By Cori Coburn
In March, I wrote a short reflection about rosemary for my team at work after noticing a small plant growing on campus one afternoon. It was meant to be a simple encouragement about service, consistency, and the unseen work that sustains a community.
But the truth is, there was more I wanted to say.
I saw rosemary growing in a plain raised container near a walkway on campus. Just one corner of the plant caught the afternoon sunlight. Most people would have passed it without noticing. It wasn’t dramatic or colorful against the dormant landscape. Just a small burst of green quietly existing where responsibilities, cell phones, and schedules usually command our attention.
Yet I stopped.
There is something about spiritual formation that teaches us to notice what the world trains us to overlook.
Rosemary is not a flashy plant. It does not bloom loudly or compete for attention. It simply remains present. Rooted. Fragrant. Faithful.
If you brush against it, even lightly, the scent stays with you.
The older I get, the more I believe the spiritual life is less about performance and more about presence. Less about being impressive and more about becoming attentive. So much of what is holy in this world arrives quietly.
I think about the people whose lives carry that same “rosemary” quality.
- The friend who checks in faithfully even when they are tired themselves.
- The person sitting quietly in the back pew who prays for everyone and tells no one.
- The teacher who rewrites the lesson so someone struggling can understand.
- |The caregiver who tends to another human being day after day with no applause.
- The colleague who absorbs tension in a room and still chooses gentleness.
- The spiritual director who listens deeply enough for another person to hear God more clearly.
None of this work is glamorous. Most of it will never trend, receive awards, or be widely celebrated. Yet these are often the people holding communities together.
Rosemary grows in difficult soil. It survives heat, drought, cold, and neglect. It does not require perfect conditions to remain rooted. It simply continues offering what it was created to give.
There is wisdom in that.
I think that may be why the rosemary stayed with me long after I left campus that day. It felt like a small invitation to pay attention again. To remember that a life does not have to be loud to be sacred.
So yes, if you happen to see me walking rubbing rosemary between my fingers and then dramatically holding my hands up to my nose like Mary Katherine Gallagher, there is probably a reason.
Something about that earthy, green fragrance makes me pause. It reminds me to pay attention.
Many spiritual traditions speak of hidden faithfulness; the quiet shaping of a soul through prayer, silence, service, contemplation, and ordinary acts of love. The Desert Mothers and Fathers understood this. Monastics understand this. Many people walking spiritual paths understand this deeply: transformation rarely happens in spectacle. It happens slowly, quietly, over time.
Like roots beneath the surface.
Like fragrance released through contact.
Like God meeting us in ordinary places we almost walked past.
This is my small reminder to myself: Be the rosemary.