He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.  (Mark 6:6)

I don’t cause teachers trouble

My grades have been okay

I listen in my classes

I’m in school every day

My teachers think I’m average

My parents think so too

I wish I didn’t know that, though;

There’s lots I’d like to do.

I’d like to build  a rocket;

I’ve a book that shows you how.

Or start a stamp collection…

But no use trying now.

‘Cause since I found I’m average

I’m just smart enough, you see,

To know there’s nothing special

I should expect from me.

I’m part of that majority

That hump part of the bell,

Who spends his life unnoticed

In an average kind of hell.

I came across that poem many years ago on a training course. The more I’ve thought about it, the more it’s come to seem to me that the most debilitating word in the English language is “average”; “ordinary”; “nothing special”. 

Sometimes when we apply it to people we mean that they are just, well, run-of-the mill folk and I guess most of us, most of the time, think of ourselves in that way. Especially in Scotland. We don’t blow our own trumpets much up here, do we? My son works as a bar supervisor in a hotel and I was looking at his CV recently. He claimed to have a “decent” knowledge of beers and spirits. Actually, as I pointed, out, his knowledge is really pretty awesome. “This is your CV,” I said. “You’re supposed to big yourself up!”

But we’re not very good at that, are we? Partly because society has a way of putting down folk who are getting a bit above themselves. See that bit in Mark’s Gospel where the local folk in Nazareth say, “Isn’t this the carpenter - Mary’s boy? Don’t his brothers and sisters live down the street?” Does that not remind you of that fine Scottish put-down, “Aye. I kent yer faither”? You’re nothing special. You’re ordinary folk. This is why they took offence at him. Who was he to be doing all these amazing things? Who was he to be proclaiming the Gospel?

Obviously, we can see that he’s the Son of God, so who better? Who else was going to do it? Well, what about a few fishermen? A tax-collecter, maybe? Mark has certain characteristics as a writer and one of them is that he puts together things that he wants us to read together and think about together. Here he follows the story of Jesus being treated as “ordinary folk” by his former neighbours with his sending out of the Apostles in pairs to do exactly what he’s been doing - to proclaim the Gospel.

These aren’t people with special training or degrees in theology. They aren’t given special equipment or any special identifying clothing. For a while there were a couple of Mormon missionaries who would come to my door - mainly because I was one of the few folk who wouldn’t pretend to be out - and one thing I noticed was that they always wore smart suits. Compare that with the instructions Jesus gives his apostles. They are to wear simple, everyday stuff, with nothing that might mark them out from the people they walked among: ordinary folk.

I wonder, sometimes, if the Medieval Church didn’t do us a disservice with its emphasis on the saints - especially the missionary saints. You read the stories of Patrick and Ninian and Columba and they come across as spiritual superheroes, complete with super powers that let them do all sorts of amazing things. You get the feeling that they converted whole populations to the faith, striding out alone into the pagan wilderness. You’ve got to give them credit for their courage, but here’s a thing. You read these stories and often the folk they meet out there in the pagan wilderness - the local kings or whatever - already know about Christianity. There are already Christians among these communities. There are already folk witnessing to the Gospel in these places. Ordinary folk.

I wonder, sometimes, if the way we’ve structured church over the centuries may have done us a disservice. We’ve created all sorts of titles and positions of responsibility in the church - Minister, Priest, Bishop, Moderator, Reader - all people with special training and special clothes and yes, it’s probably a good thing that people who conduct worship have some kind of training and yes, it’s probably a good thing that we have clothing - but have we, maybe, given the impression that these are the people who are charged with proclaiming the Gospel. Not “ordinary folk”.

When I became a Christian I attended communion classes and I remember the Minister telling me that what was asked of me was that I read the Bible, give a due proportion of my wealth for the work of the Church and attend Sunday worship. Really? That’s it? That’s what “ordinary folk” are expected to do? Read the book, stump up the cash and park my bottom on a pew? See what I mean about the word “average” being debilitating? That and “ordinary”.

Who are you, you might ask, to proclaim the Gospel? Who are you not? And if not you, then who? Think you’re “average”? Think you’re “ordinary”? I tell you that, as a human being - as a child of God, made in the image of God - you are anything but ordinary. You have, between your ears, the most sophisticated, most complex thing in the known universe. Do you know the difference between your brain and Einstein’s? Nothing. What training, what special knowledge does it take to understand - and pass on - the idea that love matters more than hate and greed and power in this world and that God loves you and the people you meet?

Think you’re “average”? Think you’re “ordinary”? Not to the people who are close to you in this world. Not to your family, your friends, your work-mates. If they find in you the love of God, if they find in you the vision that every human being is a child of God, if they find in you an integrity that means you do what is right, whatever the cost, and hope for life beyond this one, then who is better placed than you to proclaim the Gospel?

Think you’re “average”? Think you’re “ordinary”? You have heard the word of God. You have, dwelling in you, the Holy Spirit of God. You have the common gifts of humanity - yes, they’re common to us all, but they’re still brilliant. You have the power to tell someone that they matter - that they’re precious and loved - with a touch or a word or a smile. You have the power to show the people you know that there’s a better way to live that one that is built on selfishness and greed, on fear of the stranger or hatred of the different or derision for those who seem to fail in the game of life.

Think you’re “average”? Think you’re “ordinary”? More average than a bunch of fishermen sent out to proclaim the Gospel before anyone else had heard it? More ordinary than a bunch of guys in the simplest clothes walking the roads of First Century Galilee? I don’t think so.

Here’s the thing. No-one’s “average”. No one’s “ordinary”. Each of us - you, me, everyone, is extraordinary. Each of us is unique. Each of us has a unique voice, a unique set of circumstances, a unique set of relationships that allows us - in the things we say, in the choices we make, in the things we do and the priorities we make in our lives - to proclaim the Gospel. However simple our tunic may be.

Lord, whatever our rank or station in this world, each of us is special in your eyes. Each of us is a unique creation of your love. Inspire us to speak to others of that love and to reflect it in the way we live

Preached at Gretna:St. Andrews Parish church