Praise and Calling in Ordinariness

Ordinary Time always begins with a quiet jolt. After the lights of Christmas fade, the Gospel wastes no time: “This is the time of fulfillment. The Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the Gospel.” The readings today bring that urgency into the texture of everyday life; into a home where sorrow lingers at the table, into ordinary work where nets are mended, into the temple where praise costs something.

The Ache No One Else Can Fix

Hannah’s story begins with an ache that language can hardly hold. She is loved by her husband, yet the love that consoles her does not remove the grief that defines her days. Elkanah means well; “Am I not more to you than ten sons?”; but his question reveals how hard it is to stand before another’s suffering without trying to solve or relativize it.

Many of us know this terrain. The thing we long for won’t arrive on our timeline. The promotion goes to someone else; the relationship we hoped would blossom wilts; the health concern that “should have been better by now” hangs on. On the surface, life functions. Inside, there is a room no one visits. And even the kindness of people who love us can feel like it misunderstands us.

Scripture doesn’t shame Hannah’s grief, and we shouldn’t shame our own. The text simply lets the sorrow be seen: tears, loss of appetite, the cycle of hope and disappointment. Grace begins, very often, not with answers but with honest naming.

A Sacrifice of Praise

The Psalm responds to Hannah’s silence with a different kind of voice: “To you, Lord, I will offer a sacrifice of praise.” Not praise because everything is fixed, but praise that is costly; offered while the outcome is still uncertain. The psalmist lifts “the cup of salvation” not after rescue but as an act of covenant trust.

Praise becomes sacrificial when:

• it rises from places that still hurt,
• it refuses rivalry and resentment as organizing principles,
• it remembers that bonds can be loosed even if circumstances haven’t changed yet.

In a culture of comparison that sounds like Peninnah’s constant reproach; where other people’s highlight reels amplify our inadequacy; praise reorients the heart. It says: I am not the sum of what I lack. I am the servant of a Lord whose eyes call my life “precious” even in the valley. This is not denial. It is a way to keep grief from calcifying into bitterness, to keep lament porous to grace.

If you’re short on words today, let your “vows…in the presence of all his people” be simple: a whispered “thank you” you don’t yet feel, a steady return to prayer, a choice to bless someone who stings you, a candid request for help. Sacrificial praise is often small, but it’s a seed that doesn’t stay small.

The Urgency of Now

Mark tells us that Jesus began proclaiming the Gospel “after John had been arrested.” In other words, not once obstacles cleared but right in the middle of them. The Kingdom arrives not by waiting for clean conditions, but by breaking into untidy histories.

“Repent” does not mean marinate in shame. It means change your mind, your direction, your trust. It is a re-aiming of the heart toward the One who is near. If you’ve been postponing change until you feel ready, Mark’s tempo is an invitation: don’t wait for perfect. Move now, even if the step is small. For some, repentance will look like deleting the app that keeps stealing your attention. For others, it will be booking the counseling appointment, making the confession, setting the boundary, or forgiving the person who isn’t asking to be forgiven. The Gospel’s first imperative frees us because it announces a presence first: “The Kingdom of God is at hand.” We are not self-rescuing. We are responding to a God who has drawn near.

Dropping the Nets

By the sea, Jesus calls fishermen. He doesn’t lure them out of meaninglessness; he calls them from good, ordinary work into deeper purpose: “Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.” The first disciples leave real nets, real boats, a real father; real securities. Their yes is not a spiritual mood but a concrete reordering.

What are our nets?

• Patterns that keep us safe but small: cynicism, ironic detachment, perfectionism.
• Systems of identity built solely on productivity or applause.
• Habits that numb: endless scrolling, overwork, secret dependencies.
• Obligations we hide behind to avoid responding to God’s nudge.

Notice that James and John leave Zebedee “with the hired men.” There is provision in this disruption. Vocation doesn’t glorify irresponsibility; it trusts that when God calls, he cares for what we cannot keep holding in the same way. Some relationships are not abandoned; they are re-situated under God’s larger purpose.

To become “fishers of people” is to be sent into the deep with love as our net; seeking persons, not performances; drawing others by witness, not by force. The Church grows this way: not primarily by programs but by people who have let Jesus reconfigure their ordinary.

From Barrenness to Call: A Harmonized Heart

Place Hannah’s weeping beside the fishermen’s leaving. One story aches for fruitfulness; the other risks what is familiar. Together they say: God meets us both in our longing and in our letting go. Praise in the middle and obedience at the edge; that is the path into the Kingdom’s nearness.

And the Psalm stands between them, teaching us how to move:

• When you cannot fix the lack, offer a sacrifice of praise.
• When you fear a change, take up the cup of salvation and trust the Giver.
• When you’re tempted to dramatize your life alone, “pay your vows…in the presence of all his people”; live your faith publicly, humbly, together.

Practicing the Call This Week

• Name your barrenness: Identify one unfulfilled longing before God. Write it down. Don’t edit it. Bring it to prayer daily without solutions.
• Offer one sacrifice of praise: Choose a concrete expression; sing a psalm, journal three gratitudes, or bless someone who has been a rival in your heart.
• Repent specifically: Ask, “Where is Jesus near, and what step is he asking for?” Make one small, costly change today rather than a dozen vague resolutions tomorrow.
• Drop one net: Identify one attachment that keeps you from deeper availability to God or neighbor. Lay it down for a week and notice what surfaces.
• Fish for one person: Reach out to someone on the margins of your attention. Listen without fixing. Invite, don’t pressure. Share one reason for your hope.

Ordinary Time is not a downgrade from the sacred; it is where the sacred proves itself. The Kingdom is at hand in homes where sorrow sits at the table, on beaches where work hums along, in sanctuaries where praise costs more than we thought. Today, let your tears be seen, your praise be costly, your repentance be concrete, and your hands be free enough to follow when the voice you’ve been hearing finally says, “Come after me.”