WHAT IS SO ORDINARY ABOUT ORDINARY TIME?

A Season the Church Calls Ordinary

Across much of the Christian world, especially within reformed and liturgical traditions, the rhythm of worship is shaped by what is known as the common lectionary. This structured calendar divides the year into seasons—Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, Pentecost, and the long stretch that follows known as Ordinary Time. These seasons were intended to guide congregations through the life of Christ and the story of redemption in a predictable, orderly fashion, giving shape to the church’s worship and teaching throughout the year.

For many congregations, Easter stands as the pinnacle of this cycle. Sanctuaries fill, choirs swell, banners rise, and the church gathers in its greatest numbers to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Yet once Easter morning passes, the atmosphere shifts. The lilies are removed, the choir robes are stored, and the church quietly returns to its familiar routine. Though the weeks that follow are still technically part of Eastertide, the energy fades as congregations drift toward summer schedules and lighter commitments.

Then comes Pentecost Sunday—often acknowledged, sometimes noted, rarely emphasized—and immediately after it, the lectionary enters its longest season: Ordinary Time. The very name suggests a return to normalcy, a settling into the predictable, a season without urgency or intensity. It is the church’s way of saying, “The high moments have passed; now we resume our regular pace.”

But this assumption is precisely what must be challenged, because nothing about the life of the early church was ordinary, nothing about the age we live in is ordinary, and nothing about the risen Christ or the outpoured Spirit invites us into a season of spiritual neutrality. The lectionary may call it ordinary, but heaven does not.

The Church Returns to Routine, but Heaven Does Not

The modern church often treats Easter as a spiritual summit, a moment of heightened celebration followed by a gentle descent back into routine. Yet the early church knew nothing of this rhythm. For them, the resurrection was not an annual observance but a daily reality. Luke tells us, “And with great power gave the apostles witness of the resurrection of the Lord Jesus: and great grace was upon them all.” Acts 4:33. They did not commemorate the empty tomb; they lived in its power. They did not treat Easter as a holiday; they treated it as the beginning of a new creation.

The modern church celebrates the resurrection as an event. The early church lived the resurrection as a lifestyle.

Pentecost: Christmas and Easter Fully Realized

If Easter is the moment the church celebrates Christ’s victory, then Pentecost is the moment the church receives its purpose. In the life of the Living Church of God, Pentecost is not a footnote to Easter; it is the fulfillment of everything Christmas and Easter set in motion.

Christmas is God with us. “They shall call his name Emmanuel.” Isaiah 7:14.

Easter is God for us. “He is not here: for he is risen.” Matthew 28:6.

Pentecost is God in us. “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.” John 14:18.

At Christmas, Christ came to dwell among humanity. At Easter, Christ conquered death for humanity. At Pentecost, Christ came to dwell within humanity.

Pentecost is not an appendix to Easter; it is the purpose of Easter. The resurrection was the victory; Pentecost was the transfer of power. The resurrection declared Jesus Lord; Pentecost made the church His body. The resurrection opened the tomb; Pentecost opened the heavens.

And yet, in the modern church, Pentecost is often treated as a liturgical afterthought. It is rarely celebrated with the same intensity or expectation as Easter, even though it is the day the church received its identity, its mission, and its power. Heaven, however, has never forgotten Pentecost. Heaven still burns with Pentecostal fire.

Man‑Made Religion Cannot Produce What Only Christ Can Give

The church’s drift into routine is not merely a scheduling issue; it is a spiritual condition. Man‑made religion, with its holidays, symbols, and ceremonies, often becomes devoid of real meaning because it excludes the truth found only in Christ. It offers rhythms without revelation, rituals without relationship, and celebrations without surrender. When Christ is not at the center, even the most sacred observances become hollow.

This is how symbols become idols. This is how holidays become substitutes for holiness. This is how a people who once knew the living God become a people who merely commemorate Him.

Christ did not come to establish a holiday in His honor; He came to establish a people who serve Him. He did not come to create a calendar; He came to create a kingdom. He did not come to inspire seasonal devotion; He came to ignite lifelong discipleship. He did not come to be remembered once a year; He came to be obeyed every day.

“Ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people.” 1 Peter 2:9.

Christ shed His blood to create a people, not a program; a kingdom, not a calendar; a church, not a holiday.

