Read an Excerpt
Ordinary
Sustaining faith in a radical, restless world
By Michael S. Horton ZONDERVAN
Copyright © 2014 Michael S. Horton
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-310-51737-5
CHAPTER 1
the new radical
Radical. Epic. Revolutionary.
Transformative. Impactful. Life-Changing.
Ultimate. Extreme. Awesome.
Emergent. Alternative. Innovative.
On The Edge. The Next Big Thing. Explosive Breakthrough.
You can probably add to the list of modifiers that have become, ironically, part of the ordinary conversations in society and in today's church. Most of us have heard expressions like these so often that they've become background noise. We tune them out, unconsciously doubting what is offered because it has become so predictably common. As my grammar teacher used to say, "If you make every sentence an exclamation or put every verb in 'bold,' then nothing stands out."
To grab—and hold—our attention, everything has to have an exclamation point. We've become accustomed to looking around restlessly for something new, the latest and greatest, that idea or product or person or experience that will solve our problems, give us some purpose, and change the world. Although we might be a little jaded by the ads, we're eager to take whatever it is "to a whole new level."
"Ordinary" has to be one of the loneliest words in our vocabulary today. Who wants a bumper sticker that announces to the neighborhood, "My child is an ordinary student at Bubbling Brook Elementary"? Who wants to be that ordinary person who lives in an ordinary town, is a member of an ordinary church, and has ordinary friends and works an ordinary job? Our life has to count! We have to leave our mark, have a legacy, and make a difference. And all of this should be something that can be managed, measured, and maintained. We have to live up to our Facebook profile. It's one of the newer versions of salvation by works.
Still, I sense a growing restlessness with this restlessness. Some have grown tired of the constant calls to radical change through new and improved schemes. They are less sure they want to jump on the next bandwagon or trail-blaze new paths to greatness. You know that something's afoot when a satirical newspaper like The Onion pokes fun at this fad, reducing our hyperbolic lives to a sarcastic joke:
CAMDEN, ME—Longtime acquaintances confirmed to reporters this week that local man Michael Husmer, an unambitious 29-year-old loser who leads an enjoyable and fulfilling life, still lives in his hometown and has no desire to leave.
Claiming that the aimless slouch has never resided more than two hours from his parents and still hangs out with friends from high school, sources close to Husmer reported that the man, who has meaningful, lasting personal relationships and a healthy work-life balance, is an unmotivated washout who's perfectly comfortable being a nobody for the rest of his life.
"I've known Mike my whole life and he's a good guy, but it's pretty pathetic that he's still living on the same street he grew up on and experiencing a deep sense of personal satisfaction," childhood friend David Gorman said of the unaspiring, completely gratified do-nothing. "As soon as Mike graduated from college, he moved back home and started working at a local insurance firm. Now, he's nearly 30 years old, living in the exact same town he was born in, working at the same small-time job, and is extremely contented in all aspects of his home and professional lives. It's really sad." ... Additionally, pointing to the intimate, enduring connections he's developed with his wife, parents, siblings, and neighbors, sources reported that Husmer's life is "pretty humiliating" on multiple levels.
Husmer's ordinary life is debt-free and he is perfectly content to stay put while many of his high school friends go off to the bright lights and big cities. He doesn't care about impressing total strangers every day as he climbs the corporate ladder, when he can invest in the lives of those closest to him. He doesn't have a thousand "friends" on Facebook, just a close family and circle of friends in town. "I'm just glad I got out of there and didn't end up like Mike," said Husmer's cousin Amary Martin, 33, an attorney at a large law firm who hasn't seen Husmer, her closest childhood playmate, for nearly six years. "The last thing I'd ever want is to have a loving family nearby, feel a sense of pleasure when reflecting on my life, and be the big failure that everyone runs into when they visit home once a year for the holidays."
There is a lot of truth in the portrait of "poor" Mike Husmer. Ironically, today, it isn't all that difficult to pull up roots, and become anonymous—starting life all over—with a new set of relationships. Our mobile, individualistic culture makes it possible for us to reinvent ourselves whenever we want a fresh start and a new set of supporting actors in our personalized life movie.
