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“Then Jesus served them the bread and the fish. This was the third time Jesus had appeared to his disciples since he had been raised from the dead.” — John 21:13–14, NLT
The Glory of the Everyday
If God is only found in the big moments—mountaintop experiences, burning bushes, and parting seas—then most of us will spend our lives feeling like we missed Him.
Because most of life isn’t miraculous. It’s Monday morning. It’s dishes and emails and walking the dog. It’s answering the same question for the fifth time. It’s grocery runs and gas tank refills and waiting in line at the DMV. Most of life is breathtakingly, frustratingly ordinary.
But what if that’s the point?
What if the ordinary isn’t the backdrop to our spiritual lives, but the very place God wants to meet us?
Breakfast by the Sea
After the resurrection, Jesus didn’t gather His disciples for a conference or send them on a spiritual retreat. He cooked them breakfast.
In John 21, the disciples have returned to fishing. Perhaps they’re unsure what to do next. Perhaps they’re just trying to survive. Jesus meets them NOT in the synagogue or the upper room—but on the shore of their workplace.
He doesn’t give a sermon. He doesn’t unveil a strategic plan. He makes a fire, cooks some fish, and says, “Come and have breakfast.”
This is the resurrected Christ—Lord of glory, defeater of death—flipping fish on the beach.
It’s a stunning reminder that Jesus sanctifies the ordinary. He steps into our workplaces, our kitchens, our weary Mondays, and fills them with the aroma of grace.
The ordinary becomes holy—not because it changes, but because we notice God in it.
The Broom Closet as Sanctuary
Think of a broom closet.
It’s probably the last place we’d label sacred. But in Brother Lawrence’s classic book The Practice of the Presence of God, he described how he found God not in the cathedral—but while doing dishes in the monastery kitchen. His spirituality wasn’t lofty—it was lived.
As a janitor, I would pray as I cleaned, quietly whispering the names of people as I cleaned bathrooms and vacuumed floors. That broom closet became my sanctuary. Each supply refill, each mop rinse—acts of worship, offered to the Lord who washed feet.
What makes something holy is not its appearance. It’s the presence we bring to it.
God is not waiting for us to do something special. He is inviting us to see the special in what we already do.
Spiritual Practice: Liturgy of the Ordinary
This week, practice sacred noticing in your everyday routines by creating a Liturgy of the Ordinary.
Liturgy of the Ordinary Practice
Pick a daily activity: making coffee, folding laundry, commuting, brushing your teeth.
Before or during the task, invite God into it with a simple prayer:
“Lord, be with me as I do this.”
“I do this for You and with You.”
Add a rhythm of reflection:
What does this task teach me about patience, love, humility, or provision?
End with gratitude: “Thank You, God, that You are here in this moment.”
Let your tasks become prayers.
Formation Through the Mundane
Most of our spiritual formation doesn’t happen at the altar—it happens at the sink, in the car, at the desk.
If we don’t learn to see God in the ordinary, we’ll miss Him in the majority of our lives.
Jesus never seemed in a rush to leave the mundane. He told stories about seeds, bread, lamps, lost coins, and farming. He taught us that the Kingdom of God is like yeast in dough, like treasure in a field, like salt in food—all things hidden inside the common.
This kind of attentiveness changes us. It shifts our posture from distraction to devotion. We stop waiting for spiritual “highs” and start recognizing the holiness already at hand.
“The Lord is in this place—and I didn’t even know it.”
— Genesis 28:16
Reflection Questions
What daily routines in your life feel the most mundane?
How might God be present in those places?
What would it look like to make space for awareness in your ordinary tasks?
When have you felt God's presence in an unexpected, everyday moment?
Closing Prayer
God of the broom closet and the breakfast table,
Meet me in the middle of my day.
Help me see You in small routines,
In common tasks and quiet corners.
May my dishes become devotion,
My emails an echo of love,
My errands a journey with You.
Let me not miss You
simply because I was looking elsewhere.
Amen.
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