“We seldom notice how each day is a holy place
Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,
Transforming our broken fragments
Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.”
~ John O’Donohue

Sometime last week I read with interest a posting on a clergy friend’s Facebook page which outlined what she had done that day. Its purpose was to answer an often asked question:” So, what do ministers do all day, anyway?” There are many folks, I’m sure, who think that a few hours a week in preparation for Sunday sermons is the extent of what might be on any clergy calendar. My friend’s daily diary was impressive indeed as she listed the meetings, Bible study led, visits made, conversations had, more meetings, a stop in on the young children in the preschool, worship preparation,a lunch meeting and on and on into the evening. It was a whirlwind of purposeful, soulful activity. I smiled thinking of her moving through that most holy of days.

If we are awake and aware, each day is a holy day. And not just for religious “professionals.” Each day holds the gift of communion, transformation, enlightenment, epiphany, even redemption. When I think about the day I have just lived, it held all this and so much more.

I began the morning having coffee with a friend and colleague. It had been my plan to simply catch up on her life and also check in on some worship details for a service she leads. But our conversation turned to challenging subject matter in which there was anger, disappointment, confession, absolution and eventually deep understanding and love. This had certainly not been on my to do list, had not been a part of my plan, but our time together became a gift of transformation that brought about an eventual feeling of freedom.

Lunchtime found me surrounded by some of our church’s true saints. Every Wednesday two groups of worker bees gather at church. One threads needles and creates quilts for the crisis nursery and others who need the warmth of lovingly created comfort. The others pick up paint brushes and hammers and fix anything that needs to be fixed around the building. We, literally, would be a mess without them! I had been asked to offer the grace for their noontime picnic. As we ate our summer meal of hotdogs, brats and potato salad, stories were shared of all the hours they have worked over nearly two decades together. Savoring my meal, I looked around the table and also noted who was no longer present, whose hands no longer painted or repaired. I had the sense that I was not the only one aware that while we were sharing a simple lunch we were also sharing a Meal of Memory.

A large portion of my afternoon was spent with our District Superintendent as we looked back over the past year at goals I had set and what this year’s work had been. O.K. It was a kind of yearly job review. But in the course of our time together we shared our hopes and our frustrations with what it means to be this body called church. Having the opportunity to spew out all the good, the bad and the ugly of a year in one’s life can be a humbling experience. Today I was privileged to eat the feast of humility and drink the cup of mercy.

These three events in my day were sandwiched in between phone calls and emails much like most working people. Also, like most people, I carried the brokenness and longing of my life into every word formed, every phone call answered, every conversation. It is holy work, this living. It is somehow made even holier when we take the time to notice the sacred threads that bind each moment together into a whole.

John O’Donohue ends this poem called ‘The Inner History of the Day’:

“So, at the end of the day, we give thanks
For being betrothed to the unknown
And for the secret work
Through which the mind of the day
And the wisdom of the soul become one.”

We give thanks and look forward to the living of yet another holy day.