Wonder in the Ordinary

[image via Pinterest; graphic mine]

I've been moving too fast to think much about Christmas--I mean really think about it, settle into the Scriptures, stare out the snowy window, and journal whatever comes to mind. I plan to make time for that soon. In the meantime, though, a single thought has nestled into my heart. A tiny thought. Not a new thought or flashy thought, just a true one. In fact, this little thought starts with a single word:

ordinary

After being repeated for millennia, the Christmas story is sometimes glossed over like a too-beautiful-to-touch trinket we bring out once a year to place on a shelf where we can admire it from afar. At times I forget how very humble, tangible, and imperfect it all was. How very ordinary.


Mary, an ordinary young woman. She was probably going about her wedding preparations like any other fiancée at the time would have done. Maybe she was planning the feast or washing dishes or sweeping the floor when an angel interrupted her ordinary day and dropped life-shattering news into her lap.


Joseph, an ordinary young man. Also preparing for his upcoming wedding. Startled by Mary's news that she was pregnant, of all outrageous things. And then an ordinary night gave way to a decidedly extraordinary vision confirming Mary's words.


A census. A dusty travel, uncomfortable and inconvenient. (Surely we've all been there? Road-weary and impatient and wanting nothing more than a meal and a familiar bed?)


A stable with ordinary animals, ordinary stink, ordinary cold. Nothing special about it at all, except for the baby born inside.


Shepherds--oh, the shepherds. I've always been fascinated by them most of all. These men weren't all that high on the social ladder. I don't imagine they made much money at their jobs. Just think--long hours out in the elements. Smelly, bleating sheep all around. Sore feet in worn sandals. Only the stars above their heads as they stared blearily into the darkness, trying to stay awake and watch for predators. I'm sure this particular nightly watch looked and felt and smelled much like any other, with the same old frustrations, little pleasures, and predictable routine. It was an ordinary night. Perhaps boring. Quite likely unremarkable.


That is, until the heavens exploded with light and song and the kind of news that drives you to your knees.


Emmanuel--God with us.


After half a millennia of utter silence between God and man, even the staunchest believer might have wondered if the faith of their history was little more than a fairy tale, or if God was ever planning to speak again. Maybe He'd moved on. Lost interest. Shut mankind out. Forgotten the rescue He promised.


But no, not even close. On this ordinary night, above an ordinary field, an indescribable army of angels sang of the long-awaited Answer.


I have to smile at what the first angel announcer said: "You will know you have found Him when you see a baby, wrapped in a blanket, lying in a feeding trough." (Luke 2:12, the Voice)


He didn't announce a king or conquering warrior. He didn't point the way toward a coronation ceremony or a battlefield or a palace or even a busy corner of the city.


The angel sent the shepherds to look for an inconspicuous newborn, wrapped in a definitely not new blanket, sleeping in a rough-hewn, straw-filled feeding trough. A kid in a barn. That was Jesus: fresh from heaven, expelled into an ordinary, messed up world fighting to hold onto hope.


And that's when the ordinary was never the same again.


This Christmas might not be anything special for you this year. It might look the same as it's always been. Maybe it looks a little gloomy this time around. Maybe it's good and happy. Whatever the case, chances are it's a fairly ordinary Christmas. But keep your eyes open for a glimmer of the extraordinary--a glimpse of majesty, a flicker of awe-inspiring wonder--nestled in amongst the trimming of just another day.


Because the ordinary is exactly where you're living right now, and it's exactly where Jesus loves to meet you.

Merry Christmas, dear souls! He is God with us indeed.

P.S. Currently listening to Brandon Heath's The Night Before Christmas, which fits pretty nicely. I won't be active online for the next couple of days, but afterwards I'll be back to reply to comments!