Ordinary Hero

 

Ordinary Hero

 

The question was asked and the room fell silent: "Does anyone ever feel they've lived up to their potential?" It was a loaded question, not only because it was asked in a group of persons struggling with vocation, but also because the word "potential" is elusive in its definition. What does "potential" mean in a world that views achievement as athletic prowess, celebrity status, or economic success? If the exceptional is the guide for the achievement of one's potential, how will those of us who live somewhere between the average and the ordinary ever feel we've arrived?

 

The inherent routine and mundane tasks that fill our days contribute to the struggle to understand our "potential." How can one possibly feel substantial when one's day-in, day-out existence is filled with the tedium of housework, paying bills, pulling weeds, and running endless errands? These tasks are not celebrated, or noticed. They are the daily details that make up our routine. Indeed for artists and bus drivers, homemakers and neurosurgeons, astronauts and cashiers our days are filled with repetitive motion, even if we do have moments of great challenge or extraordinary success. It is no wonder then, with our societal standards and our routine-filled lives that we wonder about our potential. Indeed, does much of what we do even matter when it feels so ordinary? Does the "ordinary" contribute to our sense of meeting our potential, or does its predominance in our lives simply serve as a perpetual reminder of a failure to thrive?

 

The "simple lifestyle" movement attempts to locate potential in exactly the opposite ways of our society. In this movement, simplicity unlocks the key to potential, and not acquisition, or achievement, or recognition. Clearing out what clutters and complicates makes room for finding potential in what is most basic and routine. In the Christian tradition, as well, there are many who believe that one's potential and one's purpose would only be found in the radical call of simplicity. Some of the earliest Christians, who fled the luxury and security of Rome once Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the Empire, believed that one's "holiness" potential could only be achieved within the radical austerity of a monastic cell. There in the cloistered walls where each and every day presented simple routine, repetitive tasks, and the regular rhythm of prayer and worship, perseverance with the ordinary became the path to one's potential. 

 

Brother Lawrence is one of the most well known of this type of monastic. In The Practice of Prayer, Margaret Guenther writes that "Brother Lawrence, our patron of housekeeping, was a hero of the ordinary."(1) As one who found his potential in cultivating a profound awareness of God in the ordinary tasks of his day, Brother Lawrence was an ordinary hero. While he attended chapel with the other monks, his true sanctuary was amongst the pots and pans of the monastery kitchen. What we may not realize in the popularized retelling of his story is that he actually began by hating his ordinary work. His abbot wrote about him:

 

"The same thing was true of his work in the kitchen, for which he had a naturally strong aversion; having accustomed himself to doing everything there for the love of God, and asking His grace to do his work, he found he had become quite proficient in the fifteen years he had worked in the kitchen."(2)

 

Quite proficient in the kitchen. Could it be that Brother Lawrence was able to fulfill his potential by washing dishes? Despite his strong aversion, he found purpose in the very midst of the most mundane and ordinary tasks of life. He fulfilled his potential by focusing on faithfulness. This is not faithfulness that triumphs over the desire to fulfill one's potential. Indeed, as Guenther describes it "faithfulness rarely feels heroic; it feels much more like showing up and hanging in. It is a matter of going to our cell, whatever form that might take, and letting it teach us what it will."(3) Availing himself to consistent faithfulness yielded the blessing of both proficiency and presence—the presence of God—right there in midst of the monotony of dirty pots and pans. 

 

Fulfilling one's potential has little to do with greatness. And yet, the heroism of the ordinary does not preempt "greatness" that our world confers to those who have reached their potential with staggering and dramatic achievement; for even those who achieve greatness have faced the drama of routine and the tidal wave of tedium. But to assign the fulfillment of one's potential solely to great acts and recognition is to miss the blessing that comes from faithful acts of devotion, often done routinely and heroically in the ordinary of our everyday. Perhaps it might be said of us, as it was of Brother Lawrence: "He was more united with God in his ordinary activities."(4)

 

 

 

On Memorializing

 In the days of Mordecai and Queen Esther the people of Israel set themselves to remember an eventful time in their history. Mordecai sent letters throughout the provinces calling for the memorializing of the month that was turned "from sorrow into gladness and from mourning into a holiday."(1) Near and far, the call was sent to annually remember the day the tables were turned and the Jews received relief from their enemies. And so it was determined: "These days of Purim should never cease to be celebrated by the Jews, nor should the memory of them die out among their descendants." These days were weighted with enough hope to press upon them the need to remember forever. Moreover, and most significantly, they saw the certain possibility that they might forget.

