Another possibility.

Another grace.

When Jesus encountered people whose lives appeared hopelessly smudged by failure, he rarely erased the picture.

He redeemed it.

Peter denied him three times.

Paul had persecuted Christians.

Mary Magdalene carried burdens no one else understood.

Thomas doubted.

Yet Christ somehow incorporated every one of those dark lines into a picture of astonishing beauty.

That is what grace does.

Grace is not pretending mistakes never happened.

Grace is discovering that God can still create beauty around them.

Children understand this instinctively.

Watch them colour.

They are fearless.

Purple cows?

Certainly.

Orange trees?

Why not?

Blue grass?

Apparently it seemed like an excellent idea at the time.

They have not yet learned the unfortunate adult habit of worrying whether every line is perfect before they begin.

Somewhere along the journey we convince ourselves that everything must be flawless before it can be offered to God.

The Gospel says almost exactly the opposite.

Bring what you have.

Bring your imperfect sketch.

Bring the pages with crossed-out plans.

Bring the colours that don’t seem to match.

Bring the places where life wandered outside the lines.

The Master Artist has never been intimidated by untidy canvases.

Indeed, the Cross itself looked like the darkest colour imaginable until Easter morning revealed that God had been painting resurrection all along.

So as children return to classrooms today, opening fresh notebooks and brand-new boxes of crayons, perhaps they are quietly preaching to the rest of us.

Do not be afraid of the blank page.

Do not assume yesterday determines today’s possibilities.

Do not underestimate what God can create with ordinary colours placed into willing hands.

The Teacher of heaven and earth is still inviting us to make something beautiful—not because our hands are perfect, but because his grace is.

And perhaps, before this September is over, we’ll discover that some of the most beautiful colours in our lives were the ones we had almost forgotten were still in the box.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual for more daily reflections on faith, life, and the surprising places where God still loves to meet us.

Companion Prayer

Gracious God,

Thank you for being the Master Artist who never gives up on us. When we see only our mistakes, help us to trust that your grace is still at work, bringing beauty from every imperfect line. Give us the courage to begin again, the faith to embrace each new day as your gift, and the wisdom to see fresh possibilities where we expected only disappointment.

As children return to school today, bless them with curiosity, joy, and confidence. Bless their teachers with patience and encouragement, and bless every family as they settle into new routines.

May we all remain lifelong students of your love, learning each day to colour our lives with compassion, hope, generosity, and faith.

In the name of Jesus Christ, the One who is making all things new.

Amen.

Labour Day: The Gospel According to Coffee Breaks

There is something wonderfully Canadian about Labour Day.

It arrives just as the last ambitious mosquito finally gives up for the season, children begin locating backpacks that have somehow migrated to impossible places over the summer, and clergy everywhere start glancing nervously at calendars that suddenly become much fuller than they were in July.

Labour Day is often treated as summer’s farewell party. We fire up one last barbecue, sigh over the shortening evenings, and promise ourselves that this autumn we will finally organize the garage. This annual promise enjoys about the same success rate as New Year’s resolutions involving treadmills.

Yet Labour Day deserves more than being remembered as the final long weekend before ordinary schedules resume.

It is, at its heart, a celebration of work — and perhaps even more importantly, of workers.

That matters.

Christians sometimes speak as though the truly spiritual life begins only when we leave work behind. We imagine holiness happening primarily in churches, retreat centres, monasteries, and quiet prayer corners. Meanwhile Monday morning quietly waits outside the sanctuary wondering whether God has any interest in spreadsheets, construction sites, classrooms, factories, hospitals, farms, kitchens, offices, delivery trucks, repair shops, and grocery stores.

The answer, of course, is yes.

The opening chapters of Genesis remind us that work was part of God’s good creation long before it ever became exhausting. Humanity was entrusted with tending the garden. We were created to cultivate, create, build, serve, invent, teach, heal, and care. Work itself was never the curse. Sin was.

Anyone who has spent twenty minutes trying to persuade a photocopier to print both sides of a bulletin knows precisely what I mean.

Labour Day also reminds us of something else that deserves our gratitude.

The rights many of us quietly take for granted were not handed out as generous gifts. They were earned through generations of workers who believed that every person bears the image of God and therefore deserves dignity, fairness, reasonable hours, safer workplaces, time for rest, and wages sufficient to support a family.

