When Wonder Dies of Familiarity

When you stop going through the motions and rediscover that every gesture is a miracle

It's always the same. Same songs, same gestures, same order of service you know by heart. You sit in the same spot, open your Bible the same way, raise your hands with the same mechanical motion of someone who's driven the same route for twenty years. Familiarity has murdered wonder. Repetition has turned the sacred into routine, ritual into habit, encounter with the Eternal into a weekly appointment you keep out of politeness. You enter church like you enter your office—you know exactly what to expect, what to do, how to act. But the moment mystery becomes predictable, you've stopped worshiping and started performing.

"Do not quench the Spirit" (1 Thessalonians 5:19, NIV)—Paul wasn't talking about dramatic manifestations or flashy signs. He was talking about the daily flame that gets snuffed out drop by drop when you turn the extraordinary into ordinary. The Spirit gets quenched when you sing "Holy, Holy, Holy" and don't pause for even a second to think that you're speaking the same word the angels cry without ceasing before God's throne. It gets quenched when you sing "Amazing Grace" like you're humming in the shower instead of declaring the astounding truth that God's grace saved a wretch like you. It gets quenched when you open your Bible like any other book instead of trembling at the realization that you're about to hear the voice of the Almighty speaking personally to you.

When Moses saw the burning bush, "he went over to look at this strange sight" (Exodus 3:3, NIV)—he didn't walk by thinking "oh great, another burning bush." Curiosity stopped him, wonder drew him, mystery captured him. And right in that moment of amazed attention, God spoke to him and changed the course of history. But you? You walk past burning bushes every Sunday without even turning your head. The miracle of God's presence among His people has become so familiar you don't see it anymore. The extraordinariness of hundreds of people gathering to worship together the Invisible has become so normal you take it for granted. Every song you sing is a burning bush, every prayer you hear is a voice from heaven, every verse you read is a word coming from God's mouth—but you keep walking without stopping to see this great sight.

What would happen if tomorrow morning you entered church like it was the first time? If you looked at every familiar gesture with the eyes of someone who'd never seen anything like it? Imagine explaining to an alien what's happening: "See, these people believe the Being who created galaxies is present here, in this room. They stand up and sing Him love songs. They close their eyes and talk to Him like a friend. They read a book convinced He's speaking through those pages." An alien would think they'd discovered the most incredible thing in the universe. You go every week and yawn. The problem isn't that God has become boring—the problem is you've stopped seeing how extraordinary what's happening really is.

Every time you raise your hand to worship, you're doing the same thing angels do before the throne. Every time you say "Amen," you're adding your voice to the cosmic choir that echoes throughout the universe. Every time you share the peace with someone next to you, you're participating in the reconciliation Christ brought to the world. These aren't empty gestures to endure—they're sacred acts that connect earth to heaven, time to eternity, your small life to God's eternal plan. But you experience them as automatic motions because you've forgotten the miracle hidden in every familiar action. The next time you enter church, don't enter as someone who knows everything—enter like Moses approaching the burning bush, curious to see this great sight God has prepared for you.

But the greatest burning bush isn't what you see around you...