The title for this inspirational piece comes from a book of a friend of mine. John Punshon was a British Quaker---now deceased. John was a good friend of mine. I first met John when I went to England for a sabbatical. I was a Fellow at a Quaker study center in Birmingham. The study center was much like a little college. It offered courses that were honored by the University of Birmingham. The range of course offerings was limited, but what was taught was really first-rate. The Quaker Tutor was my friend John.
John was a little guy in stature. But he was a big-hearted guy. He had not grown up a Quaker, so when he decided Quakerism was for him, he dove into it with gusto. He was not a pain, like some converts can be, but he was clear and strong in his beliefs. He was a very principled man and that fit very well his version of Quakerism. He lived out his concerns for justice. He worked for peace. Simply his presence was a challenge for those of us more lax with principles and lazy in terms of spiritual action.
John was not rich, but he could have been a person of some privilege. He had the privilege of going to university at Oxford. Just to say you went to Oxford basically said it all. We assume a great deal---maybe too much---when we know someone is an Oxford alum. We assume they are really smart and culturally very savvy. We assume they have connections with important people in high places. They become first-class persons in every way we imagine. John was aware of that.
In his little book, Encounter with Silence, John tells the story in his own way. The piece I want to share comes in the context of his memory of his father’s death. John says, “The night he died, I had to take a long look at myself. I had to ask what I believed.” (14) In this context John muses about what it means to be an “Oxford man.” He appreciated what the university did for him, but he recognized that having the Oxford affiliation was a pedestal. He also began to realize there was something more important for him than simply being that Oxford guy. In a word John was beginning to experience a transformation.
I appreciate how John describes his transformation. “The consequence of all this is that I parted company with my pedestal. I saw through the system that had selected me and schooled me and given me its values and standards. I prized my education highly, but came to reject what it had been for. I discovered the joy of being ordinary…” (15) When I read that phrase, the joy of being ordinary, I was given words to describe the John I had come to know. I would like to use John’s discovery and description of himself to teach me and all of us an important lesson.
I know I have spent too much time in my life trying to be extraordinary. Some of us do it as a perfectionist. Some of us do it other ways. Grades, athletics, music are three predictable ways young folks choose to be extraordinary. In writing this I know I might be misunderstood. When I use extraordinary, I am thinking about trying to become something we are not---and never will be. My monk friend, Thomas Merton, calls this our “false self.” I am not arguing against becoming very good at things. I loved playing sports and tried to learn as much as I could (which often led to good grades). But I wanted to be authentic and not be phony.
I am certain this is what John’s transformation was about. He did not want to use the Oxford label to become some kind of phony person---even if that were to make him successful in the eyes of the world. Of course, this does not mean he wanted to avoid success to make sure he was real. Successful people are not by definition phony. But neither are they by definition “real.” For John his path need to grounded in the Divinity and not the degree. His life needed to be centered in the Uncreated One and not the university.
Quakers use the language of “center.” We talk about being “centered.” I always smile when I make this point, because the opposite of being centered is being eccentric---a Greek compound word that means “off center.” It is too bad that being eccentric in today’s usage means weird and crazy. Rather, eccentric really means you are not grounded---not centered. You are disconnected and this leads to being phony---not real.
Phony people play games. They deal in illusion and deception---usually doing this best on themselves. I am sad for the times I worked so hard to be someone I really was not. Instead, I take my cue from John who came to know the joy of being ordinary. I don’t think he meant ordinary people were merely average and vanilla. Ordinary meant the real person was not determined by where you went to university---or even if you went. Ordinary persons were not determined by status or even standing. It had nothing to do with gender, race, etc.
To be ordinary is to recognize that everyone of us is created in the image of God. We are icons of the Divinity. We have value and are valuable simply because we are. We don’t have to become somebody; we already are somebody. That is hard to believe, which is why we spend so much time chasing things that won’t make us any more real than we already are.
I want to know fully what my friend, John, taught me long ago: the joy of being ordinary.
John was a little guy in stature. But he was a big-hearted guy. He had not grown up a Quaker, so when he decided Quakerism was for him, he dove into it with gusto. He was not a pain, like some converts can be, but he was clear and strong in his beliefs. He was a very principled man and that fit very well his version of Quakerism. He lived out his concerns for justice. He worked for peace. Simply his presence was a challenge for those of us more lax with principles and lazy in terms of spiritual action.
John was not rich, but he could have been a person of some privilege. He had the privilege of going to university at Oxford. Just to say you went to Oxford basically said it all. We assume a great deal---maybe too much---when we know someone is an Oxford alum. We assume they are really smart and culturally very savvy. We assume they have connections with important people in high places. They become first-class persons in every way we imagine. John was aware of that.
In his little book, Encounter with Silence, John tells the story in his own way. The piece I want to share comes in the context of his memory of his father’s death. John says, “The night he died, I had to take a long look at myself. I had to ask what I believed.” (14) In this context John muses about what it means to be an “Oxford man.” He appreciated what the university did for him, but he recognized that having the Oxford affiliation was a pedestal. He also began to realize there was something more important for him than simply being that Oxford guy. In a word John was beginning to experience a transformation.
I appreciate how John describes his transformation. “The consequence of all this is that I parted company with my pedestal. I saw through the system that had selected me and schooled me and given me its values and standards. I prized my education highly, but came to reject what it had been for. I discovered the joy of being ordinary…” (15) When I read that phrase, the joy of being ordinary, I was given words to describe the John I had come to know. I would like to use John’s discovery and description of himself to teach me and all of us an important lesson.
I know I have spent too much time in my life trying to be extraordinary. Some of us do it as a perfectionist. Some of us do it other ways. Grades, athletics, music are three predictable ways young folks choose to be extraordinary. In writing this I know I might be misunderstood. When I use extraordinary, I am thinking about trying to become something we are not---and never will be. My monk friend, Thomas Merton, calls this our “false self.” I am not arguing against becoming very good at things. I loved playing sports and tried to learn as much as I could (which often led to good grades). But I wanted to be authentic and not be phony.
I am certain this is what John’s transformation was about. He did not want to use the Oxford label to become some kind of phony person---even if that were to make him successful in the eyes of the world. Of course, this does not mean he wanted to avoid success to make sure he was real. Successful people are not by definition phony. But neither are they by definition “real.” For John his path need to grounded in the Divinity and not the degree. His life needed to be centered in the Uncreated One and not the university.
Quakers use the language of “center.” We talk about being “centered.” I always smile when I make this point, because the opposite of being centered is being eccentric---a Greek compound word that means “off center.” It is too bad that being eccentric in today’s usage means weird and crazy. Rather, eccentric really means you are not grounded---not centered. You are disconnected and this leads to being phony---not real.
Phony people play games. They deal in illusion and deception---usually doing this best on themselves. I am sad for the times I worked so hard to be someone I really was not. Instead, I take my cue from John who came to know the joy of being ordinary. I don’t think he meant ordinary people were merely average and vanilla. Ordinary meant the real person was not determined by where you went to university---or even if you went. Ordinary persons were not determined by status or even standing. It had nothing to do with gender, race, etc.
To be ordinary is to recognize that everyone of us is created in the image of God. We are icons of the Divinity. We have value and are valuable simply because we are. We don’t have to become somebody; we already are somebody. That is hard to believe, which is why we spend so much time chasing things that won’t make us any more real than we already are.
I want to know fully what my friend, John, taught me long ago: the joy of being ordinary.
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