the other night, i was walking to the supermarket when i happened upon two street sweepers in a moment of reverie. they were sitting on the curb of a dimly-lit street, in the shadow that straddled two staggered lampposts, while their sweeping carts were parked precisely, one behind the other, with the broom handles jaunting out like the masts on a ship. between them sat a small transistor radio, and the two middle-aged men, sitting at arm's length apart, were quiet except for the strains of chinese opera wailing from the shared radio. motionless, the men were turned towards each other but their gazes were directed upward, as if watching the performance unfold on some invisible stage suspended above the other's head. they didn't notice me passing by and pausing briefly to take in their scene; it was as if their entire beings were absorbed in that moment, in the music, in the story being played out by the characters on the radio.
in many ways, it was a mundane moment: two workers taking a break, two individuals sitting on a street where hundreds pass on any given day. yet there was also something so lovely, so poignant - sublime, even - about this moment, as if behind this very ordinary scene was something more wondrous being played out. it was as if those two men were connecting, through the music, with each other in a way beyond routine interaction, and connecting with the world, with their souls, with some greater sense of the spiritual, in a way that was transcendental. it was as if their gazes in the air caught a glimpse of eternity.
this morning, some friends and i were dissecting a sermon we just listened to during church. part of the discussion revolved around this idea of the extraordinary vs. ordinary. we who are christians often enter the church expecting so much more than what reality offers. we expect christians to be better people, and when the foibles and flaws of our brothers and sisters hit us, they often hit us hard and we are left disappointed. we personally want to be special and when confronted with our own ordinariness, we respond with denial, discouragement or defiance. our hearts long for so much more.
i definitely struggle with this, to the point where i repel from anything that reeks of 'ordinary', almost by reflex. everything must be extraordinary: life is too short for the mundane. it really becomes an idolatry and idealization of a life less ordinary.
the reality of course is not an "either....or" situation. it is not valuing one over the other, but somehow seeing the integration and validity of both. we should expect and long for the extraordinary; after all, we were created to experience and be so much more. the fallenness of this world and of ourselves will result in frustration, but the frustration should fuel the flames of our hope and longing for the world redeemed with greater fervor. and if there exists a God who can part the seas and raise the dead, then those of us who follow Him and profess faith should expect nothing less than miracles and wonders. a stance of awe and eager anticipation should not be an anomaly; it should be the norm.
on the other hand, nothing is truly mundane. in every gesture, every moment, even in every daily chore, there lies the potential for an act of worship, for the sacred to pervade. work has purpose, relationships are rich, the patterns of our life are significant. nothing is without meaning. beauty is everywhere.
a life both extraordinary and ordinary. reveling in the ideal as well as the seemingly plain.
ah, the paradoxes of the life redeemed. i love it.
cups of coffee: 2
mood: chill
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