There are moments in our lives when we realize that we are beholding the carving of a day into the great tree of history. On the night before my wedding I scribbled anxiously in my journal, "It will never be this day again, but the seventeenth of every August will never be the same either." I knew from that day forward it would be difficult (and detrimental) to forget that day on the calendar—it would carry the force of forgetting so much more.
Israel's history is wrought with such commands to remember. God told the Israelites that they would remember the night of Passover before the night had even happened. "This day shall be for you a memorial day, and you shall keep it as a feast to the LORD; throughout your generations, as a statute forever."(2) Moses and Aaron were told to instruct the whole community of Israel to choose a lamb without defect and slaughter it at twilight. They were then to take some of the blood and put it on the doorposts of their houses. "The blood will be a sign," the LORD declared. "And when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No destructive plague will touch you when I strike the firstborns of Egypt."

From that day onward, celebrating the Passover was nonnegotiable, and with good reason. God had spared his people by the blood of a lamb. From that day onward, the command was passed down from generation to generation: "You shall remember this day as a statute forever." And so they remembered the Passover each year. 

But just as we recall more than the wedding itself on an anniversary, the act of birth on a child's birthday, or the grave events of a tragic day in history, the Israelites were remembering far more than the act of Israel's exodus from Egypt; they were remembering the God of that Exodus—the faithful hand that moved and moves among them, the mighty acts which indeed shout of God's timely remembering of God's people. They were remembering God among them. 

Centuries later, the disciples sat around the table celebrating their third Passover meal with Jesus, an observance they kept long before they could walk. Everything perhaps looked ceremoniously familiar. The smell of lamb filled the upper room; the unleavened bread was prepared and waiting to be broken. Remembering again the acts of God in Egypt, the blood on the doorposts, the lives spared and brought out of slavery, they looked at their teacher as he lifted the bread from the table and gave thanks to God. Then Jesus broke the bread, and gave it to them, saying something entirely new: "This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me" (Luke 22:19).

I have always wished that Luke would have described a little more of the scene that followed. Did a hush immediate fall over the room? Were the disciples once again confused at his words? Or did their years of envisioning the blood-marked doorposts cry out at the new and faultless Lamb before them?

They had spent their entire lives remembering the power and mercy of God in the events of the Passover, and on this day, Jesus tells them that there was yet even more to see: In this Passover lamb, in this the broken bread is the reflection of me. As you remember God in history, so remember me. For on this day, God is engraving across all of time the promise of Passover: "I still remember you."

 

I imagine from that day forward the disciples knew it would be difficult to forget that day on the calendar.  And for us today there is no doubt something that still weights that day with hope. Forgetting what was witnessed in the upper room on that Passover carries the force of forgetting so much more. 

 

(1) Esther 9:22.
(2) Exodus 12:14.

Leopards and Little Sins

A familiar fable tells of the hunter who lost his life to the leopard he himself had saved as a pet for his children when the leopard was just a cub. The moral of the story can be deduced easily from the title, Little Leopards Become Big Leopards; or else, sin is easier to deal with before it becomes a habitual practice that eventually defines our lives.(1) Though the story as it stands is a beautiful illustration of a profound truth, there is a deeper lesson regarding the nature of sin that is easily concealed by this line of thinking and which, I believe, lies at the very essence of the Christian call to Christ-likeness. The problem is that the parallel between little harmless leopard cubs and little harmless sins can be dangerously deceptive.

