Eclipsing the ordinary

I have often wondered about Mary and that whole "pondered these things in her heart" statement made about her in the New Testament.

What must she have thought, presented with a perfectly ordinary baby at the end of her travail. (That little halo so frequently seen on the image used in our nativity scenes was certainly not a part of the original scene.) Once the family returned from Egypt, it seems as though they settled into small town life and into ordinary, everyday routines.

Evidence that life eventually did re-turn to a state of at least near normal is revealed in two instances in Jesus' life. First, when he went with his family to Jerusalem and failed to catch the caravan home; (Luke 2:41-52) and later, during his ministry when his family came to save him from himself. They had become convinced, when stories of the crowds that followed reached them, that Jesus had gone quite mad and needed their rescue. (Mark 3:20, 21; 31-34)

A fairly new Christmas hymn, "Mary, Did You Know?" has become a favorite among believers and non-believers alike. Written by Mark Lowry with music by Buddy Greene, the song has been recorded by more than 30 different artists, Christian and secular alike. It's a great song with thought provoking lyrics including the line that never fails to give me goosebumps, "And when you've kissed your little baby, you've kissed the face of God."

Wonder certainly filled my heart as a young mother when my lips were drawn to the soft, sweet-smelling foreheads of my own babies. How did Mary contain her wonder at moments like these?

Certainly, every new mother believes no other child is as beautiful as her own, none smarter, none kinder, none more successful. How much more for young Mary, when she witnessed the travelers from the East coming with gifts or when encountering Simeon, waiting in the temple, who proclaimed "Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace.

"For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people,

"a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel." (Luke 2:29-32)

How could Mary have so quickly forgotten the words of the angels? How did Joseph, too, forget so completely this child's origins?

Life happened. Life with its everyday sameness, the same chores and events -- happened. The ordinary eclipsed the extraordinary.

And it has happened to us.

We, too, have taken the miracle of the birth of the Christ child for granted. It has become just another day resulting in an excess of consumerism and of keeping track of who got what from whom.

Not only that, but we have learned to take the lessons from Good Friday for granted as well. Over the centuries many have tried to manufacture a reasonable re-enactment to mark that dire and dark day, including the imposition of fasts and self-denial. I promise you this: No matter what manner of self-imposed discipline, no matter how strict or extreme, we cannot hope to match -- nor to overcome, as Jesus did -- the suffering of that fateful day.

Our first encounter with Christ on the cross, taking on our punishment, is overwhelming in its power. We look into the face of love and are humbled. We look into the face of sorrow and weep. We look at the ugly truth that is sin in our own lives, and we know shame.

And then, much as it did for Mary, life begins to happen again. The everyday chores don't go away. The everyday hurts still come. The everyday feelings of loneliness and loss, of fear and temptation, are all there, lined up, waiting in turn to assail and distract, to woo and to win, even for a moment, the heart that was left at the foot of the cross.

The ordinary once again eclipses the extraordinary.

It does no good to try to manufacture suffering equal to our Lord's, even on the anniversary of the day of his death. It is an exercise in futility, and is not commanded anywhere in Scripture. When we remember his suffering, we are commanded to remember it with a feast. A feast of bread and wine. The same bread and wine that served as his last meal.

Be assured, the suffering we are called to endure comes in due time. It comes each time we remember and obey our Lord's command to "lay down our lives" to "pick up our cross" to "come and follow me." It comes each time we hear the whispered or shouted accusations that believers must learn to endure. It comes, especially hard, each time we see a soul glimpse the light of heaven and turn back to the darkness.

"And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, saying 'This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.'

"In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, 'This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.'" Luke 22:19, 29 (NIV)

Things you won't see in heaven: Old wineskins.