“Earth is so thick with divine possibility that it is a wonder we can walk anywhere without cracking our shins on altars.” – Barbara Brown Taylor
In many traditions, sacraments are the means by which God’s saving grace is poured out: baptism, communion, and Scripture. For some, they also include marriage, confession, ordination, and anointing the sick. These acts are official, sacred, and ritualised. They are meant to tether us to the divine.
But for many of us, church has lost its oomph.
We’re between churches, clinging by a thread, or slowly, quietly slipping out the side door, trying to find God, ourselves, and the world again. We’re not hostile; we’re just tired. Church has become a place of confusion—a lifeless Christianity where we feel like we’re always doing something wrong. We get into trouble when we go, and we get into trouble when we don’t.
And so we drift. Or maybe… we walk.
I see you — not lost, but loosed,
from pew and creed, from tight-bound truths.
Your prayers now rise through silent skies,
no hymnal hand to harmonise.
You carry ash where fire once burned,
a sacred ache in lessons unlearned.
And still, you bless the broken road,
each doubt a stone, each step a psalm.
No steeple shadows where you stand,
yet grace still gathers in your hands.
You’re not alone in holy strife —
this, too, is part of a faithful life.
And yet, grace is not confined to altar rails or sanctuary walls. Sometimes, it greets us in the smallest of things — the steam rising from a morning coffee, the comfort of a well-worn novel, the warmth of soup shared on a cold day. These aren’t just distractions or creature comforts. They can be sacraments too, if we have eyes to see.
1 Corinthians 10:31 — “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.”
To make a cup of coffee with care, to read a story that stirs your soul, to laugh at the dinner table with someone you love — these are not lesser spiritual moments. They are the liturgies of the everyday, the sacred stitched into the ordinary. In these acts, God is not distant. He is here, humming quietly beneath the noise, waiting to be noticed.
Psalm 19:1–3 — “The heavens declare the glory of God… day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. They have no speech… yet their voice goes out into all the earth.“
In these wandering years, it’s easy to feel the absence of God — to feel the numbness, the long ache. It might take years before you feel whole again, before you even consider walking into a church.
Maybe you never will.
But as you walk the broken road, remember—
“Taste and see that the Lord is good.” (Psalm 34:8)
Even here.
Even now.
In the small things.
Scribbling Theology 