The Rev. Donald A. Davidson – Anglican Priest
Anglican Church of Canada
And relationships wounded deeply over long periods of history are not restored quickly simply because we wish them to be.
Healing requires truth. Humility. Listening. Presence.
It requires learning how to remain in conversation even when the work becomes uncomfortable or slow.
Because Ordinary Time teaches us to notice things again.
The movement of light through trees.The sound of wind before rain arrives. The astonishing variety of life unfolding quietly around us every single day whether we pause to observe it or not.
Because Ordinary Time teaches us that holiness is not found only in great achievements.
It is also found in receiving ordinary life gratefully.
Even the quiet grace of becoming wonderfully comfortable at the end of a long week.
Love multiplies when shared.
Kindness grows through giving.
Communities flourish when people stop treating blessings as private possessions and begin seeing them as gifts meant to circulate outward.
In a world increasingly shaped by hurry and distraction, that small act begins to matter more than we realize.
So perhaps this Monday, as you move through the ordinary responsibilities of life, take a moment to ask:
What in my life needs watering?
What relationships need attention?What part of my soul has been running dry? Where is God quietly inviting me back into rhythms that give life rather than merely consume it?
Because grace rarely arrives only in dramatic moments. More often, it comes quietly.
So perhaps this Saturday, God’s invitation is wonderfully simple.
Sit for a while.
Watch the water. Listen to the birds. Let creation speak.
And remember that before you were ever productive, successful, efficient, or busy… You were loved.
We arrive thinking about schedules, responsibilities, conversations, and the deeply mysterious question of whether we remembered to lock the car. But servanthood gently turns our attention outward.
Every step along the road. Every conversation with a stranger who somehow became a friend before the day was done. Every cool breeze arriving at precisely the right moment on a hot afternoon. Every beautiful place to stop and rest. Even every glorious café con leche along the way.
All of it became almost sacramental.
And perhaps part of our calling in Ordinary Time is to relearn how to join it.
Not by doing more.
But by paying attention.
The breeze moving through the trees. The absurd confidence of a robin defending territory vastly larger than itself. The smell of cut grass that somehow convinces us we have accomplished something important merely by smelling it.