The word liturgy did not work its way into my vocabulary until well into my thirties. The term conjured up images of pipe organs, wooden church benches, and an abundance of kneeling. Liturgical practices, I assumed, were meant for high-church folks, not for gals like me who grew up Baptist, dipped her post-collegiate toes into Wesleyan and United Methodist waters, and seemed a little more nondenominational these days.

I equated liturgy with rigidity—but I was wrong.

In its simplest form, a liturgy is a practice that invites individual and communal connection with God and with the people of God. It’s a pathway to presence and to participation in Divine Love. As my friend Summer put it, it’s a sacred welcoming to “go farther up and further in.” (But just in case the word liturgy still trips you up, feel free to replace all the following uses of the word with “practices” or “rhythms.” I don’t want semantics to get in the way of what we’re doing here.)

Over the last few years, I’ve begun to embrace my own liturgies, and the liturgy of the little things is among the most important.

The concept is simple. The liturgy of the little things is an intentional, daily practice of paying attention to the goodness of God that is already around us. A crimson leaf that falls at my feet. The sticky fingers of my youngest son as they slip into mine. A cloud pattern that causes my eyes to turn upward. It is the practice of recognizing and of pausing in these seemingly small moments, allowing their goodness to draw us into deeper connection with God and with each other. It’s not about “finding the silver linings” or shiny positivity, but embracing tangible love that sustains. Both the paying attention and the pause is a liturgy.

At first, I did not have a term for this rhythm. Many call it “reflective living” or the “art of paying attention.” Again, with the semantics. Yet I could not help but recognize that this practice goes much deeper than gratitude; our ability to see the little things has serious implications for the soul.

Every smidge of beauty is a whisper, radiating the limitless, sustaining love of the Father. By finding joy in the little things, we remember that we too are seen by a God who is both compassionate and complex, who cares about every detail of his creation. Every pesky woodpecker. Every blade of overgrown grass. Every layer of fog that hovers just above the earth. These little things are not mundane, but an invitation into kingdom living. Right here. Right now.

And the heavier the world becomes, the bigger personal circumstances loom, the more important the little things become. We take notice and pause to participate in a narrative that is much bigger than ourselves, much richer than our version alone.

But this liturgy doesn’t just happen. We are fast-paced creatures prone to distraction and to turning inward, so we must give ourselves enough grace to start slowly and enough discontent not to give up. Yet if we apply ourselves to paying attention, we can develop eyes, ears, noses, and tongues that recognize the manifest goodness of God already around us, allowing it to infiltrate the spaces of our everyday lives. In that goodness, we pause, breathe deeply, and are sustained as seemingly ordinary things draw us into a deeper love of God and of each other.

Getting Started

My personal preference is to tell paint you a picture rather than share a how-to, but because I know new things sometimes need a boost, let me suggest a few ways to begin your own liturgy of the little things:

Pause when a person, place, thing, or idea catches your attention, makes you smile, or elicits wonder. Remember that nothing is too small to connect you to the Father or to your present moment.
Keep a reflective journal. Whether on your phone or in a notebook you keep nearby, begin jotting down what you notice and what feelings and/or thoughts it elicits. Perhaps once a week or once a month, you revisit your journal to replay the goodness in your heart and head.
Take pictures. Writing may not be your thing. No worries. You can also document the moment by taking a picture of the little things that stir your soul. Create a photo album on your phone or your computer to store them, which can come in handy on days when you’re struggling to see.
Don’t keep it to yourself. Liturgies are meant to draw us deeper into God and to each other. They are best experienced in the context of community, so don’t keep that magic to yourself. Find a friend or family member and swap stories about what you have been noticing and what that’s stirring up inside you.

Remember that liturgies are not intended to be an end, but a means. The liturgy of the little things is a path into a deeper, richer life with God and his people, but it is not a prescription. Paying attention is simply a pathway that can lead us toward a wonderful, sacred way of being in the world with God and with each other.

JOIN us for 30 days of paying attention

For the month of November 2020, Sarah is leading a thirty-day Liturgy of the Little Things challenge on Instagram. To find out more or to participate, click the button below. (Note: You will be redirected to the introductory Instagram post.)

Join the challenge