Meaning in the Mundane

Luke 2:1-20

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah,* the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host,* praising God and saying,
‘Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace among those whom he favours!’*

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.’ So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

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Christmas has a way of feeling extraordinary. All the gathering, feasting, and laughing — it’s a day when memories are made and traditions are cherished. For many of us, it’s the kind of day that feels just right, filled with a sense of joy and meaning that lingers long after the wrapping paper is cleared away. And nearly every year, as the lights glow and the laughter fades, I find myself asking the same question the late great theologian Elvis Presley asked:  “Why can’t every day be like Christmas?”

And if not every day, what about most days, or even more days than not? Because in reality most of our days are not like Christmas. Most of them are quite ordinary, mundane even. Of course, there are valley and mountain-top moments, but the sum of those days pales in comparison to the days we would consider routine. Or at least that’s how my life has felt lately; not in a bad way, but if my days were put into a novel, you wouldn’t pick it up, or at least not twice. They aren’t quite boring, because I’m not sure life with a “near two-year-old” can ever be called such. 

But when I reflect on the best moments of my life—the memories I cherish most or the life I aspire to live—it doesn’t look like the majority of my days. Most days feel unimportant in comparison. Get up, help get everyone off to where they need to go, go to work, come home, make dinner, say I’ll clean or read but do neither, go to bed, and do it all over again. Does this sound familiar?

Yet, what if those ordinary days aren’t unimportant at all? What if those moments, mundane as they seem, are exactly where God chooses to meet us?

One of those nights while I was neither cleaning nor reading and the babe was asleep, this video stopped my scrolling. It made me question what I was seeing. Take a look:

Thomas Deininger is an artist who lives on a farm in Rhode Island. In his early twenties, he went on a surfing trip to some remote islands in the Pacific. While there, he was shocked to see all the trash and plastic washed up on the beaches. At the time, he was a painter, but when he returned home, he couldn’t get the image of all that garbage out of his head and wanted to do something about it. So he began scouring beaches, parks, and dumpsters, collecting trash, particularly pieces of nostalgia: toys, cassette tapes, old phones. And from this waste, he started creating beautiful, mind-altering sculptures of the creatures endangered from that same trash.

These works start with an illusion. At first, you see a brilliant, yet familiar sight: a parrot in all its colorful splendor. Then as you step to the side, the illusion shatters and you see something you never expected; what you once thought was the head of a beautiful bird becomes bottle caps, action figures, plastic netting, and a floppy disk. Step closer and the scene turns bizarre. The whole thing is made up of material you never expected, put together in ways that make no sense. 

“I am fascinated with perspective and illusion,” Thomas said in an interview. “I value finding potential in the mundane and the overlooked.”

Deininger’s work shows us that beauty can come from what’s overlooked, what’s forgotten, what seems like trash. This is the lens of Christmas: God’s ability to take what seems ordinary—even broken—and create something extraordinary.

Consider the nativity. At first glance, it’s serene and familiar: Mary cradles her sleeping, or at least content, baby, Joseph gazes with admiration. The shepherds gather to see what had been told them, and the animals crowd around too. It is a beautiful, picturesque scene.But step to the side, come closer, and see it differently. 

Mary, a young, unwed, lowly woman with no great characteristics or influence, travels with her not-yet-husband Joseph, a poor carpenter, to Bethlehem, a tiny, impoverished town in the hills of Judea, to give birth in a room where the animals stayed, and places her fragile, newborn baby in a feed trough, surrounded by animals and shady shepherds from the nearby fields. 

You see, when we step to the side just a bit, this pristine, beautiful image of the nativity transforms and we see Jesus' birth from a new perspective: God chose to come among us through ordinary, overlooked people in a forgotten, unimportant place.

And then if we look closer still, the whole thing becomes bizarre, because that baby lying in the manger, swaddled and helpless, is none other than God. The almighty, ever-powerful, Creator of the heavens and the earth, chose to give it all up to live with us as a poor peasant from Palestine. God in the manger doesn’t just show us humility; it shows us that no part of life is too small, no person too ordinary, for God to transform it into something sacred.

God takes unimportant people, an overlooked place, and weaves them together in ways we never expect to create something remarkable—Jesus Christ the Savior of the World.

The good news of Christmas is that God does the same with us. Like those sculptures made of discarded toys and plastic, God takes the scattered, seemingly insignificant pieces of our lives—our routines, our mistakes, even our struggles—and transforms them into something beautiful and life-giving. In the people we overlook, in the places we least expect, in the seemingly unimportant days after all the gatherings and festivities, the Christmas story tells us this is exactly where God chooses to come among us. 

In our rising and our resting, our labor and our leisure, there is more than what meets the eye. God is in the faces we love and the strangers we meet. There is hope in the children we care for, grace in the routines we endure, light even in the darkest places.

The Christmas message comes to tell us that how we see this life of ours is all wrong. What we take to be unimportant or worthless is really beautiful and purposeful because it comes from God. Our eyes are at fault, that is all. God is in the manger. Beauty in routine, strength in weakness, meaning in the mundane.

