By Mark Snipes
I love Epiphany Sunday
I love the excitement of a new year, the anticipation of receiving a star word, and the joy of telling each other what word we received. A couple of years ago, I remember getting generosity while my son received money. That was a fun conversation on the way home!
But most weeks don’t feel dramatic.
The doors open the way they always do. Lights click on. Coffee is brewed. Conversations spill into hallways. Familiar Scriptures are read. Well-worn prayers rise from familiar voices. People settle into the same seats they’ve claimed over time. There’s nothing flashy about it.
And yet, this is where ministry quietly begins.
Week after week, those ordinary gatherings shape us more than we realize. They train us to listen for God in the everyday rhythm of life. They teach us how to pray when words are hard to find and how to keep showing up when life feels heavy. Faith isn’t formed in a single, shining moment—it’s formed in the steady practice of being present again and again, of choosing to live life together.
At other times, in my congregation, the space sounds different.
Tables are unfolded. Boxes are carried in. Shelves are stocked and checked again. A food pantry opens, and neighbors arrive—some hesitant, some hopeful. Volunteers greet them, sometimes with a quick smile, sometimes with a conversation that lingers. Names are remembered. Simple meals are shared. Stories are exchanged. Bags are filled.
It is a beautiful monotony.
The work can feel repetitive. The needs don’t vanish. Next week, the shelves will need to be filled again. And yet, something sacred is happening in that repetition. Trust is being built. Dignity is being protected. People are learning that this is a place where they belong.
None of this happens by accident.
It happens because of the faithfulness of everyday Christfollowers. Because they serve even when no one is watching. Because others give—quietly, consistently, generously. Giving turns compassion into groceries, prayer into presence, and belief into action. It makes room for grace to take on flesh.
God has always done God’s deepest work this way—not only through miracles, but through daily provision. Not only through mountaintop moments, but through long obedience in the same direction. Even when the work feels ordinary, God is shaping us into people who know how to care for one another.
So if it ever feels like nothing special is happening, pause and look again.
God is still writing a story—one ordinary week at a time.