God in the Ordinary

A friend of mine went through a crisis in faith in college. She felt as if she really couldn't know God or even maybe believe in God because she had never had a real, "mountain-top"-like experience of God.

But the more I reflect on that the more I want to remind her that God isn't really about the mountain-top experiences but rather the ordinariness of life.

It's like losing someone you love. You don't miss the magic moments. When I first became a minister, in trying to help people grieve, I would ask what they had missed most about a loved one who died. I don't ask that anymore because the answer is always the same--people miss the ordinary things: sitting on the porch together, watching a favorite tv show, reading together. No one ever said, "The huge, amazing vacations we would take," or "Buying a new house together." It seems to me that love is in the ordinary things of a relationship.

I'm reminded of the play, Our Town, where Emily, after death misses earth so much she wants to go back and experience life for a day. The advice given to her is to pick an ordinary day, for it will have enough life.

If you read the Parade insert of the newspaper this past Sunday, you may have read Mitch Albom reflecting on this as well: "We often fantasize about a perfect day--something exotic and far away. But when it comes to those we miss, we desperately want one more familiar meal, even one more argument. What does this teach us? That the ordinary is precious. That the normal day is a treasure."

To God in the ordinary.

“But babies are being born and people are falling in love!”

I roll my eyes at my husband, who is standing above me attempting consolation while I curse everything in sight for running out of floor stripper with precisely one 3x3 square plot of waxy, dirty floor to go at 11 o’clock at night.

He’s quoting me, which actually makes it worse. The evening before, after a week of hearing about friends being diagnosed with cancer, going through divorces, or dying suddenly after hiking, it seemed the whole house was full of gloom. Gloom is okay for awhile, but the truth is the whole world is not falling apart.

Babies are being born and people are falling in love.

I had started the week with a devotional at our staff meeting written by Barbara Brown Taylor in the Christian Century. She was reflecting on a news story about a young girl who was kidnapped from her bed. The news story was everywhere. A neighbor had responded, “Children aren’t even safe in their own beds.” But the truth is millions of children really are perfectly safe in their own beds.

While people we loved were being told about cancer, other people were experiencing healing and new life. And while our friends are breaking up, it was Friday evening and plenty of couples were getting married right while we despaired. “But babies are being born and people are falling in love,” I blurted out into the gloom.

And then the words came back to me as my paused my cursing to reflect. True.

Today, even five years after the shock of watching the Twin Towers collapse, the gloom weighs heavy—whether or not you’re listening to the constant talk of it on the radio or watching the news reels play it again and again. The grief is amazingly fresh.

But in the midst of it all, babies are being born and people are falling in love. Thanks be to God.