Whereas leopard cubs are indeed harmless, there is no stage of development at which sin can be said to be harmless, for individual acts of sin are merely the symptoms of the true condition of our hearts. It is not accidental that the call to Christian growth in the Scriptures repeatedly zeros-in on such seemingly benign "human shortcomings" as bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, slander, and malicious behavior (Ephesians 4:31). In his watershed address, The Sermon on the Mount, Jesus placed a great deal of emphasis on lust, anger, and contempt—behaviors and attitudes that would probably not rank high on our lists of problems in need of urgent resolution. Armed with firm and sometimes unconscious categories of serious versus tolerable sins, we gloss over lists of vices in the Scriptures because they seem to be of little consequence to life as we experience it.

But when we fail to grasp the subtleties of sin, we run the risk of rendering much of biblical wisdom irrelevant to our daily life and practice. While we appreciate the uniqueness and necessity of the sacrificial death of Jesus on our behalf, his specific teachings can at times appear to be farfetched and the emphasis misplaced. Does it not seem incredible that the God who made this world would visit it in its brokenness, dwell among us for over thirty years, and then leave behind the command that we must be nice to each other? Can the problems of the world really be solved by having people "turn the other cheek" and "get rid of anger and malice"? To quote a close friend, "Hello!"

Unfortunately, those "little" sins are not only the mere symptoms of a much bigger problem; they are also effective means of alienating us from God and other human beings.  How many careers have been ruined only because of jealousy? How many people have been deprived of genuine help as a result of the seemingly side-comment of someone who secretly despised them? How many relationships have been destroyed by bitterness? How many churches have split up because of selfish ambitions couched in pietistic terms? How much evil has resulted from misinformation, a little coloring around the edges of truth? And have you noticed how much we can control other people just through our body language? From the political arena to the basic family unit, the worst enemy of human harmony is not spectacular wickedness but those seemingly harmless petty sins routinely assumed to be part of what it means to be human.

  According to a NASA scientist, a two-degree miscalculation when launching a spacecraft to the moon would send the spacecraft 11,121 miles away from the moon: all one has to do is take time and distance into account.(2) How perceptive then was George MacDonald when he uttered these chilling words, "A man may sink by such slow degrees that, long after he is a devil, he may go on being a good churchman or a good dissenter, and thinking himself a good Christian"!(3) Similarly, C.S. Lewis warned that cards are a welcome substitute for murder if the former will set the believer on a path away from God. "Indeed," he wrote, "the safest road to Hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts."(4)

Now the decisive path out of this quandary is not just a greater resolve to be obedient to God. Such a response is usually motivated by guilt, and the duration of our effort will be directly proportional to the amount of guilt we feel: we will be right back where we started from when the guilt is no longer as strong. The appropriate response must begin with a greater appreciation of the holiness of God and a clear vision of life in God. It is only along the path of Christ-likeness that the true nature of sin is revealed and its appeal blunted. Yes, brazen sinfulness is appallingly evil and destructive, but it only makes a louder growl in a forest populated by stealthier, deadly hunters masquerading as little leopards. It is no idle, perfunctory pastime to pray with King David:

Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Test me and know my thoughts.
Point out anything in me that offends you,
And lead me along the path of everlasting life (Psalm 139:23-24).

Isn't the Bible Sexist?

There is a widespread belief around about the Bible that it is some kind of powerful patriarchal conspiracy which has been used to oppress women. As a female speaker I find that this question is frequently asked: "How can you as a woman promote such a sexist book? The church has tried to keep women down!" As a Christian, I believe I need to be sensitive to the issues which underlie such an emotive question. While it may indeed seem to be the case that women have been discriminated against by religion, the Bible itself deserves closer examination on the subject. How is it that many of the greatest Jewish and Christian pioneers have been women? What does the Bible really say about this subject?(1)

Throughout the Bible there are numerous positive images of women and stories that involve women. In the Old Testament women share the image of God at creation. At the end of time at the Second Coming of Jesus, the church is represented as the bride of Christ. All the way through from beginning to end, the Bible includes the feminine as an integral part of the Judaeo-Christian tradition. While it is true that the Bible is written over a long period of time into specific cultures and that some of these contexts did not give equal social advantages to women, it would not be true to say that the message of the Bible is sexist or discriminatory against women.