Even the Lego company piled on with a blockbuster 2014 film that parodies the culture of corporate hype of which it is a part. As one review of The Lego Movie explains, "It's about a Lego minifigure named Emmet, whose empty mind has been filled with a blind devotion to an indifferent commercial empire. Thanks to the evil mastermind known as President Business (and later, Lord Business), Emmet watches the same stupid TV shows and listens to the same insipid pop songs over and over again ('Everything is awesome!' ...)." At the end of the movie/infomercial, Emmet appeals to Lord Business: "You don't have to be the bad guy. You are the most talented, most interesting, most extraordinary person in the universe." Then Emmet immediately adds, "And so is everybody." The reviewer noted this is part of a growing trend in corporate advertising: to mock the hype even as they engage in it.
I'm not saying that there is something wrong with moving to the city to pursue an adrenaline-racing calling. And I understand the fact that advertisers have always targeted our longing for self-importance. The real problem is that our values are changing and the new ones are wearing us out. But they're also keeping us from forming genuine, long-term, and meaningful commitments that actually contribute to the lives of others. Over time, the hype of living a new life, taking up a radical calling, and changing the world can creep into every area of our life. And it can make us tired, depressed, and mean.
Given the dominance of The Next Big Thing in our society, it is not at all surprising that the Christian subculture is passionate about superlatives. Many of us were raised in a Christian subculture of managed expectations, called to change ourselves or our world, with measurable results. There always had to be a cause du jour to justify our engagement. Otherwise, life in the church would simply be too ordinary. Like every other area of life, we have come to believe that growth in Christ—as individuals or as churches—can and should be programmed to generate predictable outcomes that are unrealistic and are not even justified biblically. We want big results—sooner rather than later. And we've forgotten that God showers his extraordinary gifts through ordinary means of grace, loves us through ordinary fellow image bearers, and sends us out into the world to love and serve others in ordinary callings.
Take, for example, the experience of Tish Harrison Warren. Raised in a wealthy evangelical church, sporting WWJD bracelets, she said, "I began to yearn for something more than a comfortable Christianity focused on saving souls and being generally respectable Republican Texans." Her story is typical of what many believers of her generation experienced—myself included:
I was nearly 22 years old and had just returned to my college town from a part of Africa that had missed the last three centuries. As I walked to church in my weathered, worn-in Chaco's, I bumped into our new associate pastor and introduced myself. He smiled warmly and said, "Oh, you. I've heard about you. You're the radical who wants to give your life away for Jesus." It was meant as a compliment and I took it as one, but it also felt like a lot of pressure because, in a new way, I was torturously uncertain about what being a radical and living for Jesus was supposed to mean for me. Here I was, back in America, needing a job and health insurance, toying with dating this law student intellectual (who wasn't all that radical), and unsure about how to be faithful to Jesus in an ordinary life. I'm not sure I even knew if that was possible.
I entered college restless with questions and spent my twenties reading Marx and St. Francis, being discipled in the work of Rich Mullins, Ron Sider, and Tony Campolo, learning about New Monasticism (though it wasn't named that yet), and falling in love with Peter Maurin and Dorothy Day. My senior year of college, I invited everyone at our big student evangelical gathering to join me in protesting the School of the Americas.
After spending time in various "radical" Christian communities, Warren began to wonder if ordinary life was even possible.
Now, I'm a thirty-something with two kids living a more or less ordinary life. And what I'm slowly realizing is that, for me, being in the house all day with a baby and a two-year-old is a lot more scary and a lot harder than being in a war-torn African village. What I need courage for is the ordinary, the daily every-dayness of life. Caring for a homeless kid is a lot more thrilling to me than listening well to the people in my home. Giving away clothes and seeking out edgy Christian communities requires less of me than being kind to my husband on an average Wednesday morning or calling my mother back when I don't feel like it.
"Everydayness Is My Problem"
Writer Rod Dreher observes, "Everydayness is my problem. It's easy to think about what you would do in wartime, or if a hurricane blows through, or if you spent a month in Paris, or if your guy wins the election, or if you won the lottery or bought that thing you really wanted. It's a lot more difficult to figure out how you're going to get through today without despair." I know just how he feels. Even more than I'm afraid of failure, I'm terrified by boredom. Facing another day, with ordinary callings to ordinary people all around us is much more difficult than chasing my own dreams that I have envisioned for the grand story of my life. Other people—especially those closest to us—can become props. "The Poor" can be instruments of our life project. Or fighting "The Socialists" may animate our otherwise boring autobiography. Changing the world can be a way of actually avoiding the opportunities we have every day, right where God has placed us, to glorify and enjoy him and to enrich the lives of others.