The Early Church Walked in Power — The Modern Church Walks in Caution

When we look at the book of Acts, we see a church that healed the sick, raised the dead, cast out demons, opened blinded eyes, and confronted darkness wherever it appeared. Nothing about their lives was ordinary. Nothing about their gatherings was predictable. Nothing about their witness was safe. They lived in the power of the risen Christ, walked in the fire of the Holy Spirit, and carried the authority of the kingdom of God.

“And by the hands of the apostles were many signs and wonders wrought among the people.” Acts 5:12.

“These that have turned the world upside down are come hither also.” Acts 17:6.

But today, the modern church often turns a blind eye to sin, buries the dead instead of raising them, prays for the sick without expecting healing, tolerates darkness instead of confronting it, and avoids impact to avoid persecution. It chooses safety over surrender, comfort over calling, and predictability over power. The early church walked into cities and demons screamed; the modern church walks into cities and nothing notices.

The early church prayed and prison doors opened; the modern church prays and hopes the service ends on time. The early church preached and hearts were pierced; the modern church preaches and feelings are soothed. The early church lived in the fire of Pentecost; the modern church lives in the fog of “Ordinary Time.”

The Danger of Calling Anything Ordinary

The lectionary’s term “Ordinary Time” may be organizational, but spiritually it is dangerous. It trains the church to expect nothing unusual, nothing supernatural, nothing disruptive, nothing that would require surrender or obedience. Yet Scripture calls believers to the opposite posture.

“See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, redeeming the time, because the days are evil.” Ephesians 5:15–16.

“And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep.” Romans 13:11.

There is no ordinary time for a Spirit‑filled church. There is no ordinary time in a shaking world. There is no ordinary time when the kingdom is advancing. There is no ordinary time when Christ dwells within His people.

The only thing ordinary is the faith we have settled for.

These Are Not Ordinary Days

Look at the world. Look at the nations. Look at the church. Look at the signs of the times. These are not ordinary days. These are prophetic days—days of shaking, days of sifting, days of awakening. The church is acting as though we live in ordinary times, but we do not. We have not lived in ordinary times since Christ rose from the dead. The resurrection ended ordinary. Pentecost ended predictable. The Spirit ended routine.

A Call to the Church Before Pentecost Arrives

Pentecost is approaching, and this is a timely word. The Spirit is calling the church to wake up, rise up, and step into the fire that birthed it. The Spirit is calling us to reject the predictable rhythms of Churchianity and embrace the unpredictable movement of God. The Spirit is calling us to remember that the same power that raised Jesus from the dead now dwells in us.

Christ now dwells with us and works to do His will among us—if we let Him.

Pentecost is not ordinary. Pentecost is not optional. Pentecost is not a footnote. Pentecost is the heartbeat of the church.

May the church awaken. May the fire fall again. May the people of God rise from the ashes of routine and step into the extraordinary days for which we were born.

Let the People Tremble

The Earth Shook, but Heaven Has Been Shaking Longer

Pennsylvania felt a tremor, a brief and passing shiver beneath the soil, the kind of seismic murmur that registers more clearly on an instrument than in the human body. Most residents went about their day without noticing anything unusual, while a few paused long enough to wonder whether something had brushed the edge of their awareness. Yet even as the ground settled back into silence, a deeper and more consequential shaking continued—one not measured in magnitudes or plotted on geological maps, but discerned in the spiritual atmosphere of a people who have grown accustomed to stillness.

The LORD reigneth; let the people tremble. (Psalm 99:1)

The trembling Scripture speaks of is not the panic of those who fear collapse, but the awakening of those who suddenly realize that God is moving in ways they can no longer ignore. The earth may tremble for a moment, but heaven has been shaking the church for far longer, calling God’s people to recognize that the true disturbance is not beneath their feet but within their souls.

A Mild Earthquake Is a Warning, Not a Catastrophe

A minor quake does not topple buildings or send cities into chaos. Instead, it exposes the quiet truth that the ground we trust is not as immovable as we assume. It interrupts the rhythm of ordinary life just long enough to remind us that stability is never guaranteed by the earth itself. In the same way, the shaking within the Body of Christ is not meant to destroy but to awaken. God is not judging His people with devastation; He is correcting them with disruption. He is loosening the grip of comforts that have become idols and dismantling routines that have replaced relationship.

