The Case For Ordinary Whimpers
Part of the genius of the Christian Bible is that the ordinary is sufficient.
‘This is the Way the World Ends: Not with a Bang but a Whimper’- T.S. Eliot
The Psalter’s optimism shapes much of the life of Israel. In those songs, God laughs at the schemes of evil politicians (Psalm 2), crushes the heads of his enemies (Psalm 68), and secures the victory of his people (Psalm 108). But such societal shifts in the life of Old Israel did not often happen through cataclysmic events but through the ordinariness of liturgical habits practiced by the saints. The people of God lived through the daily rhythms of Israel’s story in word and deed, prayer and praise. The songs of Israel were composed in the trail of blood, tears, and lament.
The melodies and lyrics flowing from the lips of God’s covenant people were the results not of “bangs” but “whimpers” in the history of the Church. We too often observe that unless something radical occurs, an event of devastating proportion, we shall have no world left for us and our grandchildren. But the changes in the Bible are often through “still small voices” and “planted seeds,” which begin with small acts of goodness and gratitude enough to fill the world with a growing song of doxology.
The Incremental Kingdom
This hearty incrementalism fits the motif of the kingdom of Jesus, who works his labors amidst the people through dusty roads for three years. Even when the devil tempted him (Matt. 4) to skip the line directly to triumph, our Lord knew that his mission was not determined by quick fixes but by slow and steady versification—line by line.
The attitude of gradual growth expressed in the songs of Zion is contrasted with the modern investment of the evangelical community towards “radical” shifts. The word is not inherently sinful, but its everyday usage has become a marketing scheme. For instance, well-known author David Platt in his book “Radical” observes:
“Radical obedience to Christ is not easy… It’s not comfort, not health, not wealth, and not prosperity in this world. Radical obedience to Christ risks losing all these things. But in the end, such risk finds its reward in Christ. And he is more than enough for us.”[1]
Platt concludes that authentic faith is risky. It must seek the grand to achieve the reward. The “bang” is necessary to see something remarkable occur, while “whimpers” become second-class citizens, perhaps, even unappealing actors to communicate a robust faith.
But is this how the Bible portrays the Christian life? In other words, why do so many authors and speakers find the need to insert the word “radical” into the basic imperatives of the Bible? Is radical faith a secret life that only a few can discover through a consistent impulse to abandon wealth, prosperity, and the American dream? Are we making Jesus’ yoke hard and his burden heavy? Are we creating a sub-culture of radical Christians who do the risky thing for Jesus while the others are left in this trite category of non-radical? Will the world end if we don’t function at the speed of “bangs”? Will we not be blessed through small “whimpers?”
The Gift of the Ordinary
Part of the genius of the Christian Bible is that the ordinary is sufficient. Forcing an alliance of radical Christians into the Scriptures makes the ordinary unnecessary. In fact, it makes the songs of Israel seem too unconcerned with God’s honor because of their simple human experiences. Indeed, the impetus of such a move among these advocates is to offer the evangelical world a more robust expression of Christian living. But I assert that creating a radical platform to encourage people to do their everyday work is not encouragement but a detriment to pursuing the normal work of Christian living. Who, after all, feels radical after a long bout of chemotherapy, a life-threatening accident, or the death of a loved one? The faith of suffering is the faith of small beginnings, simple songs, and uncomplicated trust. The Christian’s lament begins with “How long, O Lord?” It whimpers in the sight of unfathomable pain and uncertainty; it cries in the night and drenches beds with tears, and it is sustained by the kind hands of a tender Father.
Ordinary Christian living is different from radical Christian living. It does not feel shame in the comfort of a hammock at the lake or in the luxury of an afternoon game at the stadium or the perfectly grilled steak. Ordinary Christian living does not negate the good; it gives thanks for the good. It does not refuse the routine of a mother’s third diaper change of the day; it exalts the role of motherhood. Instead, it cherishes the repetitive work of essential faithfulness.
I do not doubt many in this movement would affirm these assertions. Still, the reality is that the kinds of disciples produced from such philosophy take these proposals too far, advocating for a monopoly on true faith. The result can be a trivialization of the common in exchange for irresponsible acts in the name of radicalness.
Radicals and Revolutionaries
We live in an age of political and religious zealots seeking to overturn the definitions of the Gospel long accepted by the Church. Those once unfaltering defenders of biblical sexual ethics have taken steps away from the carefully articulated orthodoxy of sexuality. Then, they sought to gain the world with wild acts of justice but now are slowly—or already have—lost their souls.
The ideology of radical is unsustainable. It does not possess the basic structure of God’s songs. The Psalms expressed ordinary duties of worship, catechism, and biblical living. These practices were common, and though some were called to missiological work in Gentile territory or kingly responsibilities among holy wars, most of God’s people through the ages operated under simple premises of day-to-day Christian rhythms.
The Church must pursue more bread and wine, hugs, encouragement, connection with one another, good night kisses, and more tickling of babies. We need more ordinary. Jesus accomplished the radical. Let’s live out the radical nature of Christ’s work for us in ordinary faithful obedience. Fruitfulness comes with the ordinary whimpers of disciples. If explosive acts of transformation occur, I’d be happy for them. But I do not find radical actions the usual way of Christendom. The ordinariness of the faith is good enough to provide the optimism displayed in the songs of God’s people. If we allow radical voices to shape our ethos, we will overlook the language of the ordinary, which is the language that takes every thought captive, shuts the mouths of politicians, and destroys principalities and power. The world will fear those who do good, who love well, and who serve with ordinary regularity, but they will scorn us if we think we can borrow their methods.
[1] David Platt, Radical: Taking Back Your Faith from the American Dream (Multnomah Books, 2010), 181.
Notations
George MacDonald’s The Magic Mirror is a work of art. I need a second read or a second listen to see more clearly MacDonald’s magic. The work traces the story of Cosmo, who purchases a mirror for 1/4th of the price. He takes the mirror home and, with great care, adjusts it only to find the figure of a woman. He is fixated on her and keeps his eyes locked. He becomes fascinated by her, and it consumes him. The woman is introduced to him and says the only way to love her is to let her go. Cosmo needs to do the unthinkable and destroy the mirror. The book portrays extreme delight and profound loss at both adoring and abandoning the thing or the one you love.
My friend, Andrew Sandlin, has a revised edition of A Postmillennial Primer and has kindly asked me to write a blurb for the book. I hope to finish reading through it soon and send him my support. I love these primers because they are easy giveaways, and I hope to play my part once it is published.
One of my old writers for Kuyperian, Matt Bianco, wrote a small book of letters to his sons. I returned and read some of those letters to my oldest boy. Those are great and needful in an age of sexual confusion and identity male crisis. I wondered if I had ever interviewed Matt concerning the book and found a brief interview I did with him nine years ago. The book is still for sale at amazon.
On a personal note, I just returned from a wedding in Nashville, TN. I enjoyed the trip, the wedding, and the late-night conversations on the back porch with dozens of good friends.
I have been pondering the place of place in our interaction and theologizing, so I have a short piece on its nature and what features make it pure.
I have an interview on The Perspectivalist on the poetry of Joffre Swait. Look for it on Wednesday! His new poetry book published by Canon Press is superb and made me cry with joy at various times. I dare you to read it and not be moved by its prose and pomp!
Hearty cheers,
Uriesou Brito