Every morning he is there, lights on when the rest of the world is dark, shuttling to and fro, chopping and mixing and spicing, preparing for the day before him. He is both proprietor and cook of a small café here in town. I pass him by each morning on my quotidian walk, a pane of glass separating the cold of the new day from the welcoming warmth of a cherished gathering space infused with the smells of breakfast. His establishment is not open yet. Patrons have yet to arrive, that is, if they do at all. The disease is still with us, and most people remain justifiably cautious, choosing to munch cereal at home rather than risk blending their breath with that of others. I knock on the frosted window and wave. He looks up from his work and gives me a smile and nod. There is a certain inexorable courage in my friend’s diurnal routine. In the very face of pandemic, he continues to prepare for guests who may or may not arrive. Despite his fears, he continues to chop and mix and spice, every morning.

Persistence seems to be a quality in humans that God honors. Jesus says, “Ask and you’ll get; seek and you’ll find; knock and the door will open.” The implication in Jesus’ words is that those who ask and seek and knock will do so repeatedly, that is, every day. The getting and finding and opening rarely occurs on account of a one time effort, no matter how faithful or Herculean. There’s another story in the Bible of a healing at a pool called Bethesda in Jerusalem. It was to this pool that multitudes of sick, blind and lame people would come. They had the belief that the first person to step into water after the pool had been “stirred” would be healed of their particular infirmity. There was a man who had come to the pool each day for thirty-eight years in the hope of being healed. Of the hundreds of people who had gathered about the pool, it was this man whom Jesus chose to heal. It takes courage to seek and ask and knock, and the picture of one doing so for thirty-eight years is one that inspires.

This is the same courage that I witness in the lives of other friends who gather each morning for prayer. They come to say much the same words and to express many of the same concerns as those who have done the same for a thousand years. They come to listen for the still small voice of a God that they cannot see. Some come full of faith, full of energy, full of hope. Others come despite their lack of the very same. Perhaps they come out of a desire to be in community. Or is it just obligation, and does it really matter? For what matters most is that they come. Such persistence is courageous, no matter the conscious or unconscious motives. It is courage, morning courage.

Courage is doing what needs to be done regardless of the consequences. It is preparing for the feast, even if no one comes. It is staying by the pool even if one is not chosen that day. It is saying one’s prayers, even if those prayers remain unanswered. For the most part, none of us understands the ways of God or the timing of God. We walk with only partial sight, trusting in the beneficent presence and patient guidance of the Spirit within. Morning courage is asking even when an answer doesn’t immediately come. It is seeking even when finding the right path means running into ten thousand deadends first. It is knocking, persistent knocking, even when one must stand by an unopened door for a long, long time.

It is my belief that finally, if we are able to practice such morning and afternoon and evening and nighttime courage, we will realize that God has been doing the same for much longer than we can ask or imagine. Our morning courage is simply a derivation of the Great Courage of the everliving and everloving God, the One who is faithful, ever faithful. God has been asking that we might say yes to God’s love; seeking that we might allow ourselves to be found; knocking that the door to our hearts and souls may be opened. So this day, may you take courage, morning courage, and know that your courage is met by that of God. God has been asking and seeking and knocking, chopping and mixing and spicing, preparing for a great feast on the off-chance that today you and I might arrive to partake.

~Father Art