My dog’s name is Frank. He is a little, white-haired  terrier of some kind. He may be small but he lives large in the Gungor family. He thinks he’s one of us and he has the job of “protector. If you came to my door right now and we were trying to talk, Frank would be a force to reckon with. He’d be freaking out that a “stranger” is at the door. And his bark is unnerving. He doesn’t have the highpitched “arf-arf-arf” of the tiny dogs—it’s more a midtoned “rarf, rarf, rarf.” And he would just keep on barking until I yelled, “QUIET! Go to your kennel!” at least a couple of times. Then he’d reluctantly shut it down and stroll towards his kennel, stopping every few feet to look back, grumbling under his breath. Frank leads an everyday, small dog’s life. He’s never been on TV; he’s never won “best of show;” and there

are only a few people in the world that could actually pick him out of a crowd or a photo. He gets up around the same time every day, runs outside to do his business, comes back in to get some chow and water, plays with a few of his squeaky toys and then settles in for his mid-morning nap. That’s about the best it gets on any given day. Oh…he has his moments of thrill—the occasional ride in the car with the window down, the surprise visit from a drop-by friend with their dog, but for the most part Frank’s life is predictable. But he’s cool with that. He seems very comfortable in his own fur. I, like Frank, have a pretty predictable, everyday life. Except for the occasional, “Hey, don’t I know you…”  from someone unfamiliar, there are only a few people who could actually pick me out in a photo. I got up this morning, had some time with God, paid my bills, answered emails, prayed with a friend who was rushing off his young son to the hospital (he was dehydrated from a really bad flu), ran a few errands and did some blogging. For the most part, my daily life is…well…daily. True, I have a bump or two of excitement and opportunity from time to time, but, all in all, my life (like Frank’s and most of the rest of us) is lived out in a zone called ordinary.

But I’m not nearly as settled about it as Frank. Truth is, I’ve always struggled with being everyday-ish—almost like it’s a sign that my life doesn’t really matter. I keep thinking if I mattered there should be more bing-batta-bing going on. And I want to matter. Otherwise, what’s the point? The billion-dollar question is how—how does one come to matter? And, then, if that question can be answered, how do we know when we do matter—how does one measure such things?

AMERICAN IDOLS
America is a hero culture. Prominence rules. Inconspicuous means insignificant. We tend to think only those who stick out are worthy of adulation. So, the stick-out beautiful, stick-out rich, stick-out talented, fairytale people are the only ones who matter—and they are our idols; our American idols. Somehow, these values tell us stick-out proves worth. If people don’t stick out; if they are average, ordinary;
they are cellophane. Nobody notices cellophane.“The obviously well kept secret of the ‘ordinary’ is that it is made to be a receptacle of the divine…” – Dallas Willard

We live in a world that insists one must be way beyond ordinary to matter. If that is the case, a lot of us are losers. But something in me doesn’t want to accept that. There’s something in me that finds the notion of insignificance as scary as suicide. I want to make a mark on this rock. I think God is the author of that longing. However, I think most of us are mixed up about this whole enterprise of “significance.” I think we struggle with the who-am-I-in-the-scheme-of-things question, plus, we misjudge whether or not we do
matter because consciously (or unconsciously) we have bought into the myth that prominence is the only sign of significance. So, if we are not “famous” or pastoring thousands, it breeds hopelessness in us.
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RADICAL ORDINARINESS
From the American point of view, being “ordinary” means we are just “another one of those,” which signifies we are nothing in particular—thus proving we have little value. But something in us silently screams with deadening agony at that notion. This is why each of us, from the smallest child to the oldest adult, wants to be different; outstanding in some way; unique, extraordinary. Even the fifteen minutes of fame that Andy Warhol said everyone would someday have in our modern media-world is a welcome commodity if it protects us from the status of being a “nobody.” But here’s a provocative thought: it appears that the beachhead for God’s life spilling into the world is through the dreaded ordinary. When you study the scripture and the lives of the saints throughout history, it is as if “ordinary” is the chosen habitation of the eternal. Consider Jesus. He was born in a manger (you can’t get more ordinary than that). He grew up in a small village with a bad reputation and grew up in the home of a carpenter. Jesus, it turned out, became a blue-collar worker. He did this to be with us, to be one of us—to bring the life of the eternal into the world through the ordinariness of life. The message Christ followers refer to as the “gospel” is to be more than a ticket to “make the cut” when we die. The gospel is a call to allow Jesus Christ to heal, empower, and inform the individual human experience. And in the interaction that occurs with the Savior, ordinary people encounter a life that is greater than just human life—it has the quality of eternity. Amazingly, God’s life does not destroy ordinary, everyday human life; it actually fulfills and empowers it. Dallas Willard writes, “The obviously well kept secret of the ‘ordinary’ is that it is made to be a receptacle of the divine, a place where the life of God flows.”

On this view, being basic, ordinary, and merely human (with human limitations, blind spots, and all the rest) is absolutely the best thing that could have ever happened to us. That’s because our unspectacular traits are the perfect springboards for the Divine. It
turns out that small is the new big.“It appears that the beachhead for God’s life spilling into the world is through the dreaded ordinary.”

For more information on Pastor Ed Gungor or CMI Global (which I am ordained through) click below.

Sanctuary Church

CMI Global