The Ordinary Time

Liturgically speaking, we have entered the ‘Ordinary Time’: some thirty weeks intended as preparatory to celebrating those special moments known as Advent and Lent. I usually begin this time with a five-day silent retreat focused on listening to God’s word, intended to recharge my batteries through intimate dialogue. 

One accompanying fundamental insight into our liturgy is that each season provides me with something special: a discernment of who I am in God’s eyes. A question accompanies: “Am I ready to deepen this sagacity?” Answering this question, I realise that sometimes I lack the necessary attention to appreciate, let alone live, these insights. Silence helps me to order my priorities: not to let tiredness overwhelm me or think that somehow I am better than others, no longer in need of redemption. Being less (Minorem) is a key to this self-understanding. 

Comforted by silence, I reconsider the significance of being less: a bridge that unifies, rather than a pier leading nowhere. Seeking to serve, availability accompanies, but it must not be an excuse to escape from myself. Attitude determines my practice and approach to serving. Integrating immediate human contact, it focuses on submission to Christ. 

Following in Thérèse de Lisieux’s footsteps, there are many ways in which direct human contact serves us well when witnessing the Magister: simple things that mark our daily life transformed into deeper insights because they challenge our attitude as joyfulness, illumined by humility, infiltrates them.  

Living our ordinariness, other faces appear, inviting a response, serving as steps beyond the antithesis of predictability enshrined in daily routine, which sustains our daily life, but can also hinder us from seeing beyond. Discipleship, a pilgrimage in time, questions our steps as we mature in our self-understanding. It reclaims our daily experiences and attention to re-evaluate them in the light of our faith.

The Liturgical Ordinary Time reminds us of the need for hiddenness, itself expressive of being lesser so that the Magister is greater (John 3,30). Shining as we seek to dominate, our light is insignificant when subjected to the empty tomb: it recalls us to be realistic and not to ignore our barrenness.  

Hiddenness is indicative of the mustard seed where tired birds shelter (Matthew 13, 31-32).  This understanding entails the quietness of prayerful dialogue, which opens our hearts to God’s comforting but challenging presence. Learning to be still, therefore, underlines this liturgical season as I discover where Christ is praying in me. 

Martin  


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