The Sacred Ordinary
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“God regards not the greatness of the work, but the love with which it is performed.”
— Brother Lawrence
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Is there anything sacred about brushing one’s teeth? I do this every morning, and there is nothing remarkable about that.
I have been brushing them for most of my life, except for that brief period as a child when I didn’t have any.
Most mornings I don’t give my teeth much thought at all. I brush them, rinse the toothbrush, put it away, and move on to whatever comes next.
I am considerably more aware of my teeth when I am sitting in the dentist’s chair and the hygienist is poking around with sharp instruments. A toothache will also get my attention very quickly.
But on an ordinary morning?
Not so much.
And yet those teeth let me bite into corn on the cob. They let me savor a good meal, and every once in a while, when there is a particularly flavorful spare rib involved, they even let me gnaw on a bone.
Finding the Sacred in Ordinary Things
Brother Lawrence, a seventeenth-century monk, became known for finding the presence of God while working in the monastery kitchen.
Washing dishes and preparing meals became part of his spiritual practice.
I think about that often, especially when my hands are covered with soapy dishwater.
Not because I particularly want to turn dishwashing into a religious ceremony. I don’t. Sometimes a sink full of dishes is simply a sink full of dishes that needs to be emptied.
But Brother Lawrence reminds me that spiritual life doesn’t only happen during prayer, worship, meditation, or those moments when the sunset is so spectacular that we can’t help but notice it with awe.
Most of life happens somewhere else.
It happens while brushing our teeth or taking a shower. Buttoning a coat. Eating breakfast. Making the bed. Picking up a cane before walking across the room.
These things are so ordinary that we hardly see them.
The Things We Notice When Something Goes Wrong
I tend to become much more appreciative of ordinary things when they stop working.
A cavity suddenly makes me very aware of a tooth I hadn’t thought about the day before.
When my balance is especially whacky, I become very grateful for the cane beside me.
A problem with the plumbing can make a perfectly ordinary shower seem like a luxury.
Then the cavity gets filled. The plumbing gets fixed. The crisis passes.
And I forget again.
Maybe that isn’t a terrible human failing. Instead it is simply what we do. We can’t spend every moment marveling at everything that is working properly.
I would never get anything done if I stopped every few minutes to offer thanks for my knees, my coffeemaker, my toothbrush, and indoor plumbing.
But there may be something between constant gratitude and complete unawareness.
There is noticing. And here is where I am trying to grow.
What the Body Knows
Some ordinary experiences carry their own kind of blessing, like the stretch in the morning when I first begin to wake up. Or the satisfaction I feel after a really good meal.
There is nothing better than a warm jacket on a cold Maine winter morning, or the tender hug from a friend I haven’t seen in a while.
These aren’t extraordinary experiences. Most won’t become stories we tell later. Nobody is likely to ask us at the end of the day, “Tell me about that remarkable moment when you put on your winter coat.”
And yet these small things support our lives. Sometimes literally.
A cane is an ordinary object until it keeps me from falling. My coat is just something hanging by the door until the wind is blowing and the temperature has dropped. And I never think of my teeth until one begins to hurt.
Ordinary things can be life-giving and also lifesaving. That by itself is sacred!
Paying Attention Without Making It Another Job
I don’t want paying attention to become another spiritual assignment. I have enough things to remember.
I don’t want to stand in the shower thinking, “I really ought to be more grateful for this water.” That rather spoils the shower.
But perhaps once in a while I can notice it: Warm water. Soap. A towel waiting nearby. A body that has carried me through another day and is getting ready for this one.
Nothing dramatic needs to happen.
I simply notice.
Perhaps that is what Brother Lawrence discovered in the kitchen. The dishes still had to be washed. And my understanding is, he didn’t enjoy washing dishes much more than we do. But he points out that ordinary work doesn’t have to be separated from sacred life.
He shows sacred life was happening right there.
The Sacred Blessing We Almost Miss
We often go looking for the sacred in special places: Churches. Retreat centers. Mountains. Sunrises. Silence.
I find it in those places too.
But if the sacred is only available during extraordinary moments, we are going to miss many of the blessings in our lives, because most of our days aren’t extraordinary.
They are filled with toothbrushes and showers, coats and meals, errands and dishes, aches and hugs, things that work and things that need fixing.
I hear an invitation here, and it isn’t to make those things more important than they are. It is simply to notice that they matter.
This morning I brushed my teeth. Tomorrow morning I will probably brush them again without thinking very much about it.
But tonight I may eat something delicious. And those ordinary teeth will be there, quietly doing their job.
That seems worth noticing.
A Question to Carry With You
What is one very ordinary thing supporting your life today that you usually don’t notice?
You don’t have to make it profound. It is enough to just notice it.
