Ordinary Exceptionalism

I am re-reading Philip Yancey's book, The Jesus I Never Knew. It is a great read anytime, but especially this time of year. The first three chapters are a delicious appetizer for the perennial feast of nativity stories that are offered each December. The theme of the book suggests that even serious Christians have often missed the more mundane, the obvious truths that bathe the Christmas story and wash the entire portrait of Jesus' earthly sojourn.

I was particularly struck by Yancey's metaphor to explain how significant was the incarnation, the taking of flesh by very God. Yancey kept a salt water aquarium, a responsibility that requires constant and careful attention. Even though his intentions were entirely thoughtful and beneficial, the fish always hid when Yancey approached the tank. They greatly feared him, even though his every action had always been for their good. He realized that the only way he could convince the fish of his good intentions would be to become a fish and tell them in their language.

Thus did God when He became a man, only infinitely more drastic was the condescension from divine to human than human to fish. Most striking to me was the thought of what Yancey (or you or I) would have felt looking out from the aquarium. And, frankly, Yancey's aquarium was probably more well suited to his fish than first century Palestine was to the Savior of mankind. God's arrival on earth, Yancey points out, was staged in a livestock pen. Though announced by angels, the audience were lowly shepherds, the dregs of Jewish society. The political and social climate was anything but hospitable, particularly for a child whose paternity was shaded by scandal in his home town.

A teen-age mother (most likely) and a twenty-something father (probably) would live every day of the growing boy's life knowing that something quite special was happening, yet nothing out of the ordinary was provided to them, if you discount the early angelic visits. When you think of it, it could not have been otherwise. For the Savior to share in our sorrows, to be acquainted with our grief, he must necessarily have lived a perfectly ordinary life. A super attentive providence would have released the God/man from his primary duty prior to the meeting at Calvary. He had to live a sinless life, but it had to be a normal life -- no special privileges.

This situation is both unbelievable and inspiring. We too are compelled to live mostly ordinary lives. And likewise, we have, if we really believe what the Bible teaches about the Christian life, divine duties and responsibilities. The inspiring thing is that we do have special providence to accomplish our goals. The same Holy Spirit that dwelt within the God/man, Jesus, makes His home in us, makes His power available for our necessary tasks. When you think of it like that, how can any day, any chore be ordinary?