In the New Testament, there are quite a number of significant events involving women, particularly considering the conservative cultural attitudes of the context into which it was written. This context is demonstrated by a simple statement in John's Gospel in the famous encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well. There is a telling little sentence in 4:27 which sheds a great deal of light on just how radical the Bible is in affirming women. The disciples come across Jesus during his conversation with the woman and we are told they "were surprised to find him talking with a woman." This is the context of Jesus's ministry and yet he goes against these cultural trends time and time again.

He does this firstly by having female disciples. In a culture where the idea of women travelling around with a group of men, or having the status of disciple was seriously questionable, Jesus has a number of women who are included in his travelling circle who also contributed financially to the needs of the group. In fact, when Jesus is told that his mother and brothers are waiting outside to see him, he points to his disciples and says, "Here are my mother and brothers." This statement is unthinkable unless there were women among his disciples. In the Middle Eastern culture of the 1st century, it would be unspeakably offensive to point to male disciples and use female imagery to describe them. The group of disciples referred to must have included some women.

We also see Jesus teaching women in the New Testament. In Luke 10:38, we read of Mary who sits at the feet of Jesus and engages in theological study, much to her sister's chagrin. This phrase "to sit at the feet of" is the same formulation as Acts 22:3 where Paul describes his training under Gamaliel. The clear implication here is that Mary is affirmed as worthy of a Rabbi's theological instruction; indeed, it is interesting that later on in John's Gospel we read of Martha, Mary's sister, who is the first to be taught one of the most astounding theological statements of the New Testament. Jesus says to her, "'I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live even though he dies." In contrast to the cultural norms of the time, Jesus made a habit of revealing great theological truths to women. The first person who discovers Christ's true identity in John's Gospel is the Samaritan woman at the well. We must not underestimate how radical this is:  Jesus was turning cultural taboos on their heads by teaching women and allowing women to be his disciples.

In reality, it is clear that women played a full and vibrant role in the ministry of Jesus, both as examples within his teaching and as recipients of it. While this may seem absolutely right and proper in our 21st century context we must remember how radical this was in first century Palestine. Jesus intentionally affirmed and included women. We see a continuation of this in the early church, from Lydia and Tabitha to Philip's daughters, where women undertook various roles. While it is true to say that there are two particular passages in Paul's writings which seem to go against all of this, by commanding some women to be silent and forbidding others from teaching, these must be read and interpreted in the context of the rest of the Bible. Paul himself gives guidelines for women when they publicly prophecy and mentions women who do teach like Priscilla.

When we come to the text of the Bible with the issue of sexism in mind, we must be clear that while God is predominantly spoken of with male imagery and ultimately is incarnated in the man Jesus, this is not to say that women are undermined or undervalued. Some female imagery is used of God, and Jesus constantly affirms the value of women, teaching them and interacting with them as human beings. Both male and female are created in the image of God and both are so precious that Christ comes to the earth to redeem both male and female with his blood shed on the Cross.

God of Remembrance

God of Remembrance

It is fascinating to see the increasing role of forensic science in solving crimes. DNA can be recovered in anything from a few skin cells to a licked postage stamp. Forensic scientists can establish an association between a suspect and the crime scene with only an eyelash or single strand of hair. It appears we leave traces of our presence where ever we go. 

Interestingly enough, your hair not only tells people that you have been there, it also tells your story—or at least provides some noteworthy details to that story. Scientists have discovered that your hair can divulge significant habits and particulars of your lifestyle: what you eat, where you live, if you smoke or drink, if you are of Asian or European decent. And a single hair can keep records for months, if not years, depending on its length.    

When my mother first told me as a little girl that God knew the number of hairs on my head I was thoroughly amazed and a little troubled at the thought of it. The number of hairs on my head was something I didn't know about myself; it was something no one else seemed to know about me either. This meant that someone knew something about me that my mom or my grandma didn't know. It meant that someone had the capacity—and the aspiration—to know me and all of my details. 

Even as I looked at this promise quite literally, it was at once both comforting and troubling. When I brushed my hair and caused several strands to fall out was I making work for God? How often did God have to recount them? And why did God care how many hairs I had anyway? Certainly it was one detail that God could overlook.