Yet once more I shake not the earth only, but also heaven… that those things which cannot be shaken may remain. (Hebrews 12:26–27)

This divine shaking is not punitive. It is purifying. God removes what is temporary so that what is eternal may stand unobscured. He shakes the structures we have built on sand so that we might rediscover the Rock beneath our feet. He shakes our complacency so that prayer might rise again. He shakes our illusions so that truth may shine without distortion. He shakes our idols so that worship may return to its rightful center.

The Church Has Felt the Tremors, but Has It Woken Up?

When the earth trembles, even slightly, people talk about it. They compare experiences, check news reports, and wonder aloud what it might mean. Yet when God shakes His people, the response is often muted. We explain it away as cultural turbulence or personal inconvenience. We assume things will settle down soon, as though settling down were the goal of the Christian life. But the early church understood the purpose of shaking far better than we do.

And when they had prayed, the place was shaken; and they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and they spake the word of God with boldness. (Acts 4:31)

The shaking was not the event. It was the announcement. It signaled that God was present, active, and unwilling to let His people remain unchanged. The trembling of the room was merely the outward sign of the inward transformation that followed. The question for today’s church is not whether God is shaking us, but whether we are responding with the same urgency and surrender.

If a 2.1 Gets Our Attention, What Will It Take for God’s People to Wake Up?

This question lingers like a prophetic echo. If the ground can tremble and we notice, why do we ignore the trembling in our spirits? If the earth can shift and we discuss it, why do we remain silent when God shifts the atmosphere around us? The shaking of the land is a footnote; the shaking of the church is the headline. God is calling His people to tremble again—not in fear of destruction, but in reverence for His holiness, in repentance for their drift, and in devotion to His reign.

The LORD also shall roar out of Zion… and the heavens and the earth shall shake. (Joel 3:16)

The roar of God is not meant to terrify His children but to awaken them. The trembling of the people is the sign that the reign of the Lord is being taken seriously again. This is not a suggestion. It is a summons.

The Shaking Is Not the End. It Is the Invitation.

The tremors that brushed Pennsylvania will fade from memory. The news cycle will move on. The charts will reset. But the shaking in the Spirit will continue until the church stands firmly on the only foundation that cannot be moved. God is not shaking the earth to frighten us; He is shaking His people to awaken them. He is calling His church to recognize that the true quake is not geological but spiritual, and the true danger is not the trembling of the ground but the stillness of a sleeping people.

Let the people tremble. Let the church awaken. Let the shaking accomplish its holy purpose.

Where Did You Park Your God?

Group of robed people holding torches worshipping a large golden calf statue outdoors at night

An Editorial on the Golden Calf of Convenience

There is a question every believer must eventually face, though most spend their entire lives avoiding it: Where did you park your God this week? Did you leave Him in the pew last Sunday, waiting for you like a forgotten coat? Did you leave Him in the car until next weekend, tucked between the fast‑food wrappers and the worship playlist? Do you wear Him around your neck like jewelry, a symbol of faith that never reaches the heart? Or did you leave Him at the altar because He asked too much of you?

The uncomfortable truth is that many believers do not worship the God of Scripture. They worship a manageable version of Him—one they can carry, control, schedule, and silence. A God who stays where they put Him. A God who never disrupts their plans. A God who fits neatly into their routine. A God who never calls them higher. A God who never confronts their idols. A God who never demands ascent.

The God of Scripture Does Not Fit in Your Pocket

The God of Scripture is not manageable. He is not containable. He is not portable. He is not a charm, a token, or a Sunday accessory. He is the God who calls His people upward, not downward. He is the God who says, “Come up to Me on the mountain and stay there.” [Exodus 24:12] He is the God who descends in fire and thunder, whose presence makes the earth tremble and the people tremble with it. He is the God who cannot be shaped, reduced, or domesticated.

And that is precisely why Israel built a golden calf.

Why Israel Built a Golden Calf

They did not build it because they wanted a new god. They built it because they refused to ascend to the real One. Scripture says, “When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered themselves together to Aaron and said to him, ‘Up, make us gods who shall go before us.’” [Exodus 32:1] They did not want the mountain. They did not want the fire. They did not want the voice. They did not want the holiness. They did not want the transformation.

They wanted a god who stayed at ground level, a god who did not call them higher, a god who did not demand surrender.

