Today is the first day of school in my little circle. 3rd-5th grade children returned to the school where The Angel works, and classes began at Lycoming College for my youngest son. My oldest son is studying for his next new responsibility at work. And here I am, alone at home, writing, listening to the punk band Rise Against as loud as my speaker will comfortably go.

Life moves in rhythms. We soar along the clouds, plunge into the valleys, and take slow, sometimes boring steps in the flat straightaways. In the Church calendar, these are called sacred and ordinary times, and it has come to imply that some times are more charged with the Divine than others, that some Tuesdays are deeper than others, and that all Sundays are more spiritual than those Tuesdays. I disagree. Not with the idea that there are rhythms to life, it seems pretty silly to argue about that, but instead, with the assumption that there are places, spaces and times where God is not, or at least, where He is less.

Is the opening of classes today common, ordinary time? Or is this the sacred & holy? Was our wedding day more sacred than this Monday morning, 25+ years in, standing on our porch, me taking her 1st day picture, before we walked to her car and shared a soft smooch? Was last Friday moving my son into the dorm charged with big, heavy meaning and significance, or was it the day before when we all ate dinner together, played Pictionary, and went disc golfing?

I’m more and more certain that “ordinary” time is simply the moments and days, seasons or years, where we fall asleep or lose our vision.

If my oldest son can’t see the hand of God on his work, or even more importantly, on his life, then it truly is common. However, I can, and they are anything but common. They are miracles, he is a miracle. What about the kids that come into that elementary school today, terrified and alone, who find The Angel’s luminous smile that can stop a clock and her arms that will bring safety and solace to those storms raging in those little hearts? Does that sound ordinary? Do you think it’s ordinary to those kids?

We just forget to see.

I am here, alone in my chair, with this computer and these words. The song currently playing is called “Historia Calamitatum,” and here are the lyrics to the hook: “When it rains it pours Like summer storms, the skies as grey as leaves. The rivers flood the banks and spill into the streets. But the people laughed and swore that they’d restore The city piece by piece. And then the clouds gave way as if to agree. When it rains it pours.” If you heard it, you might let it play and miss that devastating poetry. That would be heartbreaking. But even if we do hear this song, how many songs do we miss?

There is nowhere God isn’t, nowhere there is less of Him.

Even in our sadness and tragedy. Even in our pain. Even in the news and on Facebook. Jesus says, “Whoever has ears, let them hear,” and I don’t think He was only talking about His parables. I think, maybe, He was referring to baseball games, punk rock songs, tv shows, sunsets, mangoes, Tuesdays AND Wednesdays (and all other days), wedding days, 1st days and every days. I think He was probably referring to everything He has made, trees, streams, red-eared slider turtles, families, neighbors and even enemies.

Ordinary time is likely intended as a way to protect against our tendency to want (or expect) every day to be fireworks and movie scenes, to want every song to be “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out.” And it is probably supposed to point us to the presence of God even in the “ordinary.” But I think we went too far, lost that point, believed the opposite, and went to sleep.

The revolution of His Kingdom begins when we start to wake up to the Divine, sacred, holy reality all around us.