I have probably typed out the sentence “radical is embodying the gospel in everyday, mundane life” a thousand times on my obscure little blog. The reason I try to emphasize the importance of embodying the gospel in everyday life is because I believe we have the tendency to get bored with our average ho-hum existence and begin to wonder what is wrong with us. What if instead of always dreaming about a more dramatic, radical life we joined God in what he is doing in our quiet neighborhood, church, school and workplace? To spin it another way, what if the discontentment we are currently experiencing is a ruse to keep us from living out our faith right where God has strategically placed us?
I first heard about “Sensing Jesus: Life and Ministry as a Human Being” by Zach Eswine from Lore Ferguson on twitter. The book is incredibly well written and I love it because it encourages us to see routine, everyday life as sacred and to seize the gospel opportunities all around us. Here is a lengthy excerpt from the book that I pray encourages you to embrace your life, right where you are at, as an opportunity to love God, love your neighbor and join in God’s ongoing redemptive work in the less glamorous arena of everyday life.
Exulting in Monotony
A placeless ambition can likewise rob us of the kind of happiness that God intends. J.W. Alexander noted this in his Thoughts on Preaching.
“A pastor without care for locality becomes what Alexander called a “ceremonious visitor” of the people he serves. His body is present but his mind is always looking elsewhere for meaning and success. But “the minister of the gospel,” is meant to find the “source of happiness in his parochial work and social communion” that God gave to him. Alexander continues: “The genuine bond is as strong and tender as any on earth, and as productive of happiness. Think of this when you are tempted to discontent. What is it that really constitutes the happiness of a residence? Is it a fine house, furniture, equipage…large salary, wealthy pew holders? Nay, it is LOVE. It is the affection and mutual attachment. It is the daily flow of emotion, and commingling of interest in common sorrows and common joys; in the sick-room, and the house of bereavement, at the death-bed and the grave, at baptisms and communions…The declaration of what one believes, and the praise of what one loves, always give delight: and what but this is the minister’s work?”
Happiness with the people and place we are in confounds many of us. But what if this is what Paul meant when he said that he loved people, that they were his joy and his crown (Phil. 4:1; Thess. 2:19)?
With this thought, a sinking feeling infuriates the pounding within my chest. To dignify the ordinary with glory will require a radical shift in my habitual approach to life. In Chesterton’s words, like other pastors, I will have to relearn how to exult in monotony.
“A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”, and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never gotten tired of making them.”
And now it dawns on me. Restless discontent is a kind of fatigue. When a finite creature covets omnipresence he loses sight of sight itself. Imagination becomes placeless. Detail loses relevance. Routine becomes boring; arrogance and impatience bid a person to never look twice or long before moving onto somewhere or to something else. To exult in monotony is to deepen roots. To deepen roots is to look twice and long at the smiles that happen at the A&P. Such awareness of life extends the shade we can give. And I remember Jesus of Nazareth-born in Bethlehem, a refugee in Egypt, growing up in his particular place. The holy One of God with a local breath. My bloomless battle to give shade without roots, it seems, must be fought at this point. No longer can I imagine great work apart from local places. A global work is a local thing. A local work has global implications. This means I must inhabit wherever I am, differently. P. 66,67