So they dragged God down to their level and shaped Him into something familiar.

The Modern Golden Calf

Modern believers do the same every weekend. They do not ascend to God; they reshape Him into something they can manage. They fashion a god who fits their preferences, their comfort, their tradition, their schedule. They worship a god who never confronts them, never convicts them, never calls them to repentance, never demands holiness, never interrupts their service order, and never asks them to bow in total surrender. They worship a god who fits in their pocket, not a God who fills the heavens.

This is why modern worship feels hollow. This is why the atmosphere is thin. This is why the posture of the people reveals the absence of the presence.

The Posture That Reveals the Presence

When God truly appears, people do not stand casually with their hands in their pockets. They do not scroll their phones. They do not sip coffee. They do not whisper to their neighbor. They fall. They tremble. They bow. They collapse under the weight of glory.

Scripture says, “The priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud, for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord.” [1 Kings 8:11] When Isaiah saw the Lord, he cried, “Woe is me! For I am undone.” [Isaiah 6:5] When Ezekiel saw Him, he said, “I fell on my face.” [Ezekiel 1:28] When John saw Him, he wrote, “I fell at His feet as though dead.” [Revelation 1:17]

The posture tells the truth. If the people never bow, the presence never came.

The Tragedy of a Manageable God

The tragedy is that many believers think they are worshiping God when they are actually worshiping a golden calf—polished, emotional, musical, familiar, and entirely manageable. They sing Scripture songs and hymns, but they do not expect an encounter. They raise their hands, but they do not surrender their hearts. They attend services, but they do not ascend the mountain. They honor Him with their lips, but their hearts remain far from Him. Jesus Himself said, “This people honors Me with their lips, but their heart is far from Me.” [Matthew 15:8]

And like Israel, they keep looking back. They look back to tradition, not necessarily because it is holy, but because it is familiar. They look back to the “way we’ve always done it,” even when the way they’ve always done it has never produced transformation. They look back to predictable worship, predictable sermons, predictable routines. They look back to Egypt, not because Egypt was good, but because Egypt was known. Scripture says, “They said to one another, ‘Let us choose a leader and go back to Egypt.’” [Numbers 14:4]

Once You Cross the Jordan, You Cannot Go Back

The Promised Land is for those who move forward, not for those who cling to the past. The wilderness is full of people who never crossed because they never stopped looking back. Scripture says, “All the men who had seen My glory and My signs… yet have tested Me these ten times… shall not see the land that I swore to give to their fathers.” [Numbers 14:22–23] They died with manna on their breath and Egypt in their hearts. They lived on survival when God offered inheritance.

And this is the indictment of the modern church: Most believers never cross the Jordan because they never stop looking back. They cling to tradition, routine, predictability, and familiarity. They cling to a god they can manage. They cling to a worship they can control. They cling to a faith that never demands ascent. They cling to a golden calf because the mountain terrifies them.

The God Who Calls Us Higher

But the God of Scripture is not a god you can park. He is not a god you can schedule. He is not a god you can carry. He is the God who carries you. He is the God who calls you upward. He is the God who says, “Consecrate yourselves, for tomorrow the Lord will do wonders among you.” [Joshua 3:5] He is the God who says, “You shall have no other gods before Me.” [Exodus 20:3] He is the God who says, “Be holy, for I am holy.” [1 Peter 1:16] He is the God who says, “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.” [James 4:8]

A God you can carry is not a God who can carry you. A God who fits in your schedule is not the God who parted the sea. A God who stays where you left Him is not the God of Scripture.

And if your God never calls you higher, you are not worshiping Him. You are worshiping a golden calf.

“White-Out: The Blizzard, The Erasure, and The Redemption”

March roared like a lion during the great blizzard of 1958. During this time, the skies above eastern Pennsylvania gathered into a tempest.

The wind lifted its voice. The snow descended in fierce abundance. It covered the hills and valleys as though the earth itself were being wrapped in a shroud of white.

And in those days, a child was born. It was not under gentle skies or in the warmth of spring. This happened during a storm that buried roads. It silenced towns and made even the strong take shelter.

The storm that day covered the world in white‑out. It was the kind that erases roads, landmarks, and every trace of what came before. This white‑out was more than a blizzard’s veil. It symbolized life itself in a double-edged manner. It presented a world erased yet also a canvas for renewal.

