Common Man

Advent Vespers, Week Two

Proverbs 3

Happy are those who find wisdom,
   and those who get understanding,
for her income is better than silver,
   and her revenue better than gold.
She is more precious than jewels,
   and nothing you desire can compare with her.
Long life is in her right hand;
   in her left hand are riches and honour.
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,
   and all her paths are peace.
She is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her;
   those who hold her fast are called happy. 

Luke 18

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

Homily:

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.

This year marks the end of a long-standing Advent tradition of mine. Every December from 2001 to 2003, and again from 2012 to 2014, I have headed to the local cinema in order to visit the world of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle Earth.

Tolkien stands as one of the 20th Century’s literary giants. A veteran of the First World War and a professor of philology at Oxford, Tolkien loved northern mythology.  He pored over the Eddas and sagas of Iceland, the heroic tales of Germany. He was enamored of Beowulf, the Nibelungenlied, the Volsungasaga, with their magic swords and cursed gold, their fire-breathing dragons and subterranean trolls.

His great sorrow was that England did not have an ancient mythological cycle of her own, and so he set out to write one. First came The Hobbit, followed by The Lord of the Rings trilogy. These formed the core of Middle Earth, Tolkien’s literary realm. But they were not like the tales of old. Yes, they still had great adventures and terrible monsters and heroic quests, but in many ways Tolkien turned the ancient stories on their heads. For you see, J.R.R. Tolkien was an ardent and committed Christian. And he wove into his Middle Earth a love for the simple, the common, the everyday, which would’ve been completely alien to Odin or Thor. Pagan gods understood only strength. It was the Christian God—deliverer of the Hebrew slaves, protector of the widow and orphan—who enlightened us as to the heroism of the humble, the majesty of the marginalized. Only the Christian God could see a Hobbit as a hero.

In Tolkien’s world, it is the common, humble virtue of common, humble Hobbits that saves the world when all the powers of wizards and kings and angels alike have come to naught. In Tolkien’s world, evil is found in the smallest of things. And so is salvation.

Tolkien was inspired in part by a prolific author named G.K. Chesterton, famous now as the so-called Apostle of Common Sense. Chesterton’s great accomplishment was to remind the world that God is concerned not with great strength or great fame, but with the nobility of the common man. For Chesterton, the common man—toiling faithfully and humbly in anonymity, reveling in the holiness found in hearth and home, enjoying the simple gifts of God’s good Creation including the occasional pipe and pint—he was God’s crowning glory.

When God came to earth in Jesus Christ, He could’ve been a great warrior or demigod, a giant or a dragon. But He eschewed such silliness. No, God came as the noblest and humblest of beings: a common, holy baby born to a common, holy family. For 30 years, Jesus Christ toiled faithfully in anonymity, working with Joseph, His true and adopted father, caring for Mary, His faithful, holy Mother. For 30 years He garnered no fame, no glory, no wealth of which to speak. He was not a conqueror or celebrity or power broker. He was just a common Man—the perfect common Man—Who also happened to be God.

There was a time when people thought that conquerors and kings were the only important people in the world, that great men forged great destinies and thus became gods in the folktales and legends of the people. Today we believe much the same thing, only instead of warlords we worship actors and rock stars and people who are rich and famous simply for being rich and famous. Those are the important people, we think. We should be more like them, we think.

But we all know that these young, rich starlets who seem to have everything that we’re told we want—we know that they have almost zero chance of being happy, don’t we? The poor things. So many of them end up as people who have everything, and yet nothing at all.

Jesus comes along and tells us that we’ve got our world upside-down. True heroism is found in humility. True greatness is found only in love. The elites of our society tell us that nothing is more important than our careers and our freedom of choice, freedom from consequence. But that’s a lie, and on some level we all know it. Careers and unfettered wills have worked out alright for them—that’s how they became elite, after all. But the freedom they claim to offer is nothing more than slavery to our own whims and desires. It is the tyranny of the ego. What matters are the small acts of kindness and fidelity that make up everyday life. What matters are real relationships, good and true and beautiful, between flawed and loving people: spouses, children, neighbors, friends. Common people.

That’s why Jesus is born quietly in Bethlehem, in of all places a cave. That’s why He lives quietly in Nazareth, as of all things a carpenter. That’s why He reached out not primarily to the great and the powerful but to the lost and unworthy.

We love the great old stories of gods and monsters, dragons and wizards. We love them just as Tolkien did. But we must make sure that we love them for the same reasons that Tolkien did, that Chesterton did. Because when we read about Sigurd or Thor, or even Aragorn or Legolas, the message is not, “Your life is small and worthless unless you do something great.” No. The message is that these stories exist to inspire you, the common man, the common woman, in the humble heroism of everyday life. That’s what God cares about. That’s where God is found. The great stories exist in order to help you.

Sometimes we think that our lives are mundane, and regret that we have done nothing the world would recognize as great. We haven’t discovered new lands or published bestsellers or made a million dollars. But none of that matters. None of that makes men great. To be first a great husband and father, to be first a true neighbor and friend, to seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness—that’s what makes you great. That is the glory of the common man. And that is the great joy of God.

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.