Even Holy Routines Can Become Merely Routine

By Ken Woodley

My soul felt dusty on the morning of Friday, December 27. Despite the joys of Christmas still caroling in the air, I felt a desperate need to walk more closely with God and with Jesus than I had the day before, to literally walk as closely as I possibly could. To feel them. To even see them if I could.

I needed manna from heaven and I needed it badly. Heading toward my familiar daily trails at our local national park, I turned and drove, instead, to James River State Park. I would walk the River Trail, where I have sometimes heard the whispered echoes of the Holy Spirit.

I usually have this trail entirely to myself, especially in the winter on a week day. Nearly a mile into my solitary walk, the trail took a hard right turn at the end of a line of trees. Emerging from the riverside path 100 yards in front of me, I suddenly saw someone. 

Then my mind and my soul did a double take. The man headed in my direction was wearing priestly garb, flowing black robes. And a second was right behind him. Then a 10th, a 20th, a 30th. There had to be more than 40 of them, and most of them young men.

It was totally surreal. So completely out of context. Or was it? 

Astonishment filled me as we exchanged greetings during this crossing of paths. Then, moments later, I began to weep, tears of pure joy, and I started thanking God and thanking Jesus over and over again, thanking them aloud as I walked along the side of the river.

I had literally hungered to walk closer to the Lord and set that spiritual goal for myself earlier in the morning but this seemed utterly miraculous to me.

Just like manna from heaven.

And I knew I had to share my experience with them. I turned around and retraced my steps but there was no sight of them. I drove to the park office and they told me that when the group had arrived, one of the priests had asked how to pay the entrance fee for 23 cars.

The park attendant didn’t know where they were from, but she could tell me where they had parked. I drove as quickly as I could and saw the group approaching the wooded entrance to another trail. 

I stopped my car in their midst just in time, got out and told them of the spiritual hunger I had felt that morning and the tears of joy had I had experienced after passing them on the trail.

My prayer had been answered, I told them, and they were the physical manifestation of God’s Holy Spirit bringing that answer. 

Then one of them came up to me, smiling, and introduced himself as Brother Maximillian. They were from St. Thomas Aquinas Seminary in Buckingham County, Catholic priests, brothers and seminary students. He reached into a pocket and gave me a very special medallion made in honor of the Virgin Mary.

The card that came with what is known as The Miraculous Medal had a painting of the Virgin Mary on one side and these words on the other:

“Mary, the Mother of Our Lord Jesus Christ, appeared to St. Catherine Laboure in 1830. She requested that this medal be made and worn in her honor. Mary has promised her special protection to those who wear it constantly, especially around the neck, and devoutly pray this prayer each day: O Mary conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.

“This medal is called Miraculous due to the countless miracles associated with this devotion. This medal is blessed,” the words on the back of the card concluded, “so please give it due respect.”

It’s been around my neck ever since, reminding me of how close God and Jesus are, even when I do not feel them.

But it also reminds me how close I had come to missing out entirely on this moment of pure grace. And it made me wonder how many other moments I might have missed in my life because I didn’t do what I had done that day.

It would have been so easy to feel my hunger for intimate proximity with God and Christ but remained content to keep to my familiar daily paths and routines, praying and meditating before dawn and then walking nearby trails just down the road.

Instead, I’d had to suddenly turn my day upside down and drive 30 miles to a state park. I had to reach my heart and soul out beyond routine. God knew the St. Thomas Aquinas Seminary priests, brothers and seminary students were there but God had to get me there too.

And just at the right time.

Then I needed to listen to the Holy Spirit tell me to turn around after that first encounter and go find them to share the importance, to me, of our paths crossing, sharing it with them so that the day would fill them with a shared experience of the Holy Spirit. 

I couldn’t be content to have the beautiful wonder of it all to myself.

It wasn’t just about me. It was about them, too. Sharing a “manna moment” out of the blue with someone they’d never seen before, Holy scripture lived out in real time and all of them part of it.

I especially wanted the seminary students to feel validation of the path they had chosen. I told them that I would be preaching a sermon that very Sunday titled “In The Footsteps Of Christmas” and that the footsteps were now theirs. “You can’t make this stuff up,” I told them.

This experience taught me that we all need to reach out beyond our normal routines, even if those moments are filled with prayer, because it is beyond our normal daily borders that God and Christ can most emphatically touch our deepest needs.

It doesn’t mean we have to drive 30 miles and go on a hike. It can be a journey of 30 spiritual miles and a hike, in your mind, around the Sea of Galilee with Jesus. Just the two of you.

Our daily routines, even if filled with devotion, can become too familiar. Even the best routines eventually become only routine. They can dull our spiritual senses. 

Holy routines can often insulate us against the world’s encroaching darkness but they can also insulate us from the deeper illuminations of the brightest light.

There’s nothing routine about meeting God beyond the edge of our usual spiritual boundaries. And that new frontier of the soul can feel like the Promised Land when we need it most, manna from heaven all around us. 