History tells many difficult stories. People organized. They marched. They negotiated. They endured ridicule. Some paid dearly for insisting that human beings should never be treated as disposable machinery.

Whether one agrees with every strategy or every political debate that has surrounded organized labour over the decades, it is difficult to deny the lasting good that has come from people insisting that workers are people first.

That conviction sounds remarkably familiar.

Jesus consistently valued people above profit.

He noticed fishermen whose backs ached after empty nights.

He called tax collectors away from tables that had consumed their souls.

He healed on the Sabbath because human need mattered more than rigid systems.

He praised faithful servants, welcomed ordinary labourers, and spent most of His earthly life working with His hands before ever preaching a sermon.

For roughly thirty years, the Son of God built things.

There is something profoundly comforting about that.

The One through whom all things were made understood sore muscles, stubborn wood grain, delayed deliveries, difficult customers, and the satisfaction of a day’s honest work.

He knew that ordinary labour could become holy.

Perhaps that is one of Labour Day’s hidden gifts.

It reminds us to honour not only dramatic achievements but faithful daily service.

The teacher preparing lessons that no one else will ever see.

The nurse beginning another overnight shift.

The mechanic whose careful attention keeps families safe.

The farmer watching weather forecasts with more prayer than confidence.

The cashier greeting hundreds of strangers with kindness.

The parent whose unpaid work somehow keeps an entire household functioning.

The volunteer who quietly makes the community stronger.

The retiree who still finds ways to serve others because vocation does not always end with a pension.

God delights in all of it.

Martin Luther once suggested that God milks the cows through the vocation of the milkmaid. It is a wonderfully earthy image. God chooses to bless the world through ordinary people faithfully doing ordinary work.

The Kingdom often advances wearing steel-toed boots, sensible shoes, safety glasses, hospital scrubs, gardening gloves, or an apron dusted with flour.

This Labour Day, give thanks not only for your own work, whatever form it now takes, but also for those who laboured before you to make work more humane.

Give thanks for safer workplaces.

For weekends.

For coffee breaks.

For pensions.

For paid holidays.

For fairer wages.

For the growing conviction that people should never be valued only by what they produce.

And perhaps offer a quiet prayer for those who are unemployed, underemployed, exhausted, overworked, or working in places where dignity is still too often absent. There remains much work to do.

As September gathers momentum once again, may we remember that every honest task can become an offering to God.

The Gospel has never been opposed to ordinary work.

It has simply insisted that ordinary work, offered in love, becomes extraordinary grace.

Happy Labour Day.

May your work be meaningful.

May your rest be genuine.

And may you always remember that before God ever asks what you have accomplished, He delights first in who you are.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual for more daily reflections on faith, life, and the surprising places where God still loves to meet us.

Companion Prayer

Gracious God,

We thank you for the gift of meaningful work, for hands that serve, minds that create, and hearts that care. We give thanks for all who have laboured to make work more just, more humane, and more life-giving for generations to come.

Bless those who begin a new week of work, those who serve quietly without recognition, those seeking employment, those carrying heavy burdens, and those whose years of labour have given way to retirement but not to the end of their vocation.

Teach us to offer every ordinary task as an act of love, every moment of rest as a gift of your grace, and every encounter as an opportunity to reflect the kindness of Christ.

May all that we do, whether great or small, bring glory to you and blessing to our neighbours.

Through Jesus Christ, who sanctified ordinary work by the work of his own hands.

Amen.

The Gospel According to the Last Long Weekend

There is something wonderfully Canadian about Labour Day weekend.

It is the one holiday where everyone insists they are taking a break while secretly making lists of everything that must happen after the break.

The barbecue is still warm. The camping gear is drying in the garage. The children are calculating how much homework can reasonably be postponed until Monday evening. Church choirs are remembering where they left the music folders back in June. Clergy are discovering that September somehow requires three months’ worth of planning to fit into four weeks.

Meanwhile, someone is standing in the grocery store wondering why they suddenly need twenty-three items that have not crossed their mind since the middle of June.

September has arrived.