It is all too easy to turn other people in our lives into a supporting cast for our life movie. The problem is that they don't follow the role or the lines we've given them. They are actual people with actual needs that get in the way of our plot, especially if they're as ambitious as we are. Sometimes, chasing your dreams can be "easier" than just being who we are, where God has placed you, with the gifts he has given to you.
American Christianity is a story of perpetual upheavals in churches and individual lives. Starting with the extraordinary conversion experience, our lives are motivated by a constant expectation for The Next Big Thing. We're growing bored with the ordinary means of God's grace, attending church week in and week out. Doctrines and disciplines that have shaped faithful Christian witness in the past are often marginalized or substituted with newer fashions or methods. The new and improved may dazzle us for the moment, but soon they have become "so last year."
In my own life so far, I've witnessed—and been part of—successive waves of enthusiasm that have whipped the church into a frenzy, only to leave many people exhausted or disillusioned. These fads change with every generation. So there are always fresh recruits to take the place of the burned-out enthusiasts of yesteryear. That, however, seems to be changing. For the first time, the percentage of American young adults claiming no religious affiliation has taken the lead (though barely) over those identifying themselves as evangelical Christians.
Aside from graduate school, I have spent my whole live in California. I lived a short drive from Azusa Street, the birthplace of Pentecostalism, and from Angelus Temple, where Sister Aimee Semple McPherson pioneered church-as-Vaudeville. Even closer were Calvary Chapel (the center of the "Jesus Movement" of the 1970s) and the Trinity Broadcasting Network (TBN) headquarters. Robert Schuller's Crystal Cathedral was just down the road, as was Saddleback Community Church, led by Pastor Rick Warren. Thousands of pastors flocked to these venues regularly for church growth conferences.
Plagued by controversy, Sister Aimee Semple McPherson was caught up in an alleged kidnapping scandal. In the past several years, Calvary has suffered from various scandals, and it is unclear what shape its "Moses Model" of leadership will take after the recent death of its gifted founder Chuck Smith. "As one pastor said to Christianity Today, 'The Titanic has hit the iceberg. But the music is still playing.'" Dedicated in the 1980s to "the glory of man, for the greater glory of God," the Crystal Cathedral declared bankruptcy in 2010 and two years later became Christ Cathedral, part of the Roman Catholic diocese of Orange County.
Using the Crystal Cathedral as a prism, an article by Jim Hinch in The American Scholar observes that none of the trend-setting mega-churches in Orange County is growing today.7 Rob Bell, author of Love Wins, now calls Orange County home, but says that he surfs instead of going to church. "Evangelicals are good at whipping people up into a frenzy," he told Hinch, "and then you're like, 'What was that?'" The rapid growth in the county lies now with the largest Buddhist temple in the world (Itsi Lai) and the Islamic Society of Orange County. Recoiling from "McMansion" churches, many younger evangelicals are forming loose networks of "spiritual communities," Hinch reports. "In other words, the future of the evangelical church as glimpsed from Orange County might be no church at all."
The fads of the Boomer generation (those born between 1946 and 1964) were programs oriented around personal improvement and church growth. Boomers believed that traditional church experience was too ordinary—even boring—with its weekly routine of preaching, sacraments, prayer, praise, teaching, and fellowship. What was needed instead was a new plan for personal growth, something that would take our walk with God to "a whole new level." Boomers tended to make the Christian life—and the church—more individualistic and performance-oriented, removing checks and balances, structures and practices that have historically encouraged sustained growth in faith over the long haul.
Reacting against this self-focused and consumeristic approach, many of the children and grandchildren of the Boomer generation began looking outward, to problems in the world. The mantra swung from "change your life" to "change the world." Talk of evangelistic outreach shifted to calls for compassionate ministry to the poor, an emphasis on social justice, and an exhortation to live out your faith in a way that made a measurable difference in the world.
Yet both of these generational fads share something in common: an impatience and disdain for the ordinary. They share a passion for programs that deliver impressive, quick, and observable results. In both cases, the invitation is to break away from business-as-usual, to "think outside the box," and to do something big for God.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Ordinary by Michael S. Horton. Copyright © 2014 Michael S. Horton. Excerpted by permission of ZONDERVAN.
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