John O’Donohue once wrote, “We seldom notice how each day is a holy place where the Eucharist of the ordinary happens, transforming our broken fragments into an eternal continuity that keeps us.” 

Most days do not feel holy. They feel repetitive, unfinished, even disappointing. We move through conversations, errands, and routines without expecting anything eternal to occur. And yet, O’Donohue suggests that grace is quietly at work, gathering the broken fragments of our lives into a continuity that holds us.

Near the end of the Gospel of Luke, we read about two of the disciples walking away from Jerusalem, carrying disappointment and grief. Their hopes have been shattered. Nothing about their journey feels sacred. They are simply trying to make sense of a day that did not turn out as they had hoped.

Jesus meets them there—not in triumph, but in conversation. He listens. He walks at their pace. He opens the Scriptures as they move along the road. And still, they do not recognize him. Holiness, it turns out, does not always announce itself. It often arrives disguised as the ordinary: a fellow traveler, a shared story, a meal at the end of a long day.

It is only when Jesus takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them that their eyes are opened. In that simple, familiar act, the fragments of the day are gathered. Confusion gives way to clarity. Loss is transformed into hope. What felt like an ending becomes the beginning of a new story.

The Eucharist of the ordinary happens there—at a table, with broken bread, at the close of an unremarkable day. The disciples discover that the risen Christ has been with them all along, weaving meaning through every step, holding their brokenness in love.

So it may be also with us. 

Let us pray: Gracious God, our days often feel scattered—marked by fatigue, missed connections, and half-finished work. Open our eyes to the holy in the ordinary, and to your presence walking alongside us, even today, even now. Amen.