Lessons from the Ordinary

The fruits of the Spirit get less and less showy as we go on. —Evelyn Underhill, The Fruits of the Spirit

I just spent four days on retreat at Holy Cross Monastery. Normally when I visit there, even for an overnight, something happens. An encounter with the monks might raise a personal issue, and I use the monastic quiet to grapple with it. I consider God’s call on my life and discover an exciting new dimension. A scripture reading from the Office (the daily cycle of formal prayer which includes praying the psalms) strikes a chord in my soul. A profound lesson pervades the whole retreat.

This time was different. In fact, it was spectacularly ordinary: no great emotions, few profound insights. I took a walk at a nearby nature preserve, hoping to enjoy The Serenity Of Nature, but what I mainly got was winded. I walked into the Office, said the prayers, let my mind wander as usual, and walked out. There were a few exceptions—the writing I did was intensely joyful, and I had one encounter that will wait for another blog entry—but in general my retreat was awash with the commonplace. No profound lesson.

And yet that was the lesson.

Over the years, I’ve slowly learned to appreciate the fleeting nature of mountaintop experiences and breathtaking flights of spirit. Even so, I still unconsciously seek out the emotional payoff, the profound insight, the moment of bliss, the one tidbit that will validate my prayer and my life with God. Those payoffs and insights are not bad in themselves, but as objects of our focus, they distract us from the nearly imperceptible presence of God in the really, really ordinary—the dull and tedious and even annoying.

When we do perceive that presence, we encounter extraordinary grace. God is present during prayer whether my mind is on God or on lunch. God is present whether I serenely glide through the woods or cuss as I trip over every root. God is present, in short, even when life is routine and we are comically clueless. What a comfort.

I see the monks live out this “presence in the ordinary” every time they pray. There are few dreams or prophet ecstasies in their prayer. When the bell calls them to the Office, they put down their work, go to the chapel, pray, and go back to work. Rather than an ecstatic experience, prayer becomes seamlessly interwoven into their daily lives. And as my spiritual director says when his mind wanders during prayer, “There’s always next time.”

By finding God in the ordinary, we open ourselves to a minute-by-minute awareness of his action in our lives. We start to observe, and rejoice in, a cosmos permeated with the Divine presence. Our gratitude deepens, and so does our joy.