“You do not even know what tomorrow will bring,” declared the writer of the New Testament book James. (James 4:14) Jesus expressed the same idea in the Sermon on the Mount, “So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.” (Matthew 6:34)
I’ve had some unusually full days, which isn’t the way I prefer to live. And with our annual concert less than two weeks away, all members of the chorus will be rehearsing three evenings next week, which means more full days. Because of a class I’ll be teaching tomorrow, I’ll miss Wednesday morning eucharist, disrupting my week's routine.
I love the chapel where we have Wednesday Eucharist; it's proportioned like a jewel, set in the lower level of the church. There’s a stained glass window with a banner in it proclaiming Jesus’ words: Lo I am with you always. It is a place of beauty and quiet, where I can count on a half hour that goes according to plan.
Here’s one of the things I love about the Episcopal church: the liturgy is more or less the same every week; the order of service never varies. No one suddenly gets the urge to mess (much) with what’s worked for centuries. I can count on it, sink my weary soul down into it, step into the rhythm of 1549, the year of the first Book of Common Prayer. All the bustle so unavoidable, all the confusion of life gets bound up in this service that calms my nerves.
Despite having the next few weeks fairly planned out, I don’t know what a day will bring forth. I need to live today fully and well, holding my loved ones—some of whom are struggling—close in my thoughts and prayers while releasing them into God’s care.
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