If you follow the Christian calendar, you know we are currently in Ordinary Time—the period of time between Epiphany and Lent. While I was growing up, I was aware of Lent and Advent, and I didn’t know that other Christian traditions observed other seasons or feast days. When I learned of “Ordinary Time,” I was captivated by its title: Ordinary Time. Nothing special, just the everyday ebb and flow of life. “Ordered” Sundays, marking time, week in, week out. Even more so this year, in the midst of teaching and parenting from home, rattling around the same five rooms with the same three people every single day—everything feels very ordinary. We are in big Ordinary Pandemic Time.

In a conversation about yoga and bodies and Christianity, CPY Founder Fr. Tom recently said, “Divine has always revealed itself in the ordinary.”

In the conversation, I understood his sentence in the context of Christ, who “became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14)—fully divine and fully human. I understood his sentence in the context of my yoga practice, where I connect with God in an embodied way—where the divine and the human connect in an ordinary body. Our bodies are Temples for the Holy Spirit, for sure (1 Corinthians 6:19).

After I left the virtual conversation with Fr. Tom, though, I looked up from my computer to my ordinary dining room. One of my kids was in virtual school next to me; the other was doing a project on the living room floor. Ordinary. “Divinity has always revealed itself in the ordinary.” Where was divinity here? 

On Sundays, these are the rooms where we attend church. Our homes are now the Temple of the Holy Spirit too. We’ve been taking communion (Lord’s Supper / Eucharist / Table / your-tradition’s-word-here) huddled around the computer, watching our friends also feed each other in tiny little boxes on the screen. The little boxes are windows into all our ordinary temples as we all remember together in a new way Christ’s body and blood, shed for us.

(Before I continue, I know that each Christian tradition has different ways and standards for how to participate in the Eucharist. And I hope what I say next does not offend you, particularly my very same Catholic friends who taught me about Ordinary Time! One of the beautiful things of having so many different traditions within Christianity is that we get to learn from each other.) 

Here’s what my family has used for the elements of Christ—

For the Body
-Wheat Thins
-Squares of PB&J sandwiches
-Crusts I cut off PB&J sandwiches
-Hamburger Buns
-Everything Bagel
-Cinnamon & Raisin English Muffin
-Bagel with Cream Cheese
-Ends of the loaf

For the Blood
-red wine
-white wine
-apple juice
-mango juice
-Earl Grey tea (with cream!)
-tequila
-cranberry juice
-concord grape jam

I mean, you can’t really get more ordinary than all that—Jesus of the Peanut Butter & Jelly. 

It’s not the same, certainly, as going to church and having the pastor (or priest) bless the elements and offer them as grace to us. I miss this. And I miss, as an elder in the Presbyterian church, holding the elements and offering the grace of Christ to the people in my church.

But there’s something holy about offering it to my family in our living room. In the Presbyterian tradition, children do not take communion until they have made a public profession of faith—and our church has also given families the permission to know when their own children are ready.

That first Sunday we attended “Zoom Church,” squeezed together on the couch, my spouse and I  offered the elements to our children for the first time. It was a spontaneous decision: it just felt right. Christ’s grace wasn’t just for us—it was also for our children, who were the only other people in the room. Throughout the service, they had wiggled on the couch next to us, and I was irritated. 

I was trying to hold my own growing grief and shock of the pandemic, and also their questions and wiggles. But here, right in the middle of Zoom Church on the couch, the same space where we watch movies, cuddle, and argue, here is Grace—Christ’s body, broken for you and me. Christ’s blood, shed for you and me. We are in this needing-grace thing together, my family and I. Divinity breaks into the ordinary irritability of a living room couch.

Ten months later, ten months of being together, mostly just us, we’re all ready for some physical space. Our church services have moved to the dining room table, where we all draw or craft while participating in Zoom church. There are glorious moments, there are angry moments, and all of those moments happen mostly around the table or on the couch—including church services. The divinity in the middle of the ordinary. 

This Ordinary Pandemic Time—with all its frustrations—has given me a new opportunity to see God in the midst of everything. In our bodies, in our living rooms, around our tables, we give and receive grace—the grace of Christ and the grace of relationship. The Ordinary and the Extraordinary, the Divine with us, within us, between us.

Thank God.