The gift I pray you receive this Christmas is a new perspective — to step to the side, to come closer and to find God’s grace in the routines and messiness of your life. Because the good news is this: God is already there, waiting to transform it all into something beautiful. Amen 

"The Grace of the Humdrum" – Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

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As I was scooping out the food for my dog the other day, I thought to myself, “How many times have I done this? How many times have I reached in, scooped out a cup of kibble and fed my dog?”

It wasn’t the most profound thought to come to mind lately; well, maybe it was, but regardless…

It wasn’t actually a question I intended to answer (although I did the math and I figure the answer is around 3,500 times). Rather, it was actually more of a statement recognizing just how ordinary and routine that particular task had become. Scooping out a cup of dog food for my dog had become a part of my life.

Perhaps that seemingly-random thought was sparked by the news that several of our friends have had to put their dogs down recently. We hear about friends whose dogs are the same age as ours and in failing health and suddenly we look at our (for all we can tell) perfectly healthy dog and say things like, “Does her breathing seem labored to you?” and “She looks older” and “I wonder how much time she has left.”

Once we start to imagine a concluding event such as a milestone or a death, we start to pay attention to the ordinary and routine tasks relating to the thing that will soon end.

For example, on a Sunday last January, literally minutes after I received the news that I had been called to serve at Cross of Grace, I walked into the sanctuary at my congregation to lead worship, preach, and distribute the elements of communion. As each person came forward to receive the bread I told them, “The body of Christ, given for you.” At this point I remember thinking, “How many times have I said these words to these people in my time as their pastor?”

As with the dog food revelation, it wasn’t a question seeking an answer; rather, it was a statement recognizing just how ordinary and routine that particular task had become. Placing bread in the hands of people whom I had grown to love and saying “The body of Christ, given for you” had become a part of my life; and that particular part of my life was coming to a close.

During those remaining Sundays with my congregation I paid more attention each time I placed the bread in their hands and said, “The body of Christ, given for you.” Perhaps the congregation paid more attention also.

Our lives are filled with ordinary and routine tasks, some we’ve done hundreds or thousands of times; for example: putting on shoes, vacuuming the floors, changing diapers, driving the same route to work every day, turning on the computer, family pizza dinners on Fridays, and singing “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” on Reformation Sunday.

Could it possibly be true that these ordinary and routine tasks that infuse our lives (particularly those tasks done for others) are the key to our spiritual well-being?

Today’s gospel, a portion of Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount,” references Jesus’ teaching about the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and money. Interestingly, the way Jesus talks about these disciplines, he makes them seem ordinary and routine – as ordinary and routine as feeding the dog, putting on shoes, or driving the same way to work each day.

Concerning prayer – Avoid provocative public demonstrations of prayer and grandiose language. Instead, go into your room, pray in secret, and use the Lord’s Prayer: “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

Concerning fasting – Do it in such a way that people can’t tell you’re fasting. Don’t change your routine or draw attention to yourself.

Concerning money – Take care not to insulate your life with things that can be bought/sold, stolen, or ruined by the elements. Rather, live within your means, be generous, and be content.

These three straightforward instructions stand in stark contrast to the messages that we are bombarded with day after day:

• that we need to stand out from the crowd,
• that we need to strive to prove ourselves over against others,
• that we need to accumulate more for ourselves.

Our culture despises uniformity, ordinariness, and routine. We face unyielding pressure to strive to be better people than we are today, as though we are only valuable to society if we:

• fit into a smaller dress,
• buy the right products,
• get into the best school,
• win the championship,
• move into the nicer neighborhood,
• earn that promotion

None of these things are necessarily “bad.” There’s little wrong with making healthy choices that end up changing our figure; just as there’s little wrong with working hard to earn or accomplish things or create new possibilities. But we must remember that our accomplishments in no way creates or diminishes our worth as citizens, human beings, and children of God.

God has declared our worth despite our complete unworthiness and inability to rely on God’s grace.

God loves us despite our desire and damaging attempts to stand out from the crowd, prove ourselves, and hoard wealth for ourselves. We’re sinners, through and through. But that doesn't stop God from loving us; nor does it stop God from being God for us.

Practicing the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and contentment will not make us better people, will not prove our worth to others or God, nor make us wealthy. The spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and money are not a means to an end. Rather, they are intended to be daily practices that become a natural part of our lives – little holy moments to be appreciated and shared with all whom we come in contact.

The proverbial question goes, “How much more do you need in order to be satisfied?” The answer is always, “Just a little bit more.”

During this season of Lent, Jesus invites us to practice the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and contentment so that we can begin to recognize that the source of our happiness does not lie beyond the next obstacle, but rather exists here and now in the presence of Christ revealed to us through the ordinary and the routine.

Perhaps the ashes smeared on your foreheads and your mortality on your mind could help you pay attention to the things that truly do matter: embracing the holiness of ordinariness, seeking justice for more than just yourself, and coming to truly believe that God loves you just as you are.

And one day, as you close the door to pray or reach into our pockets to give something away, you will stop and say, “How many times have I done this?” And you will recognize that those spiritual disciplines have become ordinary and routine; and as much a part of your life as much as putting on your shoes or feeding the dog.

Amen.