Anniversaries are strange; the passage of time feels almost arbitrary. Ten years pass in a heartbeat, while an hour drags on for days. The anniversary of joy is marred by bad temper, while grief sneaks up on the calendar secretly, planning an ambush, and is turned aside by a child plucking dandelions.

Still, we mark out our days, commemorating this and them, and by the word of the Bible time is sanctified: three days here, forty there, seven weeks of seven, and a thousand years under God’s unblinking gaze. Sabbaths sigh, and Wednesdays teeter on the hinge of the week; we can look forward or back. Or we could pause here for a moment, recollecting all the Wednesdays that have brought us to this present presence. We could sit for a time and contemplate the timelessness of God, the anniversary of eternity.

July is full of ghosts for me, but Wednesdays are alive. They turn their face toward the sabbaths of yesterday and tomorrow, the resting place of hope, the fulcrum of eternity.

“For behold, … deep gloom enshrouds the peoples. But over you the Lord will rise, and God’s glory will appear upon you.” (Isaiah 60:2-3, which is included in the recommended Canticle for Wednesday Morning Prayer)

This post first appeared last Wednesday at the Episcopal Cafe.