Ordinary

There is, to be sure, a theological illusion abroad . . . which conveys the impression that, with the Holy Scriptures in hand, one can independently construct theology. . . . This illusion is a denial of the historic and organic character of theology, and for this reason is inwardly untrue. No theologian following the direction of his own compass would ever have found by himself what he now confesses and defends on the ground of Holy Scripture. By far the largest part of his results is adopted by him from theological tradition, and even the proofs he cites from Scripture, at least as a rule, have not been discovered by himself, but have been suggested to him by his predecessors.

Although these churches did not subscribe to creeds and confessions, they were in many ways more committed to orthodox doctrines than many churches that recited them each week. This tradition mediated to me, mostly informally, a basic familiarity with the Bible and a living knowledge of the gospel of salvation by grace, through faith in Christ. Yet this tradition was also the product of the Radical Reformation, pietism, and American revivalism. So the emphases of the Reformers, such as Luther and Calvin, sat uncomfortably alongside the more Arminian — even Semi-Pelagian and outright Pelagian — emphases of Charles Finney and Benjamin Franklin. It was the tradition of a distinctly American revivalism with its curious mixture of separatism and civil religion

There is a problem with our pursuit of the next great experience, our attempts to feed our insatiable appetite for significance. Like excellence and action, happiness needs a worthy object. The pursuit of happiness as an end in itself is “vanity,” as we learn from the book of Ecclesiastes. Philosophers call it the “hedonist paradox”: the irony that the pursuit of pleasure actually chases it away. “Happiness is like a cat,” writes William Bennett. “If you try to coax it or call it, it will avoid you; it will never come. But if you pay no attention to it and go about your business, you’ll find it rubbing against your legs and jumping into your lap.”23 Happiness is something that happens when you’re looking for someone or something other than happiness. You can’t find meaning, fulfillment, or purpose by looking for it, but only by discovering something else. And that discovery comes with careful discernment, which takes time, intentionality, and community.

Consider how participation in sports has changed in recent years. Professional sports has become big business, part of the entertainment industry. And now it seems like every year its values trickle down to younger and younger segments of the population. Organized (but not professional) sports used to build character. That was their point. What’s new today is not greater drive and measures of excellence, but different goals that require different means and form different patterns. Where playing for the team was the point, now it’s just an occasion for us (or our children) to stand out. Extracurricular activities have increasingly become a staging area for virtuoso performers who attract the crowds and fetch staggering salaries. A game can no longer just be a game; it has to be a spectacle. And, tragically, the same can be said of many churches.

Today we feel the pressure to have our weddings look like the cover of a bridal magazine or movie set. Our marriages have to be made in heaven, even though we’re very much on earth. Our presentations at work have to dazzle. Our kids have to make the dean’s list and get into the best graduate school. Academic research can’t just contribute to knowledge in a field; nothing short of “brilliant” and “groundbreaking” will satisfy if you want a good job. When we do stop and smell the roses, it has to be an unforgettable package at an amazing resort. It’s not enough to enjoy recreation at the public park, but extreme sports are what really interest us.

Because Baby Boomers are obsessed with living in the moment, they insist that every experience be a watershed, every meal extraordinary, every friendship epochal, every concert superb, every sunset meta-celestial. Life isn’t like that. . . . Sunsets are sunsets. By turning spectacularly humdrum occurrences into formal rites, Baby Boomers have transmuted even the most banal activities into “events” requiring reflection, planning, research, underwriting and staggering masses of data. This has essentially ruined everything for everybody else because nothing can ever again be exactly what it was in the first place: something whose very charm is a direct result of its being accessible, near at hand, ordinary.20

And notice that all of the Ten Commandments are oriented toward others: God and neighbor. Much of our piety is focused on “me and my inner life.” Just look at the Christian Living section of the average Christian bookstore. Yet God’s commands are focused on what it means to be in a relationship with others: to trust in God alone and to love and worship him in the way he approves and to look out for the good of our fellow image bearers.

The call to “radical discipleship,” Warren notes, helpfully challenges our addiction to comfort. “But for those of us — and there are a lot of us — who are drawn to an edgy, sizzling spirituality, we need to embrace radical ordinariness and to be grounded in the challenge of the stable mundaneness of the well-lived Christian life.” She concludes:
In our wedding ceremony, my pastor warned my husband that every so often, I would bound into the room, anxiety etched on my face, certain we’d settled for mediocrity because we weren’t “giving our lives away” living in outer Mongolia. We laughed. All my radical friends laughed. And he was right. We’ve had that conversation many, many times. But I’m starting to learn that, whether in Mongolia or Tennessee, the kind of “giving my life away” that counts starts with how I get up on a gray Tuesday morning. It never sells books. It won’t be remembered. But it’s what makes a life. And who knows? Maybe, at the end of days, a hurried prayer for an enemy, a passing kindness to a neighbor, or budget planning on a boring Thursday will be the revolution stories of God making all things new.8