Labour Day weekend occupies a curious little corner of the calendar. It is still technically summer, but everyone has emotionally wandered into autumn. The weather has not entirely received the memo, but our calendars certainly have. Nature is saying, “Take another afternoon by the lake,” while our inbox is quietly clearing its throat.

It reminds me that life is often lived in these in-between places.

Scripture is full of people standing between one season and another.

Israel stands on the edge of the Promised Land.

The disciples stand between Good Friday and Easter morning.

The early Church stands between fear and boldness.

Again and again, God seems remarkably comfortable meeting people during transitions rather than after everything has settled down.

That is encouraging, because very little of life ever feels settled for long.

Perhaps that is why I have always appreciated Labour Day.

Its name is wonderfully theological.

We usually imagine “labour” as work—jobs, careers, responsibilities, meetings, deadlines, and the annual mystery of where all the paper clips disappear. Yet from the opening pages of Genesis, work itself is never presented as a punishment. Human beings are created with purpose before sin ever enters the story. Adam is invited to tend the garden long before he is ever told that thorns exist.

Meaningful work is part of God’s original blessing.

The problem has never been work.

The problem is forgetting why we work.

We work to serve.

We work to create.

We work to love our neighbours.

We work to provide.

We work because every ordinary act done with love becomes an act of worship.

Of course, by Wednesday afternoon many of us have entirely forgotten this and are already wondering whether retirement can begin slightly ahead of schedule.

I suspect God smiles at that.

One of Stephen Leacock’s greatest gifts was noticing that human beings are gloriously inconsistent. We make elaborate plans for balanced lives while drinking coffee from travel mugs the size of flower pots. We purchase planners to organize ourselves and then forget where we left them. We vow to simplify our schedules by attending three different committee meetings about simplifying our schedules.

He understood that laughter is often another way of telling the truth.

The Gospel does something similar.

Jesus rarely scolds people for being busy.

Instead, he keeps reminding them not to forget what matters while they are busy.

He tells Martha that there is more to life than anxious activity.

He notices lilies while everyone else notices deadlines.

He blesses children while adults are busy calculating importance.

He feeds crowds before holding committee meetings.

Actually, now that I think about it, perhaps every parish meeting ought to begin with fresh bread and fish. Attendance would certainly improve.

September asks us an important question.

Not, “How much will you accomplish?”

Not, “How full will your calendar become?”

But rather, “Who will you become while all those ordinary days unfold?”

Those are very different questions.

The first measures productivity.

The second measures discipleship.

And discipleship has always been God’s favourite project.

This first Sunday of September, many of us will return to familiar pews after summer travels. Choirs will sing again. Sunday school rooms will begin filling with children’s laughter. Coffee hours will become wonderfully noisy. Friends will ask each other, “How was your summer?” before quickly realizing there isn’t enough coffee in the urn to answer properly.

It will feel delightfully ordinary.

Which is precisely where Christ loves to appear.

Not only on mountaintops.

Not only during dramatic conversions.

Not only in moments of dazzling certainty.

But in calendars being filled.

Lunches being packed.

Bulletins being folded.

Neighbours being welcomed.

Hands being shaken.

Prayers quietly offered.

Ordinary Sundays have always been holy ground.

Perhaps Labour Day weekend is not really about squeezing one last adventure out of summer.

Perhaps it is God’s gentle invitation to remember that every season—including the busy ones—belongs to him.

Tomorrow, many of us will return to work.

Or school.

Or volunteering.

Or caregiving.

Or retirement, which often turns out to be busier than employment ever was.

Whatever waits for us, Christ is already there.

He has gone ahead into Monday long before we arrive.

And if we remember that, then even an ordinary September calendar can become something surprisingly sacred.

Because the Gospel has never been opposed to ordinary work.

It has simply insisted that ordinary work, offered in love, becomes extraordinary grace.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual for more daily reflections on faith, life, and the surprising places where God still loves to meet us.

Companion Prayer

Faithful God,

As we step into the rhythms of another September, help us to remember that every ordinary day belongs to you. Bless the work of our hands, the conversations we share, the people we serve, and the quiet moments when you meet us in unexpected places.

Keep us from becoming so busy that we forget your presence. Instead, teach us to see your grace in the familiar routines of work, worship, home, and community.

May this new season be filled not only with productive days, but with hearts that grow more deeply in love with you and with our neighbours.

Through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.