Have you ever noticed how ordinary our Lord was? The Word Incarnate, the Second Person of the Trinity possessing the fullness of humanity, appeared to be an ordinary man. There was no halo around His head, no divine light emanating from Him, no choir of angels attending Him.
His voice did not resound with a heavenly boom or echo. We have no reason to believe that His carpentry set new standards for woodwork. He seemed to be the same as everyone else.
It was precisely this ordinariness that shocked the people of Nazareth. Having heard about His miracles in other places, they were no longer content with the ordinary Jesus who grew up there. “Isn’t this the son of Joseph?” they asked, perhaps with disappointment. They wanted someone different, some display of power and grandeur — something out of the ordinary. Our Lord knew their thoughts: “Do here in your native place the things that we heard were done in Capernaum” (Lk 4:23).
We should not fault the people of Nazareth too severely. They simply fell into a common trap in religion: what C.S. Lewis calls the “Horror of the Same Old Thing.” Theirs is a cautionary tale. We can easily grow impatient with the slow, steady, everyday process of growth and sanctification. We want something new and improved, like everything else we have. St. Paul saw this danger, warning of the day “when people will not tolerate sound doctrine but, following their own desires and insatiable curiosity, will accumulate teachers and will stop listening to the truth and will be diverted to myths” (2 Tim 4:3-4).
It happens just as St. Paul predicted. To satisfy the itch for novelty, people seek the most recent apparition, the latest theology or the trendiest method of prayer. Tired of the apostolic faith, they find (or invent) a “new” Catholicism for the chimerical “modern man.” For example, look at how people treat the Mass. One group or another always seems to attach gimmicks or an agenda to the Mass, instead of allowing it to stand on its own. Like the people of Nazareth, they want something new and different.
To overcome this affliction, we do well to recall the ordinariness of Our Lord. Yes, He worked many miracles. But He spent the majority of His life (30 of His 33 years) in the humdrum, common, everyday world. He prayed, worked, ate, slept and played as everyone else did. Perhaps we call this His “hidden life” not so much because it is unknown as because it is unremarkable.
His life sets the pattern for our faith. Yes, God still works miracles. But He comes to us most frequently and powerfully through the common and familiar things: the creed, the Mass, confession, the rosary, the Ten Commandments, etc. These are the basics, the same old things. Our growing weary of them comes not from any defect on their part, but only from a lack of faith on ours.
These same old things work entirely to our benefit because they increase our faith. Miracles encourage the faithful. But the virtue of faith increases more when we encounter the same old things and believe what is unseen: that is, when we look at the pouring of water and see the infusion of divine life; when we hear the words of absolution and trust that we are forgiven; when we learn the teaching of the Church and receive it as the revelation of God Himself; when we gaze upon the Host and adore our Lord and our God.
Fr. Scalia is parochial vicar of St. Patrick Parish in Fredericksburg.
(This article courtesy of the Arlington Catholic Herald.)