By Ken Woodley


My soul felt dusty on the morning of Friday, December 27. Despite the joys of Christmas still caroling in the air, I felt a desperate need to walk more closely with God and with Jesus than I had the day before, to literally walk as closely as I possibly could. To feel them. To even see them if I could.

I needed manna from heaven and I needed it badly. Heading toward my familiar daily trails at our local national park, I turned and drove, instead, to James River State Park. I would walk the River Trail, where I have sometimes heard the whispered echoes of the Holy Spirit.

I usually have this trail entirely to myself, especially in the winter on a week day. Nearly a mile into my solitary walk, the trail took a hard right turn at the end of a line of trees. Emerging from the riverside path 100 yards in front of me, I suddenly saw someone.

Then my mind and my soul did a double take. The man headed in my direction was wearing priestly garb, flowing black robes. And a second was right behind him. Then a 10th, a 20th, a 30th. There had to be more than 40 of them, and most of them young men.
It was totally surreal. So completely out of context. Or was it?


Astonishment filled me as we exchanged greetings during this crossing of paths. Then, moments later, I began to weep, tears of pure joy, and I started thanking God and thanking Jesus over and over again, thanking them aloud as I walked along the side of the river.

I had literally hungered to walk closer to the Lord and set that spiritual goal for myself earlier in the morning but this seemed utterly miraculous to me.
Just like manna from heaven.

And I knew I had to share my experience with them. I turned around and retraced my steps but there was no sight of them. I drove to the park office and they told me that when the group had arrived, one of the priests had asked how to pay the entrance fee for 23 cars.

The park attendant didn’t know where they were from, but she could tell me where they had parked. I drove as quickly as I could and saw the group approaching the wooded entrance to another trail.

I stopped my car in their midst just in time, got out and told them of the spiritual hunger I had felt that morning and the tears of joy had I had experienced after passing them on the trail.

My prayer had been answered, I told them, and they were the physical manifestation of God’s Holy Spirit bringing that answer.

Then one of them came up to me, smiling, and introduced himself as Brother Maximillian. They were from St. Thomas Aquinas Seminary in Buckingham County, Catholic priests, brothers and seminary students. He reached into a pocket and gave me a very special medallion made in honor of the Virgin Mary.

The card that came with what is known as The Miraculous Medal had a painting of the Virgin Mary on one side and these words on the other:

“Mary, the Mother of Our Lord Jesus Christ, appeared to St. Catherine Laboure in 1830. She requested that this medal be made and worn in her honor. Mary has promised her special protection to those who wear it constantly, especially around the neck, and devoutly pray this prayer each day: O Mary conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.

“This medal is called Miraculous due to the countless miracles associated with this devotion. This medal is blessed,” the words on the back of the card concluded, “so please give it due respect.”

It’s been around my neck ever since, reminding me of how close God and Jesus are, even when I do not feel them.

But it also reminds me how close I had come to missing out entirely on this moment of pure grace. And it made me wonder how many other moments I might have missed in my life because I didn’t do what I had done that day.

It would have been so easy to feel my hunger for intimate proximity with God and Christ but remained content to keep to my familiar daily paths and routines, praying and meditating before dawn and then walking nearby trails just down the road.

Instead, I’d had to suddenly turn my day upside down and drive 30 miles to a state park. I had to reach my heart and soul out beyond routine. God knew the St. Thomas Aquinas Seminary priests, brothers and seminary students were there but God had to get me there too.
And just at the right time.

Then I needed to listen to the Holy Spirit tell me to turn around after that first encounter and go find them to share the importance, to me, of our paths crossing, sharing it with them so that the day would fill them with a shared experience of the Holy Spirit.

I couldn’t be content to have the beautiful wonder of it all to myself.

It wasn’t just about me. It was about them, too. Sharing a “manna moment” out of the blue with someone they’d never seen before, Holy scripture lived out in real time and all of them part of it.

I especially wanted the seminary students to feel validation of the path they had chosen. I told them that I would be preaching a sermon that very Sunday titled “In The Footsteps Of Christmas” and that the footsteps were now theirs. “You can’t make this stuff up,” I told them.

This experience taught me that we all need to reach out beyond our normal routines, even if those moments are filled with prayer, because it is beyond our normal daily borders that God and Christ can most emphatically touch our deepest needs.

It doesn’t mean we have to drive 30 miles and go on a hike. It can be a journey of 30 spiritual miles and a hike, in your mind, around the Sea of Galilee with Jesus. Just the two of you.

Our daily routines, even if filled with devotion, can become too familiar. Even the best routines eventually become only routine. They can dull our spiritual senses.

Holy routines can often insulate us against the world’s encroaching darkness but they can also insulate us from the deeper illuminations of the brightest light.

There’s nothing routine about meeting God beyond the edge of our usual spiritual boundaries. And that new frontier of the soul can feel like the Promised Land when we need it most, manna from heaven all around us.