My little boy takes my hand as we walk toward soccer practice. He’s a little nervous as he sees each of the fields filled with increasingly older kids. “You don’t have to go all the way over there,” I reassure him. “Your field is here with kids your age.” He drags me, my lawn chair in tow, out to the middle field anyway. His coach bends down to ask him his name as dad and his chair slip off to the sideline.
These moments sneak up on you. Small moments when you observe something big about life. Sometimes the lesson hits you like a soccer ball upside the head, sometimes it’s a little more subtle.
I watched my five-year-old hesitantly warm up to his new coach, slowly learning that he can’t just pick up the ball or take a water break whenever he wants. He’s more engaged than he was last year during soccer. The little boy is growing up. “That went better than expected,” Dad thought. The assistant coach fixes the laces on the boy’s cleats. Oops, dad must not have tied them very well.
I attended a Catholic funeral recently. I was comforted by the routine of it all. It wasn’t my routine, but I appreciated the liturgy.
Liturgy is a pattern. At least that’s my nondenominational understanding of things. A pattern of repeated practices that remind us of what’s true about God, and about life, and about me. Prayers, Communion, songs, and Scripture carefully repeated.
The repetition shapes us over time.
We often think it’s the big moments that change us. And I suppose that’s true. Big moments do often change the trajectory of our lives. But I’ve learned that it’s the little things, day after day, that quietly mold us.
Bedtime stories and family dinners. Holding your kid’s hand or putting (well, wrestling) them to bed each night. It’s the simple walk with your spouse. Or the encouraging call or text from a friend.
It’s these little moments, repeated over and over, that actually shape who we ultimately become.
A lifetime of little liturgies.