I grew up with the Sundays after Trinity. They were so ordinary. I suppose it’s where we find ourselves, Ordinary Time. We have the Moon but we cannot always have Venice. Earth, but not always Uluru. Breath, but not ecstasy. Ordinary Sundays still have O’Clock. The sun rises on the good and the evil, and on their children. Rises on another ordinary October day of our extraordinarily extraordinary Extraordinary. Days are put aside for God becoming flesh, God raising from the dead, God sending breath. Given such overwhelming miracles, we should be grateful for something so ordinary as Ordinary Sundays.