He was born into a world whited out by snow and silence. This new life also seemed marked by attempts to erase him. He was erased from memory, from lives, and from hope.

Yet, by the grace of Jesus, this white‑out became white=out: a divine correction, a sacred rewriting.

Years of failures, accusations, missteps, and crimson stains sought to mark him. The hand of grace used white-out to cleanse and renew him. It made him as pure and bright as that winter storm.

And the child was not wrapped in swaddling clothes. Instead, he was wrapped in blankets thick enough to guard against the cold. Meanwhile, the world outside lay under blankets of snow.

The shepherds did not abide in the fields. The fields were lost beneath drifts higher than a man’s shoulders. Neither were angels singing overhead, for the storm drowned out every voice but its own.

The storm raged on. It was as though March itself protested the arrival. March roared its disapproval, shaking the windows and stamping its frozen feet.

Yet the child endured, for even the fiercest lion cannot stop what Heaven has appointed.

And when the time came for the naming, it was spoken plainly and without hesitation:

“And you shall call his name Allen.”

In the years that followed, the storms of life would rise and fall. Yet, the One who quiets the winds would take him in hand.

He came into the world through the roar of the lion. In time, the Good Shepherd would shape him. Born a lion, he would become a lamb by grace.

HYMNS OF REDEMPTION: NEAR THE CROSS

NEAR THE CROSS FANNY CROSBY-WILLIAM COWPER

Some hymns lift our eyes to heaven, and some draw our hearts back to the place where everything changed. Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross does both. This hymn was written by Fanny Crosby. Her physical blindness sharpened her spiritual sight. It is a quiet plea for nearness, intimacy, and anchoring grace.

Crosby never treated the cross as a distant historical event. For her, it was a living place of refuge, a wellspring of mercy, and the center of Christian hope. Her words are simple, but they are not shallow. They carry the weight of a life shaped by prayer, dependence, and a deep awareness of Christ’s sustaining presence.

Cowper’s hymn cries out for cleansing. In contrast, Crosby’s hymn leans into abiding. It offers a daily, moment-by-moment nearness that keeps the believer grounded in grace. This is not a hymn of crisis; it is a hymn of posture. It teaches us to stay close to the place where love was poured out. It also urges us to stay where redemption was secured. And finally, where hope was born.

The anchor comes from Jesus’ own words in John 12:32:

“And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”

Crosby hears that promise and responds with a simple, lifelong prayer: Draw me. Keep me. Hold me near.

As you listen to the piano meditation, let this hymn settle your spirit. Let it remind you that the cross is not merely the beginning of your faith — it is the place you return to again and again for strength, clarity, and peace.

Hymn Lyrics: Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross

(Public Domain)

1
Jesus, keep me near the cross,
There a precious fountain;
Free to all, a healing stream,
Flows from Calvary’s mountain.

Refrain
In the cross, in the cross,
Be my glory ever;
Till my raptured soul shall find
Rest beyond the river.

2
Near the cross, a trembling soul,
Love and mercy found me;
There the Bright and Morning Star
Sheds its beams around me.

3
Near the cross! O Lamb of God,
Bring its scenes before me;
Help me walk from day to day,
With its shadow o’er me.

4
Near the cross I’ll watch and wait,
Hoping, trusting ever;
Till I reach the golden strand,
Just beyond the river.

Audio Meditation

COPYRIGHT TEMPLE MUSIC PRODUCTIONS 2025


Let the music draw you into the nearness of Christ — the place where mercy flows, where burdens lift, and where your heart finds rest.

About the Hymnwriter

Fanny J. Crosby (1820–1915) stands as one of the most prolific hymnwriters in Christian history. Though physically blind from infancy, she possessed a spiritual clarity that shaped thousands of hymns still sung today. Her life was marked by humility, prayer, and a deep love for Christ.

Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross reflects her lifelong theme: staying close to the heart of God. Crosby never wrote from theory — she wrote from communion. Her hymns invite believers not just to believe in Christ, but to walk with Him, lean on Him, and remain near Him.

Benedictional Prayer

May the nearness of Christ steady your heart today.
May His presence quiet your anxieties and renew your strength.
May His cross remain your refuge, your anchor, and your peace.
And may the One who draws all people to Himself draw you ever closer.
Amen.