By Andrea Lingle

We have reached the culmination of our liturgy. 

We began with a Welcome and Greeting.

I confess that I have not met every morning with a smile. In fact, the heat on our sleeping floor went out for two weeks and two days, which made my mornings pretty reluctant (and chilly). Welcoming the mornings didn’t make them easier, but my approach to the day became more open. 

Then we greeted ourselves with a blessing. That has been the hardest part for me. To receive a blessing after the day is done with the floors swept and the dragons gentled and cared for would be easier. Once I had been faithful to the day, once I had been obedient to the mandate to love my neighbor, once I had done no harm, then a blessing makes sense. To claim a blessing, and a blessing of belovedness(!), in the morning is to underscore that I am beloved of God before I do anything. Merit doesn’t play into it.

Praying our Touchstone prayer at the sink? I had plenty of time to practice this one. So much time! And you know what? There were moments that I wished I had a few more dishes to do. To ask God to inhabit our moments is much more powerful when we cross the threshold as well. Figuring there are about two moments per second, my active day consists of 100,800 moments. I figure I spend roughly 18,000 of those moments doing dishes. Reclaiming those moments, or at least shutting down the muttering, mumbling self, feels like living.

But sometimes we stink at living. Sometimes those around us stink at living. Does that mean we cease to live? Jesus said, “Come to me all those who are weary and burdened.” Not, “Come to me those who live fully and abundantly into the life of peace and love you were called to.” A Liturgy of the Mundane that did not dwell in a space of confession would not have much to do with the actuality of what the mundane is. It is boring and frustrating. It is bickersome and uncomfortable. And you are beloved of God.

So we dig down deep into life. We stop the agenda to see the hurting person behind the infuriating behavior. We hold life loosely, knowing that whatever ground we stand on, it didn’t originate with us. Digging is slow. Listening well is slow. Pausing the to-do list is slow. Passing along the gift of peace is slow, beautiful work.

“The taxes are due and Edward needs braces and Suzie can’t find a kind word to say to a golden retriever. I can’t possibly slow down! If I do, the whole thing will fall apart.”

I know.

I know.

This peace doesn’t need to come from you. In fact it has come for you. You don’t need to take a vow of silence or sit in stillness for the length of a feature film to enact peace. You only need to inhabit the moments. Just two per second. Not all of them. Start with 18,000. 

Let the mundane things you do everyday cradle your soul. Let the sitting to eat and the standing to wash become your prayer. This prayer requires no words or profound beliefs. This prayer is about being who and where you are, beloved.