Then sometime later I was given the rest of Jesus's words uttered that day: "Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows" (Luke 12:6-7). Strand of hair or simple sparrow, worry, fear, or dream, God does not overlook even one. 

That God knows the number of hairs on our heads is still a thought at which we do well to wonder.  Wrapped up tightly within such knowledge is the great and fearful truth about who we are praying to when our eyes grow heavy with sleep, who walks beside us through shadowy valleys and streams of still waters, who hears our groaning when we don't know what we mean. God knows us more specifically and more effectively than we know ourselves—a thought that reminds us that God is Father, a detail that holds both immeasurable love and great consequence. God knows not only the stories told in each strand of your hair but every detail of who you are: the desires of your heart, the worries you carry, the questions you don't know how to ask. In this perfect love our fears are cast aside and we are given not only reason to trust, but a will to obey.      

According to the Natural History Museum of London, the average person has up to 150,000 hairs on his or her head.  The one who knows exactly where you stand in that average, who knit you together in your mother's womb and knows each word on your tongue before it is formed, is a God of remembrance. Like the psalmist at this thought we wonder. "O Lord, what are human beings that you regard them, or mortals that you think of them? They are like a breath; their days are like a passing shadow" (144:3-4). In the echoing of that question across time the promise of Christ is also heard: "Everyone who acknowledges me before others, the Son of Man also will acknowledge before the angels of God" (Luke 12:8). Not even one of them will be forgotten.  

Fishing License

As the summer arrives each year, I revisit many fond memories of fishing outings with my older brother and grandfather. Living near Lake Erie, my grandfather would thrill us with stories of his great fishing adventures with Northern Pike and Muskie. They were great fighters and would continue that fight long after they had been pulled from the water and thrown into the boat.

My own fishing career, if you could call it a fishing career, was far less dramatic than my grandfather's adventures. My career began at Lake Pymatuning. Whenever we came to visit in the summers, my grandfather would take my older brother and me to fish is this kinder, gentler lake. Unfortunately, I was never successful enough as an angler to know the thrill of catching many fish. What I was successful at was hooking someone in the boat! Both my brother and I bear the scars of fishing hooks in our arms and legs.

Even though my angling career was not very successful, I liked to think that I was following in a great tradition—not only one begun with my grandfather, but one that began with a young carpenter's call to four fishermen to follow him. I read with amazement how these four fishermen "immediately left their nets and followed him" (Mark 1:18). What was it about this call to follow and the invitation to become "fishers of men" that would compel such a dramatic response? 

The notion of "fishing for people" was actually not a foreign idea for those familiar with the Hebrew prophets. The prophets used this term to describe God (Ezekiel 29:4ff, 38:4). God was the great "angler" catching people for judgment—judgment that preceded the coming of God's kingdom. This came to be the understanding of these texts, particularly after Israel returned from their exile in Babylon. Having experienced the horror of the exile, the Jews had a new appreciation for obedience to the law. Furthermore, they thought their restoration was dependent on cleansing their world from all sin and evil. So prior to the coming kingdom, God would go on the ultimate fishing mission to gather evil and destroy wickedness.   

With this background, it is easy to understand why the first disciples jumped when Jesus used this phrase to call them. The judgment was coming and they were being called as fishermen for God. Jesus had come to purify the nation from evil, and they would be co-anglers with him, catching evil and wiping Israel clean of sin prior to the kingdom of God being established in their midst.

Their fishing mission began with Jesus's announcement, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." The followers of Jesus heard this call as a warning to get life in order or be caught up in the fierce wrath of God. But Jesus upended their expectations. Something new happened. First, Jesus made this announcement to the Gentiles. These were the very ones God should have destroyed! Yet, rather than destroying, Jesus began to heal. Soon after calling the disciples, Mark's gospel reports that Jesus healed a demoniac; in Matthew's gospel, he healed "every disease and every infirmity among the people" and in Luke's gospel, he healed a leper.(1) The old understanding of this mission kept all these people as unclean outsiders; these were the ones who needed to be gathered up in the nets of judgment and destroyed.

