I know what you’re thinking.
Michael Scott? Dwight Schrute? Pam Beesly and Jim Halpert? Andy “rit-dit-dit-di-doo” Bernard? How can anyone associate these names with any kind of Gospel? For years these names and characters entered our homes and entertained us on NBC. It was the first (as far as I know) real successful show, called a mockumentary sitcom, a fictional and comedic “documentary” that reveals the fascinating lives of regular people just like you and me. From the whimsical musings of Michael Scott to the prank wars between Jim and Dwight, to the comedic relief from Kevin Malone, for nine seasons The Office brought millions of Americans joy. If you haven’t seen it yet, shame on you, and then let me know and I’ll loan you my DVD set.
One of the things that I love most about my wife is that she loves this show. We regularly watch it. One episode before bed, or maybe grab a pizza on a Friday night and binge watch a season. Each Christmas I look forward to when we watch all the Christmas episodes in one sitting. We just can’t seem to get enough of Dunder Mifflin. Over the weekend, we finished the series again. But this one hit differently. I always get emotional at the end of my shows (more on that later), but this time I made an observation and then a connection.
At the end of the show, the gang is reminiscing about their time filming. Each person has their reasons why they were grateful for the opportunity to be have their lives exploited, eventually leading to the big question that I am sure everyone would ask if they were being filmed for nine years: Why us? Why did you choose such an ordinary paper company for nine years? Pam smiles as she gazes upon her painting that she put in the office in season three, and says this epic line to close out the series:
“I think an ordinary paper company like Dunder Mifflin was a great subject for a documentary. There’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things. Isn’t that kind of the point?”
Is it just me? Or did you hear some sacramental theology in these words? Beauty in ordinary things. When it comes to us as Christians, it is easy to look around and take notice of the majestic beauty of God’s creation. It envelops us, consumes us, awes us. We are naturally drawn to this. We are not, however, drawn to “ordinary things.” Sitting down at the dinner table or encounters at work. Regular mundane things. This list could go on. But, while God certainly works through the extraordinary, He might just do His best work in the ordinary.
A nurse taking care of a dying man. A delivery man doing is absolute best to make sure Mrs. Jones gets her package from her granddaughter. A farmer wiping sweat from his brow after being in the field for days to provide for his community and his family.
Ordinary things. It’s how God delivers His grace to us. Through bread that was harvested and baked. Through wine that was picked, pressed, and fermented. Through water that was drawn from the river. Through simple words of forgiveness. Even Jesus himself, the Godman, had no form or majesty that we should look at him, no beauty that we should desire him (Isaiah 53:3). God is pleased with the ordinary. Because when you take the ordinary and combine it with God’s Word and God’s command, it becomes extraordinary. It becomes tangible forgiveness for you. You can touch it, smell it, taste it, consume it. God has made the simple ordinary the means by which we participate in all that He has for us. It is how we hear and receive the gifts that God so selflessly gave to us 2,000 years ago.
God sees beauty in ordinary things. That’s why He sends Jesus to become ordinary, not considering equality with God a thing to be grasped (Phil 2:6). And because of Christ’s sacrifice for us, for ordinary people, we get to enjoy all of the extraordinary benefits of being in Christ. Forgiveness, freedom to love, life, and salvation.
There is a lot of beauty in ordinary things. But for God, that is precisely the point.
Rev. Tyler Cronkright 