By the Revd Preb Julian Ould
When I lived on the Isles of Scilly I used to do a weekly assembly at the Senior School. This was my least favourite task, not least of all I could never think of anything to say that might appeal to teenagers. I put this problem to the head teacher, who suggested that he might put this to his pupils and see what they might come up with. A week later the head teacher presented me with a long list of ideas which looked daunting, but nevertheless I decided to give it a go.
The first suggestion on the list was, ‘A life less ordinary’, which struck me as both odd and nonsense. However, rather than move on, I decided to give it a go.
It is odd because I would ask what is ordinary? And it is nonsense because in truth whilst we might have some accepted norms of life there is no such thing really, as ordinary. One of the great joys of life is that we are all different – we are in fact unique. We may have similarities and share likes and dislikes, but in no way could any of us claim to be exactly like anyone else. And this is something to be thankful for, as it means that in our own particular way, we are special.
However, to be fair to the selector of this idea, ordinary can be termed in a general sense, and means the bulk of our population who don’t stand out. Therefore, to talk about something or someone who is less ordinary is to refer to the extra-ordinary, be they infamous or famous. Of course, even this is measured in degrees in that there are many that are seen as extra–ordinary, but not necessarily to such an extent that it is of international note and are therefore only known to a limited group or area.
The problem with this approach to the ordinary is to undervalue the vast majority, which is to lose sight of the joy of being unique and to ignore the worth of many supposedly ordinary things that so many do. This was a trap that one of our former governments fell into, suggesting that we all had the ability to be entrepreneurs, to build our own businesses, to supposedly advance and better ourselves. The mistake was in effect to suggest that we could all be managers, which might seem attractive, but to quote an age old saying this would mean that we would end up with too many chiefs and not enough Indians. To put it another way, we can’t all be managers who organise, for someone has to do the basic work, – to produce the product. Added to which this was to suggest that those who do work for others and do make the product were in some way less worthy or important than the managers. And whilst there are many managers who carry considerable responsibility in overseeing the successful functioning of an industry or company and therefore justify their position and perhaps a higher rate of pay, any manager worth his salt values each and every person who works with and for him. There are, for example, many trades that are highly skilled, and certainly in my past hotel management days, whilst I might have co-ordinated the smooth running of the organisation, I would have had little to organise if I hadn’t had a good chef, – for whilst a well-run restaurant is important, if the food was no good we would quickly lose custom.
And in truth even non-skilled tasks have a value, for someone has to do them. And as St. Paul once wrote to the Church in Corinth in Greece, when they were vying for position, using the example of the human body, identified that it was made up of many parts and that it would be tempting to suggest that some parts were better than others, and yet all parts go to make up the whole and as such are all important.
There are infamous and famous people, there are those who are less ordinary, or at least appear to be so, and yet in truth we are all less ordinary.
To finish, I share with you a story that to me so well illustrates that we all have an importance which makes us less ordinary – that we all have a part to play, and in our own way are important and do matter.
The story is recorded from some notes made by the famous architect, Sir Christopher Wren, when overseeing the work of the building of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. Such a work obviously required hundreds of workers and involved many trades and skilled craftsmen. Each day, Sir Christopher would make a tour of inspection of the site, talking with carpenters and stone masons and blacksmiths and so on, explaining the finer detail of some of his plans, or being advised by them and so making necessary adjustments. In addition to these obvious craftsmen there were many manual labourers who assisted, and by and large Sir Christopher ignored them. On the edge of the site a young boy worked, feeding and watering the horses who laboured up and down Ludgate Hill bringing materials for the construction.
Purely by chance, one day, Sir Christopher came across this boy and asked what he was doing, to which he replied, not knowing who the man was, I am helping Christopher Wren build St. Paul’s Cathedral. Sir Christopher laughed, but on later reflection realised that the boy was right, for if the horses were not looked after, then they wouldn’t be able to do their work, which in turn would mean that no materials reached the site, and so the boy was indeed playing an important part. From that point on, Sir Christopher, stopped to speak with all workers and thanks to the small boy, acknowledged the less ordinary value of all.