Royal Psalm's Vision Revealed Jesus' Righteous Reign

At the start of a new year, it seems that every year the pressure from the world around us is to set goals, better ourselves, eat right, exercise more, spend more time with family and friends, save more, spend less, read more, be more present. All of these resolutions and goals are good, but really hard to stick with. There’s always MORE that can be done. I don’t know about you but constantly striving for better and MORE can be exhausting. And ultimately, when I fail to achieve my goals and resolutions, I feel guilt and shame—defeated once again. Before I know it, I’m back into the same old rhythms. I get comfortable with the status quo.

The question is, will this year be any different? I know I want to begin the year with more intentional and attainable goals, but I also know that I have no interest in setting myself up for failure. So, how do I do that?

The church calendar might have an answer. We’re entering what the liturgical calendar calls Ordinary Time. And I’ll be honest—when I first heard that term years ago, it felt like a letdown. Ordinary? After all the white and gold of Christmas, after the angels and the manger and the extraordinary gift of Emmanuel, we’re back to… ordinary? The green vestments replace the festive ones. The numbered Sundays begin. First Sunday after Epiphany. Second Sunday. Third Sunday. We count them off, one by one, like we’re marking time until something more exciting happens.

But here’s what I’m realizing: the word “ordinary” doesn’t mean boring or mundane or less-than. It comes from “ordinal”—the numbered order of things. These are the counted weeks, the measured days, the steady rhythm of showing up. And maybe that’s exactly what January needs to hear. Not another promise of transformation, but permission to simply continue.

The liturgical calendar is structured with such intention. We prepare—Advent, Lent. We celebrate—Christmas, Easter. And then we enter Ordinary Time, when we live out what we’ve celebrated. When we do the daily work of discipleship. The green vestments aren’t a disappointment after Christmas white; they’re the color of growth. And growth doesn’t happen in a burst of New Year’s resolution energy. Growth happens slowly, in numbered weeks, in the patient accumulation of ordinary days.

The church knew we’d need this. After the celebration comes the action… not the spectacular kind that looks good on Instagram, but the faithful kind that no one sees. The kind that happens in week four, week eight, week twelve, of simply showing up. Of doing the next right thing. Of trying again after we’ve already failed at trying.

I think my focus on MORE has been skewed. It’s been on the wrong target, maybe on just me when it should be on something else entirely. What if instead of the usual resolutions that focus on improving myself, I shift my eyes to others? What can I do this year to more intentionally focus on the people around me? How can I be more kind? How can I help in unexpected and anonymous ways—without recognition, humbly? How can I serve in intentional and focused ways?

Because here’s what Ordinary Time is really about: it’s the season for ministry, for action, for living out what we believe in the ordinary spaces of our lives. Not in the dramatic moments—we’ve already celebrated those. But in the Tuesday afternoon, the mundane email, the small kindness no one will notice.

What if I pause and remind myself that I’m already loved? Already good enough? God looks down on me and sees beauty and love. He doesn’t wait until I’ve achieved my resolutions. He doesn’t love me more in the spectacular seasons and less in the ordinary ones. Emmanuel—God with us—isn’t just for Christmas Eve candlelight services. He’s God with us in the First Sunday after Epiphany. The Second Sunday. The Third. All the numbered, ordinary weeks when we’re just showing up.

And what if in focusing on how I can be intentional in putting others before myself—not because I’m trying to become a better version of me, but because I’ve been loved extravagantly—I actually become more in all the ways I’m seeking? Not through striving, but through responding. Not through proving I’m worthy of God’s love, but through living like someone who already knows they’re loved?

This is the gift of Ordinary Time: we don’t have to be new. We just have to keep going. Keep showing up. Keep loving. Keep serving. Week by week, in numbered order, in the color of things that grow slowly. The green of late winter grass pushing through frozen ground. The green of steady, patient discipleship that doesn’t make headlines but changes the world one ordinary Tuesday at a time.

May you find grace in this season of Ordinary Time, in the numbered weeks that stretch ahead. May you remember that the church built these long stretches into the calendar on purpose—that after celebration comes the faithful work of simply continuing. May you know that you are already loved, already enough, already held by a God who chose to dwell with us not just in the spectacular moments but in all the ordinary ones too. And when the pressure to transform yourself feels crushing, may you remember that growth happens slowly, in the color green, in the patient accumulation of weeks when you simply show up. Emmanuel, God with us—in the spectacular and in the ordinary, in the celebration and in the continuation, in every numbered Sunday that reminds us we are loved not for who we’re becoming, but for who we already are.