The Insignificant Things

On the Prayer of the Little Tasks

There are fresh flowers in the vases that dot the apartment. Picked from the various curbsides and grassy patches around the building, they are a seasonal celebration of colors. Bright yellow and pale pink daffodils mix with cuttings of verbanium  and spirea, blood-orange tulips, purple crocuses, and sprigs of white hyacinth and rich plum irises. The light streams from open windows: there is a cleansing sensation that arises from the gentle touch of a sunbeam. So many little things combine to create this warm and inviting atmosphere: unseen, unnoticed until they are gone.

It is easy and tempting to let the extra duties go undone: the opening of windows to let sunlight into the house, the baking of a sweet treat, the handwritten note in the lunchbox. But these small, unnecessary duties are the “extra mile;” an expression of love for others, and as such, as symbols of far more than the simple action. They represent, through their superfluity and the care required to complete them, Christian love to one’s brothers, sisters, wives, and husbands.

Especially when overwhelmed with larger tasks that are more visible, the little things may fall by the wayside. The dusting behind the desks or the filling of the water pitcher for the next person can always be ignored. But it is precisely these most minute details that “craft a soul” (that is, a soul is made up of every action one undertakes and so each small actions is a further refinement of that soul) and it is these that offer the true lesson of the “little task:” there is deep humility in “wasting” one’s time on the unnecessary luxuries of domesticity, as well as soul-cleansing beauty. It is a centering of priorities in life, an acceptance that what truly matters is not always the most urgent.

Complete focus on the task at hand, done with the intention of love and care, is a meditation on Creation. For God comes to us not in gales and activity, but in the quiet whisper of a wind. As we read in 1 Kings 19:12-13, “And after the fire came a gentle whisper.When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.” It was not in a blustery storm that God spoke to Elijah, but in the serenity of a gentle whisper; the loving whisper.

For example, the ten minutes it takes to tidy up a drawer that has fallen into disarray, could easily be employed in some other task: answering an email, booking an appointment, having a  few minutes on social media to decompress from a long day. No one, likely, will comment on the drawer’s cleanliness; and even if they did, it would soon be messy again. It is a tangible portrayal of love and care, especially since it must be continually redone. It is also a chance to “be still and know.” The love that radiates from spending those ten minutes in service of one’s household, in a quiet, contemplative activity, are the acts of a Mary, and not a Martha (Luke 10:38-42).

Martha, the ever-stressed and busy woman, would be taking phone calls, answering emails, or trying to cook five different things at a time. She might be head of the charity group, lead organizer for the neighborhood potluck, and have a seat on every committee– her house might even be pristinely kept. She is not wrong in trying to accomplish all of these things, for they must be done: people need to be fed, phone calls need to be returned, and promises must be kept. But Martha does not take time to light a candle or to iron the placemats so that there is not a single wrinkle in the white fabric. That is wasted time, an unnecessary task. But to Martha, Christ says, “Martha, Martha…you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one…” (Luke 10:41-2), reminding her that busyness does not equate holiness, and indeed, hampers one’s ability to show love (the greatest of the virtues) to others.

Mary moves at a much slower pace, exemplified by how she sat at the foot of Christ, acknowledging the importance of His Presence above all the housework, which could easily be done after His departure. Perhaps Mary will not cook all of the meals for the week like Martha will, and perhaps a project will get pushed to tomorrow, but Mary will take the time to fill a little vase with seasonal buds. That action is a moment of prayer in a domestic life, the stilling of the world to focus on the care of the soul.

In my essay entitled “The Gateway of the Soul,” I explain that beauty is the quickest and most direct path to a person’s heart and soul. Flowers, as one example, are a fleeting glimpse at the beauty of the natural world. They come and go quickly: miss a week of walking out of doors and the entire daffodil season will be gone; blink, and all the irises will have wilted and the blossoms on trees turned to leaves. They are beautiful potent reminders of mortality. And also, potent reminds of God’s attention to even the smallest of things. For God so arrayed the lilies of the field, that even Solomon in his glory was not dressed like one of them (Matthew 6:28). And if the all-powerful Creator is able to devote such attention to small, temporal blossoms, then surely those beings made in His image should emulate Him in this act: devote one’s attention even to the smallest aspects of domesticity?

Dedicating time and effort to the small, forgettable tasks is not a type of busywork that draws one away from the more important things; rather, it is a chance to engage in the contemplative and prayerful life through little acts. It is the recognition of the truly important aspects of life. Catholic tradition has always warned against a world consumed by “work” or “productivity” culture, for it neglects the spiritual and intellectual aspects of mankind.

The little tasks, that cannot be measured in terms of goals or checklists, thus become an important means of nurturing one’s meditative world. The rearranging of cushions is the “prayer in action” of caring for one’s home and wishing it to make it beautiful;  it is a “thanksgiving in action” for the beauty of creation and an appreciation of the fleeting beauty of God’s gifts; it is “love in action” for those who will enjoy the home with you. Martha’s misstep in the gospel story is not that she is busy. It is, rather, that she fills her time with busyness for its own sake. Mary, on the other hand, knows that silence and busyness are complementary: there must be time to lead a charity mission and time to go pick roses.

Especially in a fast-paced modern environment, those moments of quietude, those breaks in a day that are perfect for arranging flowers, are difficult to come by. They are rare treats; if not obliterated, they have at the very least become invisible to us, as every minute is turned into a chance to increase productivity. And we are so tired, bombarded by constant surround sound, that it is more tempting to use those minutes to catch up on everything one’s fallen behind on, instead of using it for the enrichment of one’s heart and soul.

It is phones, not flowers, that draw our attention, numbing our senses and depriving us of what St. Therese of Lisieux championed as the most important type of work: the little work. She once said, “never get tired of doing little things for others. Sometimes those little things occupy the biggest part of their hearts.” Her words, and the example of Mary of Bethany in the Gospel, paint a picture of a slower, more intentional life, that cultivates one’s attention to the small details, where God is most clearly to be found, and where others are most gently to be served.