How to Live Every Day As a Sacrament

It's simpler than you think.

"But it certainly is a wonderful thing to wake up suddenly in the solitude of the woods and look up at the sky and see the utter nonsense of everything including all the solemn stuff given out by professional asses about the spiritual life; and simply to burst out laughing, and laugh and laugh, with the sky and the trees because God is not in words, and not in systems, and not in liturgical movements, and not in ‘contemplation’ with a big ‘C,’ or in asceticism or in anything like that, not even in the apostolate." — Thomas Merton

I have long believed that most ascetic practices, especially the most extreme sort observed by some religious orders, are counterproductive and even abusive to both the spirit and the body, and as such do nothing to advance the soul toward genuine wholeness. Try as you might, you just can’t beat a man into a state of holiness. Any ascetic practice that attempts this is actually driven, I believe, by the ego’s desire for control. Rather than entrust ourselves to the wisdom and work of a Higher Power, we stubbornly cling to the idea that we can be the source and sustainer of our own salvation. We want to be able to say, or at least to think, even if only privately, that “we did it ourselves.”

But I have found there is another way of living that, while it may look somewhat similar at times to the ascetic practices of monks in monasteries, emerges from a different and deeper part of the soul. One could say, in fact, that it arises from a very different kind of desire than the “killing of the carnal nature,” which is the expressed intention of many ascetic practices in religious orders today. This desire I am speaking of is not about killing anything, but rather about breathing life into those things in us and in our lives that are the most treasured, the most beautiful, the most lovely, and the most worthy of our care. 

I’ll give you a simple example.

Let’s say you leave for work one morning like you always do. You walk out the door and head to the car in the driveway. But on this particular morning, you happen to notice the morning sky is especially lovely. You’re captured by the beauty of it, so you stop outside your car and just stand there and take it in. Perhaps you stay there for five breaths. Deep breaths. Sacred breaths. And, in your own simple way, you greet the morning, and the bless the day to come. 

Now, imagine you did that the next day. And the next. And you so enjoyed this new thing you do that you started doing it every day until it became a sacred ritual that you love. 

Now, let me ask: Why would you do this? Why would anyone do this? For what purpose? To what end?

We forget, you see, we so easily forget what a sacred thing it is to be alive. In all our busyness, in all our to-dos and tasks and errands and work, we forget what an absolute wonder it is to be here. What a miracle. Do you know what the odds are that you — and I mean you in particular — were ever born? One in 400 trillion. Really! Go look it up if you don’t believe me.

Yet, here you are — in this wild expanse of infinite wonders that have never been seen through eyes quite like yours, with a mind quite like yours, with a heart quite like yours, ever before. Do you realize what an absolutely phenomenal convergence of highly unlikely events you are? Every second of your life is an epiphany just waiting for you to notice it.

Perhaps it’s even a theophany. (Maybe I’ll save that one for another post.)

So this other way of living I’m talking about here is just about creating simple practices that help us stay connected to the exquisite wonder of our own existence. 

A five-breath greeting for the morning sky.

A healthy meal, eaten slowly and really tasted. 

A full minute of looking in your lover’s eyes, and saying nothing.

Blessing one new person every day — anonymously. 

These are just examples. I call these sorts of practices the rituals of a Sacramental Life. The “Sacraments,” as you’ll recall, are those key moments, those key events, in Catholic life, that are considered particularly holy, or particularly blessed. I would argue that all of life is a Sacrament, and that we can, and should, create within it specific, designed sacramental moments where we intentionally stop and breathe in the wonder of being here, express our gratitude, bless our bodies and our spirits, bless God, and touch the ones we love. 

Where should you begin?

Well, maybe with a five-breath greeting for the morning sky. But really, it’s best if you create your own unique collection of sacraments — over time, and not in a rush. It can be fun to let the sacraments emerge out the natural rhythms of your life. Begin by paying attention to those moments in the day when you feel most connected and most alive. When you notice that aliveness, pause and ask yourself, “What’s happening for me right now? What’s creating this aliveness in me?” And then, “What’s a ritual or action I might take right now as a way to honor this, or celebrate it, just a little more deeply?” 

I think the great poet Rumi was talking about this kind of Sacramental Living when he wrote these beautiful words, which I find myself returning to again and again in my own search for deeper meaning in my days:

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

Perhaps the first step in making the world more beautiful is simply to notice, and to honor, the ways it already is.