But Jesus rightly understood what the in-breaking of God's kingdom entailed. Calling individuals to the mission of fishing was a sign of Jesus's proclamation: "The time is now fulfilled and the kingdom of God is at hand." Jesus went fishing as the sign of the in-breaking kingdom in his very person, and in his teaching ministry. And so it remains today. Rather than ridding the world of sinners and of evil, Jesus gathers these outsiders into the net of his fellowship where they are healed and transformed. Dallas Willard says it this way: "Jesus then came into Galilee announcing the good news from God. All the preliminaries have been taken care of and the rule of God is now accessible. Review your plans for living and base your life on this remarkable new opportunity."(2)   

It is into this same fishing mission that Jesus calls those who would follow him. His intention is not simply telling people what they need to turn away from, but showing them who they can turn toward. To be sure, turning to God requires an entire reorientation of our lives: we do need to repent, to turn around, and go in a kingdom-direction. In the presence of Jesus, there is now the option of living within the light of God's kingdom purposes and finding our lives caught up into the kind of life we were always intended to live.

Often attempts at fishing for God's kingdom might be just as bumbling and clumsy as my childhood attempts at casting. Sometimes they are only as good as our own understanding of what it means to be kingdom dwellers. As those who would seek to follow Jesus, we too are called to review our plans for living and base our life on this remarkable new opportunity. Jesus's mission compels us beyond ourselves and towards others, reaching out to those on the margins, healing those who are sick, blessing those who are cursed, and combating evil with love and justice. We are invited to join Jesus in his ministry of reconciliation, gathering people up into the net of the kingdom and kingdom living.

Beginnings and Endings

Beginnings and Endings

The dictionary defines the word "vacation" as "a period of time devoted to pleasure, rest, or relaxation." Though I imagine it happens less often than not, it seems the ideal vacation would come to an end just as the life we left behind begins to seem preferable. Yet even if it is with reluctance that we let go of our last vacation day, most of us can imagine why we must. By definition, a vacation is something that must come to an end. To vacate life as we know it on a permanent basis would be called something different entirely.  

Though we know that the days of a vacation are short-lived, we nevertheless enjoy them. Even as they fade away into the calendar, they are remembered (and often nostalgically). That they were few does not hinder their impact. On the contrary, a few days devoted to relaxation are made valuable because of the many that are not.

And we know this to be true of life as well—that it is fleeting, makes it all the more momentous.

As one musician candidly notes, "There are arbitrary lines between bad and good that often don't make a lot of sense to me. I don't want to die, obviously, but really, the wonder of life is amplified by the fact that it ends."(1)

Like withering grass and dwindling summers, fading flowers and vacation days, life cannot escape its end. Like the seasons we live through, generations spring forth and die away. Like the vacations we take, so our days pass away into the calendar. If we refuse to look at any of these endings we live foolishly; if we look only to their ends we miss something about living.  

The psalmist saw the importance of seeing our lives as they are and living in this reality. "Show me, O LORD, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life" (Psalm 39:4). It is a prayer said with an eternal hope even as it is aware of the fleeting nature of time. "But now, Lord, what do I look for?  My hope is in you" (39:7).

To see our lives as they are is to see that we are, as one theologian observed, "a vision of God and a mountain of dust." It is to embrace a fearful but hopeful thought that gaining one's life might somehow involve losing it, that endings though sometimes painful are often necessary, and that somehow to die is gain.    

When Jesus stood with the disciples staring down the very hour he came to face, he told his friends that his time with them was coming to an end. He told them that his departing would usher in the Great Comforter, that he was leaving to prepare a place for them, and that in his coming and going the world would see that he finished exactly what the Father sent him to do. He reminded them that in the ending of this season was the budding hope of another. "And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going" (John 14:3-4). Jesus did not just go and so end his days as a human on earth; he went to prepare a place for an extended time together.   

The psalmist writes, "Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints." Into this great mystery we can live our days, knowing that within the giving of a life to God and in the ending of a life given to God is a great and imperishable beginning.