December 22, 2016 | Humans are generally average creatures who rise to the extraordinary at pivotal moments. We are all, in one way or another, both average and extraordinary.
I've been meaning to write a series of posts about people I admire, have learned from, or in some way aspire to emulate. I'm calling these posts The Average and Extraordinary. Average, because we are human and none of us can stand firmly atop a pedestal, certain in our perfection. Humans are generally average creatures who rise to the extraordinary at pivotal moments. We are all, in one way or another, both average and extraordinary.
Most of my posts will not include the person's name. Like it says in the Bible, if we get credit now for those extraordinary moments, we don't need blessings beyond. I would never want to negate a person's blessings by spouting their good deeds without their consent.
That being said, the first man I will highlight is already a household name, so there's no need to dance around in generalities to protect his anonymity. In fact, he's the only person I'll ever write about who could deservedly take his place atop the aforementioned pedestal of perfection without hesitation, yet never did anything of the sort while on earth. He took the opposite approach.
Instead of a pedestal, he was born in the feed trough of a cave used to shelter livestock. He was swaddled with what was available--perhaps in his mother's travel cloak, or in discarded feed bags from the stable's floor. He fled to Egypt in the arms of his mother and father because political tensions had escalated, threatening their safety. He was taught at home by his parents. At twelve, the tables were turned, and he began teaching the teachers. A child prodigy. He spent his short life in service--teaching, setting examples, healing, and listening.
Christ was both average and extraordinary, traits divinely designed to facilitate His condescension to live among man and to give Him the gamut of human experience, so that when He atoned for our sins and sorrows and became the listener and answerer of our prayers, He would have a perfect understanding--empathy--for our heartache, our remorse, and our fear. The list of Christ's average experiences is small in comparison to the list of extraordinary, but as our Redeemer and Savior, it is a relief to know He understands our failings and our fears.
Another much more average man I've been thinking about is George Frideric Handel. He was born in 1685. His father disliked his music. He had money troubles. He suffered a stroke. He was involved in a coach crash. He had cataracts and eventually went blind after a botched eye operation. Yet, he was extraordinary, too. A button saved him from being run through by a sword in a duel. His work became popular in opera circles across Europe. He wrote "The Messiah" using its performances to raise money for abandoned children and those in need. He became a brilliant composer.
Let me ask, do you instinctively stand at the beginning strains of the "Hallelujah Chorus?" There are those who say we are standing in respect of the King of England, because King George II stood at that moment the first time he heard it performed, causing everyone in the audience to follow, and it became tradition, but when I stand, I'm not standing for King George. I'm standing for the King of Kings. "Hallelujah" means "praise be to God." I'm standing up to praise our Savior.
Another average and extraordinary person I've been thinking about is not a famous composer. You would not know her name, but chances are you know someone like her. She is a beautiful young mother with a handsome husband and adorable children. In the spring of this year, she lost one of her adorable children to cancer--a blonde-haired, blue-eyed almost-three-year-old boy, full of life and love and wonder. This Christmas season is only one of the many firsts this family has had to face since his death. The first Christmas without the person you lost can be agonizingly long and terribly raw. The extraordinary thing about this woman is her honesty concerning her grief. In explaining the burdens and heartaches of their family, she has taught all those who listen how to deal with and move forward through the torrents of life. Her focus downstream amazes me. Her search to understand the changing tides we all must face inspires me. Her testimony in Christ shores up my own. Though hearts are tender, and tears are always close to the surface, her family is determinedly following their River back home.
Christ condescended to be average in order to understand the torment of a composer who must lay down his pen in blindness; to understand the grief of a mother who cannot hold her child in her arms; and to understand every other heartache we will face while we are here on earth. How grateful I am for His extraordinary gift to us. I will always rise to my feet and stand, for He shall reign forever and ever. Hallelujah!!!
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